Spirits of the Earth

OOC: Tags to @Cambie ! This takes place during Year Nine of the Connlaothian Civil War (http://www.spiritsoftheearth.net/smf/index.php?topic=14741.0), following events in Hellvion (http://www.spiritsoftheearth.net/smf/index.php?topic=17018.0).

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The landscape of her childhood passed before her like a dream. Or like a nightmare. Constance Carwick, or “Olive”, watched the rolling hills and forests of Wulfbauer, all bright lively green with new spring growth, from the back of an army supply wagon. The daughter of the last Carwick duke of Wulfbauer sat cramped, bound and gagged, between empty sacks devoid of supplies; little were left after the harsh winter that had ravaged Connlaoth. Bound because she was a prisoner, hauled away by the army that had rushed to the chaos unfolding in the small village near the border with Hellvion. Gagged because she was a mage, and without a Mordecai in their midst, the nervous soldiers hoped that the gag would keep the mage from casting any spells.

Were she someone else, she knew, she would have been killed on the spot and left dead in the ruin of the storm she’d made. But the villagers had spoken on her behalf. She was no mage, they told the soldiers, or that she was no ordinary mage. She was Lady Constance, who they had long though dead, and the last of the Carwick line. More than that, they said, she had saved them. Or most of them.

Olive wasn’t sure.

One of the villagers had found her two days earlier, at the end of her rope in her flight from Hellvion. Her horse had gone lame and she’d been forced to go on on foot. The man, too old to serve in the army and now retired to his ancestral village, had once been a guard at Wulfbauer Keep. Despite her dishevled appearance and rumors that she had died years ago in the mage camps, the man had recognized the girl he’d once been tasked with protecting. He had to insist on taking Olive, hiding her in the village. The villagers, what little of them there were, had all agreed. Despite the fact that she was a mage - or perhaps because she was a mage, but because she had been pious and held up as an example of what a Connlaothian mage should be, because her parents had kept her and hadn’t sent her to the Church - for all those reasons, Constance had been loved by her father’s people. They would hide her; they would shelter her. Reluctantly, Olive had agreed.

She hadn't known what was coming.

Now she wished more than anything they hadn’t. For their kindness, they had been repaid with the destruction of their village. The loss of their livelihoods and their homes. Some had lost their lives. Many of them had not, but one was too many. Olive closed her eyes, letting out a long, ragged breath through the gag. Unsure what to do with the claims of the villagers that the mage the soldiers had found in the midst of the chaos was the "dead" Lady Constance, the soldiers had decided to take the girl to Wulfbauer Keep. Duke Therrien would decide her fate.

Across from her, bound on the other side of the supply cart, was a captured soldier of Krah’s forces. The forces that would have, Olive was sure, killed every last person in the village if they’d had their way. He was not gagged, and as the cart bumped and rolled down the road towards Wulfbauer Keep, Olive listened to his constant stream of insults and threats. But they rolled off her. Olive was focused on the scenery, the landscape and preoccupied with what would happen once they arrived to the place that had, for most of her life, been her home.

They weren’t far now.

____________________________________________________

Ahead of the army cart, a rider had been sent ahead to bring news of the happenings to the duke. The man dismounted his horse, handing it over to the stableboy and pausing only long enough to ask where the Duke was at that  moment. Minutes later the tired, breathless soldier, burst unannounced into the Duke’s study.

“M’lord,” he panted, “urgent news.”

By all accounts the winter had been just as devastating as the wind readers had predicted. Even now snow still fell intermittently from the grey skies above, though they were nowhere as violent as the blizzards ravaging the countryside for the last months, grinding any semblance of a functioning duchy to a halt. Even now, the small reserve of Wulfbauer's army, the ones not already attached to the Grand Duke's forces, struggled to clear roads and bring much-needed supplies to the outermost isolated towns.

Food, of course, had been scarce throughout the ordeal. They'd all predicted it. But Erwin's early response to the potential crisis had meant that, at the very least, most of Wulfbauer's citizens survived. The rationing had been tight, and the supply lines very infrequent, but it'd worked. Even as the Duke stood in his study, poring over a desk covered in maps and reports, there was some trickle of good news: Wulfbauer had fared slightly better than the other less-prepared duchies.

He had no time to reward himself or pat himself on the back, though. As the Duke, he wouldn't be judged on the correct things he did (indeed, the things expected of him), but rather from his failures. He had to continue doing right by his people, and it was getting increasingly difficult to do so. Most days he had advisors feeding him conflicting advice, and he was at a loss as to who had the best plans. It'd gotten to the point where, today, he had ordered them all out of the castle.

What little measure of peace he had was shattered when a snow-covered soldier burst into his study, clumsily saluting the Duke. Erwin looked up with a frown, cup of tea halfway up to his mouth before the interruption. What new urgent news could there be?

"Speak freely."

"My Lord," the soldier said, panting through quick breaths. "The town of Valence, on the border of Hellvion, was attacked and destroyed yesterday. By forces bearing the banner of the Grand Duke."

Erwin perked up and stared at the soldier, immediately setting down his tea. What had he just heard?

"There's more," the soldier continued. "Our reserves arrived and captured two prisoners. One of them is Lady Carwick. Lady Constance Carwick."

The Duke's brow furrowed as he said, "That's impossible, Lady Carwick is dead."

"Begging your pardon, my Lord, but apparently she is not. We are transporting her here now, she should be here within the hour."

“They don’t believe you, you know.”

Olive’s eyes left the snowflakes that were falling around them in the spring flurry, coating the landscape in snow. The landscape, as well as the two prisoners; the cart was open and without a roof. Olive looked at the bloodied soldier they’d captured from Krah, unable to respond to his snarling statement.

“Those soldiers. I saw it in the way they looked at you. They don’t believe you’re 'Lady Constance’ or whatever it was all those vermin villagers were saying. Look at you,” he sneered. The man had fallen silent for awhile, perhaps asleep, but was awake and leering at her again. He did have a point. Olive looked nothing like a ‘lady.’ She’d always been a bit of a skinny tomboy, but the winter had left her underfed and bony. She was covered in mud, blood, and dressed in travelers’ rags that were too big for her. And the exertion of the magic she’d performed had left her pale, exhausted, and ashen. But her gaze was level, proud, and defiant. She knew who she was.

Though to that point she hadn’t said anything herself. The villagers had interceded, saying that she was the late Duke Carwick’s daughter, it was true. But Olive had said nothing, even before they gagged her. After seeing the ruins of the village, she was unsure if she wanted whatever favor being Constance Carwick would garner her.

“You can bet that Duke won't believe you, either, witch. He’ll hang you on sight,” came the snarling conclusion of the man, spitting at her. “Should’ve just hung you all from the start. Filthy mage.”

Olive turned her attention away from the man again. Because as he spit the words at her, the cart was rumbling into Wulfbauer Keep. She recognized every hill and swail and garden and cottage. Leaner than when she’d last seen it, but it was home. Or it had been. In another half hour, the cart pulled in front of the stables of the Keep. The soldiers came around and roughly pulled out the man, then Olive. And as she found her footing, Olive’s eyes immediate found someone she recognized.

It was Bairn, one of the stablemen. A limp in one of his knees had kept him out of the army, and he’d worked in the stables all through her childhood. He had a son her age, and the two had been thick as thieves, running about the Keep and playing in the stables. And she saw that he recognized her, too.

“Miss Olive,” the graying man breathed, looking on with open mouthed shock. Then he said more certainly, “Lady Constance!” as he moved forward to embrace the bound and gagged girl.

But Bairn was intercepted by one of the soldiers. “Steady there, old man,” he warned, holding a bayonetted musket in front of the stableman. “That’s a prisoner of the Duke. He’ll determine just who this mage is, and what to do with her. Get back to your station now.”

Bairn opened his mouth to protest, but before he could two of the stable dogs - Olive had always had a soft spot for dogs, and the two spaniels had been no exception - bounded forward, tails wagging. The dogs jumped up, whining and trying their hardest to cover Olive in doggie kisses. The two spaniels, at least, had no uncertainty about who this woman was.

It had taken the better part of an hour questioning the scout to ascertain whether or not their prisoner was actually the long-lost Constance Carwick. In the end, even the soldier had to admit that he didn't know for sure, and that everything he'd relayed to Erwin was conjecture. The surviving villagers all avowed to it, but none of the soldiers could confirm her identity.

When the cart rolled its way past the stronghold's outer gates and into a snow-covered bailey, Erwin stood quietly in the opened doorway of the Keep, watching tired soldiers file in one by one. He could not blame them for looking exhausted. The winter had taken its toll on them, and now with news of bloodshed coming so soon after, the Duke thanked Ansgar that they still remained stoic and vigilant. If the reports were confirmed, that Calent's banner had flown in Valence...

The two prisoners they dragged out of the cart were unrecognizable from this distance, and Erwin had doubts that one of them really was Constance Carwick. He observantly noted the stablehand's reaction, though, along with the gleeful playfulness with which the stable dogs danced around that one prisoner's gaunt frame.

He strode purposefully toward the group, a hard look upon his face. It would have been difficult not to notice the way his brows rose the closer and closer he got though. This girl (it was a girl, after all) really did strike chords of familiarity with Erwin, and the more and more he eyed her up and down, the clearer it became.

He knew her. Despite her ill-fitting clothes, the disheveled hair and grime-covered skin, she could only be a Carwick. He'd known her in his younger days, when she was more girl than woman. They'd ridden horses together, caused havoc together. On more than one occasion he'd been tasked with looking after her, making sure the Duke's daughter did not find herself in trouble.

And now, he was the Duke and she was his prisoner.

As one of the dogs broke off from Olive to bark happily around Erwin's feet, the Duke nodded stiffly to her, the first time he'd done so in years. "Lady Carwick," he said with a stony voice, giving her at least the respect her family name garnered her. Then, he turned to one of his Keep guards and ordered, "Take them down to the cells, and have them thoroughly questioned."

He would get to the bottom of this later, but first he had to find out about Valence, and Calent's treachery.

"But m'lord!" Bairn quickly objected, forgetting for the moment his station and that he had no place questioning a duke. "But m'lord you can't..."

A threatening gesture from the bayonet silenced him. Olive caught his eyes. Did her best to communicate with her own that it was fine. As much as her heart leapt to see him, she didn't want to cause him trouble on her behalf. There'd been enough of that. So Bairn slunk back, watching with a troubled expression.

Olive's eyes returned to the new duke. Duke Therrien. Duke Erwin Therrien. She felt a sinking feeling in her stomach. When she'd heard the soldiers say 'Duke Therrien' she'd assumed it was the elder Therrien. If it were Erwin, that would mean Marsden was dead. Inwardly, she sighed. She'd been close to the elder Therrien. Once upon a time.

She made no reply to Erwin, though. She couldn't, after all. But her gaze didn't waver from his as he looked her over or when he instructed the guards to take her to the dungeon. Nor did she give any reaction when he'd said to have the prisoners 'thoroughly questioned.' In her experience, that never meant anything pleasant. What it would mean here, she wasn't sure.

Olive went without struggle as the guards pushed her forward towards perhaps the only part of this castle that she didn't know. She only glanced once back at Bairn, wondering what became of his son. There was no chance to ask now, though. Despite the eery feeling of being 'home', if she could still call it that, Olive found the cell to be much like any other. Damp, cold, bare. If anything, it was nicer than the shack she'd repeatedly been shut up in for days at a time in the camps. It was the punishment given to her whenever she spoke out; anyone else was beaten. When they pushed her in and left her gagged, Olive wondered if all the Mordecai had left the Keep, or if they just hadn't seen fit to remove it. She slumped against the wall, letting out a long, slow exhale through the dirty gag. This felt familiar, if not in the same way as the rest of the Keep.

The gag finally was removed when two guards came to question her. They were both younger; they'd been in the war, but had been left too wounded to serve in the active army, but were still fit enough to serve as guards. Neither of them had any love for mages. And neither were willing to believe that the dirty-looking mage in front of them was really a noble lady. Olive, though, had experience in holding her tongue. She'd been left with a few fresh bruises from the guards, one bright red and purple across the side of her face, but she hadn't answered any of their questions. She hadn't said anything at all.

Now, Olive was sure, it was only a matter of time before she was hung or - worse yet - sent back to the mage camps. She didn't plan on cooperating with either. After they left, she sat in the cold, damp ground of the cell, wiped blood from her lip, retied her long, dirty hair into a bun, and waited.


Above, in the Duke's study, one of the higher ranking guards gave a nervous report to the Duke. "The man's told us quite a bit, m'lord," he informed Erwin. "Though I'm not sure how much of his story makes sense. Or how reliable it all is. A nasty man. But I am happy to give you a summary." He paused, shifting his weight uncomfortably. "The girl, er, Lady-, er..." he stumbled over how to refer to the girl in the dungeon. "She won't talk."

Several hours went by like a blur, and Erwin was shocked to find, upon looking up, that daylight had stopped streaming in through one of the windows. Since the news first trickled into the Keep, his entire staff had predictably been thrown into a state of chaos. Envoys had to be sent out in all directions, especially in the direction of Connlaoth's capital. More importantly, the reserve forces still left in the duchy had to be mustered to aid the sacked border town -- and to make sure that Krah's army did not set foot in the duchy again.

And, of course, word had to be sent to the Wulfbauer army entrenched with the Grand Duke's combined forces. If it came down to it, the order was simple: return home.

When the senior guard gave his report to Erwin, the Duke frowned and exhaled softly. Somewhere in his mind he knew that his men would include violence in their interrogation tools. After all, Carwick or not, she was still a mage and tensions against them still remained at an all-time high. Perhaps he hoped that it would all go unnoticed if he simply ignored it.

That wasn't the case, and he felt a slight knot in the pit of his stomach at the thought of them laying a hand on her. Being a Duke had hardened him to the realities of life and war, but it hadn't hardened him that much. At least not to the point where seeing a woman with a bruised eye and a bloodied lip wouldn't make his blood curdle. A noblewoman, at that.

"I want to know everything he knows," he commanded to the guard as he went back to poring over his maps. "And have the girl brought up here. I'll speak to her myself."

"The man claims that he was part of a legion under the command of Krah Mordeth. They were on detachment in Hellvion when a Templar came upon them. The Templar was in pursuit of a renegade mage. The man thought it might have been related to," he coughed, "the recent events in Hellvion. At the Duchess's ball. But he didn't speak to the Templar directly. The legion was ordered by their commander to join the pursuit of the mage. They tracked her - he sounded quite chagrined that it was a her, so I don't think he thought the mage was anyone, ah, in particular - to the village of Valance, which according to him had been taken hostage by the mage. The legion tried to liberate the village from the mage's, er, 'clutches,' but when they had her cornered she conjured up great and terrible magics that destroyed the town and scattered Krah's forces."

The man frowned deeply. "It is in conflict with what the soldiers were told when they arrived in the village. By the villagers, I mean. He explains that by saying that the mage enchanted the village into believing that she was the dead Lady Carwick. I suppose it isn't outside of a mage's powers... We may be able to still get more information from him. He's spoken very freely so far. Harder to get him to shut up."

The guard cleared his throat and shifted uncomfortably again. He had, unfortunately, more bad news to deliver. Though of, perhaps, a lower caliber. "There have also been some, ah, troubles with the staff, m'lord. The stablehand Bairn, the one who was there when the prisoners arrived, has, ah... Word has circulated amongst the staff that the Lady Carwick is being held in the dungeon, if that's really who she is. The staff that served here under Duke Carwick are, ah, rather unhappy about it. Including, I'm embarrassed to say, some of the guards. They're threatening to strike if she's left there." He frowned again, shifted again. "We'll take care of it, of course, m'lord," he assured Erwin hastily, "but I wanted to make sure you knew. You can't blame them, m'lord. Loyalty to a family, it's not a bad trait. Misplaced, in this case, perhaps. We'll sort it out." He coughed again, shifted again, then said hurriedly, "Yes, well, I'll bring the girl up. You don't really think she's...? Well, no, I won't... I'll fetch her for you now."

________

The guard returned a few minutes later, leading Olive by her still-bound arms. He glanced nervously, doubtfully at her. Perhaps thinking of what it would mean, if she was Constance Carwick... but surely she couldn't be. The thought that his men had manhandled a young noble lady was too much for the old guard. So naturally she couldn't be a young noble lady.

Olive, for her part, also looked distracted once she was brought into the study. But not by the guard, or by Erwin; her eyes roamed across the room. She looked like someone seeing ghosts. She felt like a ghost. For a moment, she felt like she was going to be sick. Though she'd known about her father's death, it had been as though... If she couldn't really see it, it was some abstract fact. But this, looking through his study, now Erwin Therrien's study, made it very, very real.

But when the guard led her to a chair and forced her to sit across from Erwin, Olive returned to the present. She looked at Erwin with clear, composed eyes. But they were harder, wilder than they had once been. Lurking somewhere behind the calm, composed exterior, she looked as much like a trapped, wild creature as she did a noble lady.

Krah Mordeth.

That would have explained the Grand Duke's banners. The so-called God of War was known to be Calent's lap dog, or as much a lap dog as one could buy with money. Every military man in Connlaoth (and perhaps any man in general) knew of the sellsword's penchant for money and women, and for selling himself to the highest bidder. Erwin had no doubt that he would slit Calent's throat the moment a richer patron knocked on his door and offered him a sack of coin.

But that did not change the fact that Valance was now a burnt hole in the snow. He'd heard of Krah's penchant for wanton violence against innocence, but to be bathing in blood under the Grand Duke's name? A man who had Wulfbauer's military support in his quest for normalcy and the country's unification? And against a loyal ally's own land? The very thought of it made the Duke's blood boil. Mage involvement or not, Krah had to answer for his crimes against Wulfbauer. And if the Grand Duke refused to serve justice on his rabid animal, then was he truly qualified to run the country?

Which brought him to the mage. Waving the guard out of the room, Erwin stood silently behind the study's large table as he looked the girl over. Still dirty and unkempt, and sporting a bloodied lip (which made him frown even further). She sat there with a straight back though, stoic and unrepentantly proud despite the manacles that circled her wrists. He had to admire that about little Constance Carwick, for she'd had to grow up much too fast.

"I apologize for any mistreatment at the hands of my guard," he said evenly, though he perhaps put a little emphasis on the word 'my.' After all, though she came from a long and respected lineage, she had to understand that he was the Duke now. Of course, her familiarity with the staff might breed some resentment against the new lineage, and so he had to tread carefully with her. "But I will not apologize for wanting every scrap of information I can get about Valance. What happened, and why."

He poured himself another cup of tea then, after a moment's thought, poured a second cup. Walking over to where she was seated, he handed the cup to her before continuing. "Tell me the truth about Valance. I already know you're a mage. Everybody knows it."

For a moment, Olive just stared at him. ’I already know you’re a mage. Everybody knows it.’ No shit, she wanted to say, she’d been wearing the Mark since she was ten. It had never been a secret that Olive was a mage. It never could have been. She managed to keep her mouth shut on that note, though. His emphasis on the word ‘my’ wasn’t missed, either. But it didn’t really strike any resentment in her. Being here made Olive sad, perhaps, but she was under no illusions about who was in control here.

Her eyes shifted to the tea he’d placed in her hands. Her stomach rumbled at the thought of something warm to drink. She hadn’t eaten or had anything to drink since the chaos in Valance, and the cold of the dungeons hadn’t left her, but she decided against it. Carefully, moving the cup awkwardly with her shackled hands, she set the cup down on the table.

Now it was Olive’s turn to look over Erwin. She had known him when she was a girl, that was true. But she knew little of what kind of man he’d become.

Finally, after what felt like a long silence, she asked, her tone level, open, undefiant, “What do you want to know?”

He folded his hands across his chest and leaned against the edge of the table, regarding her mannerisms. She had the same petulance and defiance that she'd had when he knew her as a child, though perhaps back then her antics had grated his nerves as only one child could frustrate another. This was different. Her defiance stemmed from a different source now: the magic in her veins that made every day a struggle.

Perhaps he felt sympathetic to her plight, the the plight of all mages in Connlaoth. They didn't scare him, not in the least bit. To him, given the proper incentive, they could add to the pool of skilled hands and laborers and help build this duchy. Of course that sentiment was not shared by the general public, especially under the new Grand Duke's rule. Erwin still did not understand the logic of wasting precious resources sending mages north to work camps, when they could have helped fight the winter here at home.

Home.

That thought snapped him back to reality and he turned his steely gaze on her. First order of business was to sort out this debacle with Valance. He dreaded the answers she might give him, but if what his soldiers said was true, then Calent had betrayed Wulfbauer.

"Tell me about Valance, about what happened there. I want to know about Krah's involvement, and I want to know about your involvement."

Olilve held Erwin’s gaze, then gave the very slightest nod of her head. She let out a long, quiet exhale. Above everything else at this moment, she felt tired. Tired from the ordeal of the fallout from the ball. Tired of being chased, of struggling, of constantly worrying about what was going to happen to her next. Tired of the war.

And the events in Valance had shaken her resolve. Since she’d left the camps, she’d felt so certain. Not all the time, not every moment. But underneath her actions, she’d always felt that the fight was the right thing. She still did, didn’t she? But when she thought about it now, she didn’t see the brutal images from the camps that filled her with righteous anger. She saw the devastation of Valance.

Her eyes glanced out the window. “I don’t know what Krah’s involvement was,” she answered, starting slowly into her narrative. Olive still wasn’t sure why Erwin was asking, and she was uncertain of how detailed she should be. She would, however, be truthful. If nothing else, Erwin Therrien was Duke of Wulfbauer. Her home. She would answer his questions truthfully. She continued in a steady, matter-of-fact tone. “I didn’t know that Krah was pursuing me. I was being chased by a Templar. That’s what I thought. My horse went lame and I took to foot. I aimed to go around the town, but a man - Granger Keil, he used to be a guard here, when I was a girl - found me and recognized me. I denied it, but he was certain. He insisted on hiding me.”

She paused here, frowning. Again her eyes left Erwin and shifted downward. She was wishing bitterly, again, that she hadn’t agreed to go with the man. And some of the emotion showed on her face. But she forced herself to continue in the same manner, trying not to make excuses for herself.

“In the end, I agreed. I thought if I could hide for a day, recoup, the Templar would follow on another trail. I didn’t know that Krah had joined him. I never would have stopped if I had.” There she was, making excuses for herself. Again she frowned. “When his forces were sighted, the women and children were sent to hide in the forest, out of the village. The men,” something made her pause here - they hadn't been men, they were boys and old men and criples, none fit to fight, “stayed behind to defend their homes. But they were outnumbered. Krah’s forces would have slaughtered them. I don’t- I don’t condone the use of magic, but.” Olive stopped again, her face tensing. “I never learned how to use my magic, or control it. But I can, when the situation is dire, I can use it. As Krah’s forces were entering the borders of the town, I created a storm to prevent the men from being able to fight properly.” She swallowed, but she wouldn’t look down. However clear the conflict she felt was, she wouldn’t look ashamed now. But she did look heavy, tired, and sad. “I couldn’t control it. Krah’s men were dispersed, but the town-”

Now Olive did look away, biting her lip. After a moment, she let out another long breath, and turned back to Erwin.

“The town was my doing. I couldn’t control what I started. What Krah’s men didn’t burn, my magic destroyed. I’m responsible for that.”

It was, perhaps, a stripped down version of what happened. But it was true. It was more than Olive had originally intended to tell Erwin, but once she had started, she couldn’t stop her tongue. She’d held her tongue until she was beaten unconscious before. But somehow she didn’t have the capacity now. Maybe it was because Erwin was only asking after her involvement. For once, she had no one else to protect.

Erwin, for what it was worth, listened silently and attentively to her story as she relayed it, his facial expression not changing much even with each new twist in the narrative. When she finished and sagged her shoulders, the silence enveloped the room, broken only by the gentle crackle of logs in the study's large hearth.

So Krah had willingly attacked the village in order to find this girl. He could see why: her worth as a mage prisoner was beyond immeasurable. Having the daughter of a former Duke paraded around in a mage camp would have done much to destroy the confidence of other mages still at large. How could they hope for any chance when even one with as much influence as Constance Carwick received no respite?

It also proved to him two other things. First, Calent was beyond mad. To let his dog loose like that, and to murder innocent villagers for the singular purpose of rooting out one mage? Erwin could hardly believe it. And even if the Grand Duke did not authorize Krah's rampage, he should have known that would have happened, and that made him accountable.

The second thing was that Olive was also directly responsible for the destruction of Valance. Which means that, despite her good intentions, she also had to be held accountable. No easy task considering how much controversy she'd already stirred up simply by setting foot back in Wulfbauer Keep.

With a sigh of frustration, Erwin closed his eyes and fumbled for his cup of tea, taking a long sip of the hot soothing drink. "Krah must be brought to justice. I'll be damned if I see him set foot in this duchy again and not in chains."

And you too...

It was just as well that Olive couldn't read his thoughts, or that Erwin hadn't said anything aloud about the relative value of sending Olive to the camps 'to be paraded around.' Because Olive had been sent to the camps. More than five years ago. The time since Constance Carwick could receive any 'respite' on virtue of her name or title or father had long since passed.

But instead Olive wondered what would happen to her? Because that was, in fact, her greatest fear. Going back there... She wouldn't. Somewhere in the chaos of Hellvion or Valance, she'd lost the hidden poison that would ensure she would never go to the camps. That would lull her instead to sleep as it stopped her heart. But even without it, this time Olive wouldn't go. Whatever she had to do. She felt it as strongly, and instinctually as one would flee a burning building.

Olive watched Erwin carefully. She wanted to speak out for herself. Explain how dire the situation had been. That if she'd done nothing it wouldn't just be a town that was destroyed, that the people would have all been slaughtered. All of them. Surely Erwin knew Krah's reputation as well, or better, than Olive did. But if she'd never been there, perhaps the people would have been spared entirely. If they'd still come into Krah's path... maybe not.

But how would she explain that? How could she communicate to someone who had an army, a duchy, at his disposal just why she had agreed to step foot in the village in the first place? What it was like to be alone, with no options, no one to turn to. Even in the army, even in combat, the men weren't alone. What it was like to be hunted by people who would certainly kill you - or worse - not just that day, but every day? It was easy to think loftily, from a seat of safety, that Olive never should have accepted the help of the villagers. That she should have accepted that she was the one the Templar wanted, and that either she should escape him on her own or face the consequences. Even for her, it was easy to think that now, but in the moment...

She said none of that, though. Erwin hadn't asked her any further questions, so she didn't speak. Olive only waited, and silently prayed that, when the Duke of Wulfbauer made a decision on her fate, he'd hang her here rather than turn her over to be returned to the north.

((A long post, in which nothing happens! Oops.))

Erwin set his tea down and stared off at nothing in particular, mulling over his options. The obvious option was to hang her here and now, for her involvement with the destruction of Valance. Perhaps she had been doing what she thought was best, and perhaps she'd saved more lives than harmed. But the laws of Wulfbauer had to be respected.

Except that everything had changed. The moment he hanged her, the castle (indeed, the entire duchy) would be in an uproar. Mage or not, the Carwick lineage meant something to the populace and for this new upstart Duke to essentially eradicate what was left of his predecessors would not sit all too well with his citizens. And at the end of the day... weren't they the reason for his dukeship? His duty was to them.

Then there was the option of having her shipped back up to the camps, but what was the point in that? To appease Calent and the mage-hating nobility siding with him? As far as he was concerned, until either the Grand Duke or Krah himself answered for crimes against Wulfbauer, he would not acquiesce to either. If they wanted to exact their own justice on Constance, then he wanted his own justice.

Which left the only one option for him right now: keep her alive.

"If you were in my position, what would you have me do with you?" he asked her calmly, trying to gauge her opinion. He didn't expect her to beg for her life, but perhaps she could be reasonable in deciding her own fate.

Olive hadn't expected to have the decision of her fate foist back upon her. In truth, she didn’t think that the destruction of the town was itself a crime, though it was what she regretted most. Any battle wrought devastation, and rarely were the people acting in defense held accountable, legally, for protecting themselves or others. But the act of her defense, now that was a crime. Magic use, to whatever end, was always a crime. If it killed or saved, it didn’t matter. And perhaps the biggest crime, in the eyes of the law, was one Erwin had perhaps not considered yet. The fact that she was here at all. Constance Carwick was an escapee. She should be in the mage camps now. And there was only one way out of the camps. Through uprising.

Her gaze shifted sideways, down to a dark knot in the grain of the hardwood floor. His question, at least, she gave serious consideration. She thought for several silent moments. Not trying to decide what she thought was right, or what she thought was just, but what she would do. If she were him. In his position.

“If I were in your position,” she started - she spoke slowly, deliberately, still looking at the knot in the wood, “I would hang me. Or, however you like to do it. The method wouldn't really matter. Quietly, without any public display. Then I would disavow any rumors that the mage brought here was Constance Carwick. Not very many people saw me, after all. That way you would avoid releasing a mage,” she would not call herself a criminal, “which would reflect badly on you and on Wulfbauer and might stoke the ire of other duchies, or of Calent. And you, personally, Duke Therrien, would avoid bearing the responsibility of ending the line that preceded you, if it were publicly known who I was. Which might cause further unrest at home, and would be no better for Wulfbauer than it would be for you.”

Provided, of course, that Erwin Therrien was good for Wulfbauer. She glanced back at him, wondering.

"You've been here half a day, Constance, and the entire castle already knows your identity," Erwin said with another soft sigh as he pushed off from his table. Stepping to the hearth, he stared into its crackling flames pensively.

"Hang you or not, I doubt even I'll be able to quash that rumor. You know what sort of reaction your family name brings about? No, you're more useful to the duchy alive at the moment."

He turned.

"You'll remain a prisoner for now, at least until I can sort out this business with Krah and the Grand Duke. I'm more concerned about a repeat of Valance than I am with executing or exiling a single mage."

Was it the right thing to do? It was his decision in the end, but he hadn't held this dukeship long enough to know what the consequences of it might be. Perhaps his utter shock at how the God of War could be allowed to ravage his countryside and not have justice served upon him clouded his judgment.

"Welcome home."

Olive couldn’t hide her reaction to his choice of words. A mix of hurt and surprise, and perhaps anger. ’Welcome home.’ It felt like a slap in the face. Or, more accurately, a punch in the stomach. Was he taunting her?

But she swallowed it, recomposed herself, and nodded in acceptance of his decision. At least, she thought, in the dungeon she'd be safer than she'd been for a long, long time. At least she could stop running for awhile. For however long it suited the duke, that was. Though she was left wondering… Did half the castle really know she was here? How could they? She thought of Bairn’s reaction to seeing her. Olive had never really considered, before that, that anyone might be happy to see her again. Not anyone from this life.

After a moment, she asked, “Can I ask a favor, Duke Therrien?”

Erwin had stepped back to the table and once again had his arms folded across his chest. Nobody had told him that being a Duke would be so difficult. Then again, nobody had the need to.

He looked up. "That depends on the favor."

"My dowry should still exist," she started, betting that even if her parents had thought she'd died - or especially if they had - they would have kept the dowry of their only child set aside. "I'd like that to be used to rebuild Valance. I know it won't make supplies less scarce after the winter. But that way you won't have to redirect general funds from the duchy."

After all, it wasn't like she'd need it. And the guilt she felt for the town was plain on her face.

Erwin fell silent as he gazed across at her, listening to her heartfelt words. It really was hard not to be sympathetic of her situation, considering how difficult her life must have been these last years. He couldn't even begin to imagine the horror she had to endure at the mage camps. And though her use of magic was perhaps ill-conceived, he could see the remorse in her eyes.

He nodded once. "I'll see that it is done."

Standing, he began maneuvering toward the closed door, where presumably a handful of guards stood on the other side, waiting for their Duke's order. Before throwing the doors open though, he paused and looked over his shoulder back at her.

"I suppose I should at least offer you the chance to bathe and have a hot meal."

More than any prisoner deserved, really. But she was no ordinary prisoner.

“Thank you.”

Olive meant it, even if spending her gold would do Erwin no harm. He could have, after all, given her a much harder time than he had. Or, sensing that the offer would give her some solace, he could have denied it to her. She wouldn’t have been surprised. Was she surprised by this?

She wasn’t sure. But she was surprised by what he said next. Olive was expecting him to open the door, turn her back over to the guards, and back to her cell. She stared at him for a moment, her surprise evident.

“If you wish to.” She didn’t know what else to say. As she watched him there, Olive tried to conjure up memories of Erwin from her youth. But that life was so far away now. All of it could have been a dream. Being forced back into it was even more surreal. No, she decided. She didn’t know what to make of the son of Marsden Therrien's son, who was now her Duke.

Erwin opened the doors then, and was greeted by three of the castle guards. While they all stood at their Duke's attention, all three were stealing glances past the Duke and to the ragged little prisoner past him. It was hard to tell whether they were more concerned about her being a mage or being Lady Carwick, but all three appeared very interested in the prisoner.

"Have her bathed, clothed, and fed," Erwin said quietly to them. "And then take her to the East Wing."

At that command, the guards all stiffened and saluted. They all knew what was in the East Wing: a high room with the narrowest of windows and sparse amenities, and only a single entrance down. It had originally been built to house high-ranking prisoners of war awaiting ransom, but had never been used for anything more than storage. If this mage was to be placed there...

then her identity was confirmed. It HAD to be Constance Carwick.

The curious gaze of the guards didn't seem to faze Olive. She glanced at them, making eye contact with each one in turn, then turned her gaze back to Erwin. The East Wing. When she was a girl, the stablehand's boy and her used to play in that room, pretend to be kidnappee and dashing savior in turn. Of course Erwin wouldn't know that. But it didn't really matter, Olive supposed. Every corner of this place would be filled with some memory. In some ways, she would rather be kept in the dungeon.

Olive got up compliantly when one of the guards came to take her arm, gentler now than he had been before. She followed him, but paused in the doorway, looking back at Erwin.

"Can I ask one more favor?" she asked, looking uncertain now, her face tensing with mostly controlled emotion. This was a real favor. Not like offering her dowry. This was a personal favor. "Could I," she paused, swallowed, "could I visit the graves of my parents? At some time? I can be escorted, but..."

Somehow, she couldn't find the words to finish the request.

As the guards began to lead her away and she struggled through one final request, Erwin paused and looked to her. This time he saw the pained vulnerability behind her rebellious exterior as she faltered at the mention of the late Duke and Duchess. A frown creased his brow, and his lips pressed together firmly.

It was easy to forget her lineage, and the tragedy that had befallen the Carwick line. Her father and mother would be interred in the same grand mausoleum as every other Duke and Duchess -- including Erwin's own father. And both of Constance's cousins.

"I'll have you taken there tomorrow," he promised quietly before the guards led her away.

The East Wing had been mostly cleared out by the time they arrived, leaving only a sparse bed, a table, and a chair. A large wooden basin had also been brought to the room, its steaming water awaiting.

Bethany, the head housemaid of the castle, stood expectantly with a towel and some simple linens in hand. They were from the servant quarters, likely nothing a noblewoman would be accustomed to. But they were clean.

OOC: I’m stealing your bold text speech thing, because it makes it way easier to scan posts after the fact. And because I’m a stealing thief! Also, sorry for the super-long post… >.>

---

It had been a long time since Olive had really considered herself a noblewoman. The criminal mage daughter of a dead duke didn’t make one much of nobility, she’d thought. She remembered when the Templar, Kentamin, had finally realized that she was 'Constance Carwick of Wulfbauer' and looked at her anew. Now I’m Nobody of Nowhere. That’s what she’d told him. And she’d believed it. Years had passed since Olive had anywhere clean, dry, and warm to sleep. Much less a hot bath.

It was just as well Erwin sent her here. Anything closer to the life of a noblelady, her old life, might have sent her into shock.

The door shut loudly behind her and Olive was left alone with Bethany. Olive rubbed her wrists, which were finally unbound by the guards, then looked at the maid. She wasn’t a maid Olive knew, and Olive glanced nervously at her; somehow it was much easier to be confident and self-assured with soldiers. They exchanged curt greetings, but before Olive had the chance to say anything else (if she was going to), the sound of a shrill argument erupted outside the door of the room.

Olive knew the voice, but she couldn’t quite place it. It was a woman, and it didn’t sound like the two guards posted outside of Olive’s room were faring too well with her. Olive exchanged looks with Bethany; it looked like the maid knew full well who was on the other side of the door. A few moments later, the door opened just long enough to admit a woman of about fifty, looking brisk and red-faced from the argument. Once she was inside, she looked at Olive with shock. It was Grace, she realized then, her mother’s lady’s maid. She’d always been quite strict with Olive when she was a girl and a teenager, but now the woman dropped the bundle she’d been carrying in her arms and rushed forward pulled Olive tightly into her arms with a strength that surprised Olive.

”Oh lord, it’s true,” Grace muttered to herself, holding tightly onto the dirty, skinny mage. ”Well all feared… Your poor mother was sure...“ She stopped there, holding Olive tighter against her for a moment before taking her by the shoulders and holding her an arms’ length away to get a look at her. Grace lightly touched the bruise on Olive's face, making a disapproving cluck and releasing a small sigh. She knew where that bruise came from. Olive, for her part, could find nothing to say. She looked back at Grace’s face, unexpectedly tender, with a tumble of emotions she couldn’t quite put a name to. ”Well, let’s get you cleaned up.”

Bethany frowned, and finally cut in. ”Grace, I’m not sure you’re supposed to -”

But Grace cut her off with a look. Everybody knew that a lady’s maid was of a higher rank than a housemaid, even the head housemaid, even a lady’s maid who no longer had a lady. And servants had as strict a hierarchy as the nobility.

Grace set about removing the travelers’ rags Olive was wearing, still damp and dirty from the dungeon. Olive always hated being dressed or undressed, but she understood the kindness Grace was doing her now. Once Olive stepped, naked, out of the last of the clothing, though, Olive heard Grace gasp from behind her.

”Oh, Olive! What- what happened to you?” Bethany moved to look, and Olive heard a similar, but more muted, sound of surprise from the younger maid.

It took Olive a moment to understand what Grace was talking about. At first she thought the maid was going to scold her for being so skinny. She certainly had done when Olive was a teenager, but- Oh. Olive remembered the lattice of scars covering her back. It had been so long ago, it seemed, that she’d earned those. She’d been caned nearly to death, holding her tongue to protect a priest who she thought had been a friend… Olive felt Grace’s cool hand on her back, lightly tracing one of the scars.

”It’s okay, Grace,” she said quietly, looking over her shoulder at the older woman, seeing her eyes wet, ”they’re old. They’ve healed.”

Grace nodded stiffly, but her emotion was apparent. Grace had been, of course, the Duchesses sounding board for years, listening to all her worries and fears. Including, no doubt, her worries about what had become of the daughter they’d never heard from after her parents had consented to her internment in Calent’s new camps.

Olive was bathed and cleaned. Once they got to work, Grace composed herself again and talked in a continuous stream. A mix of chiding about the state of Olive’s hair - which Grace said she was happy to see long again, but hadn’t been looked after at all! - and updates on Grace’s children and grandchildren. When they were done, Grace suddenly remembered the bundle she’d dropped when she first came in.

”I brought these from your old room,” she said, picking up what Olive now realized was old clothing of hers. She stared. It was a simple outfit, in forest and spring green, of Connlaothian ladies’ trousers and a blouse, tunic, and a warm shawl, but it was much nicer than the alternative. And sewn into the tunic, the Mark. Olive swallowed. ”I had to sneak in there to get them, but they're yours so I don’t think anyone can complain,” she said with a pointed look to Bethany. ”And we can’t have you dressed in those rags.”

For the night, though, Grace had also brought a warm, snug nightgown. It had also been hers. Once she was in it, Grace worked her wet hair into a tight, spiraling braided bun, something she said Olive could ignore without damaging too much. Then the two maids left the girl with a tray of warm food from the kitchen.

”Thank you for coming Grace,” Olive said as they left, then offered Bethany a nod and a small, uncertain smile. ”Good night.”

Of all the food on her plate, simple but hearty fare, Olive’s eyes fell onto one small, golden cake set to the side. A moon cake, it was called. They could be made and stored for some time, and Olive used to steal them from the kitchens when she was a girl. A moon cake.

Suddenly Olive found herself choking back sobs. For what, she wasn’t sure. For everything, maybe. Her parents, Valance, the small kindnesses the staff were showing her, her old life that was gone but was cropping up now like ghosts, and her new life that would only last as long as the new duke saw fit.

________________________________________________

The next day, Olive sat perched in the narrow window of the room, looking out. The spring snow had stopped and the day was bright and blue and everywhere the snow was melting. A steady drip-drip-drip streamed down the window from icicles melting from the stone above. Grace had come back and dressed her and brought her breakfast, but no one was permitted to stay longer than needed. Olive was impressed that Grace had managed to come back at all. Now she gazed out the window at the familiar landscape of her home. What had once been her home.

The door clicked, and a guard entered. ”Lady Constance,” he said stiffly, ”We’ve been authorized to take you to the cemetery. If you’ll follow me.”

Olive slid down off the window sill, her heart suddenly beating loudly in her head. To the cemetery. ”Thank you,” was all she said as she followed the two guards out.

The two guards led Olive out of the East Wing and down a long, painfully empty corridor toward the Keep's foyer. Paintings of past Dukes sat upon the walls in this corridor, the oldest of which was so aged that its facial features were difficult to distinguish. Aside from the painted eyes of dead Dukes though, the hall was empty.

Double doors led out of the East Wing and to the grand staircase of the foyer, and the scenery changed drastically past the doorway. Where the Wing was all but deserted save for its lone prisoner, the foyer was abuzz with activity as a handful of soldiers patiently waited for Olive to be brought down. They were dressed to travel: thick coats and riding boots over their armor.

In their midst stood Erwin, also dressed to ride. His clothing was perhaps a bit muted for a Duke, simple browns and furs to protect from the cold. When Olive appeared at the top of the staircase, the Duke's brow raised slightly at the sight of her clothing. He knew Grace's close connection with the Carwicks, and he couldn't say that he was surprised to see Constance in her old garb.

The procession led out the gatehouse and to the bailey where a handful of stablehands stood waiting with a line of horses. Among them was Bairn who gulped at the sight of Olive and the fresh bruise on her face, but said nothing. After all, the very fact that she still lived brought a spark of hope to those who still idolized the Carwicks.

"It may have been a while, but I remember you were a fine rider," Erwin said to Olive as the horses were brought their way.

Olive might have been the most uncomfortable to be back in her old clothes. She felt as though the Mark embroidered into the tunic was burning straight through her skin. She'd sworn to herself that she'd never wear that again. How many mages, she wondered, had consented to wearing the Mark after seeing the young Lady Carwick wearing it without shame? And how much easier they were to round up once it all started...

At the sight of Erwin and the small company of soldiers, however, Olive had to suppress a frown. She'd known she would have to be escorted, she was a prisoner after all, but she imagined the guards who came to fetch her would take her. This felt much more, well, public. Of course, a Duke's family was always public. But Olive wasn't part of a duke's family anymore. Her father was dead, and she was a mage. She looked at Erwin, making the smallest of silent greetings, and she wondered if Erwin was coming along to gauge her reactions for some purpose of his own.

Olive understood, however, that if she wanted to do this, she would have to do it on the duke's terms. So she followed the small company of the duke and his armoured soldiers. In the bailey, Bairn immediately caught her eye, and she gave him a small smile to reassure his frown. She wished that she could just have some time alone with him. It'd been so long.

Erwin's comment cut into Olive's thoughts, and she looked over to him. Her expression was uncertain, almost suspicious; it seemed like a strange compliment from a man who had coolly told her only yesterday that it was most useful to keep her alive for now. She looked at him, turning this over, for probably too long before she finally said plainly, "I can still ride."

The company got on their horses, and when Bairn brought Olive's horse around to her, she felt a leap in her heart as she recognized the black mare, marked only by a white star on her forehead. It was her horse. Searchlight. She held a hand out, touching the soft velvet of the horse's nose before she looked back up and caught Bairn's smile. The stablehand helped Olive into a riding coat, then  he handed her a small satchel. Inside were neat bundles of bright yellow and purple crocuses and white snowdrops. The only flowers blooming this early in the spring.

"I knew you wouldn't be able to collect any yourself," he told her quietly, then held open the satchel so that the soldiers and Erwin could see that it was only flowers, no secret contraband for the prisoner. Five little bundles. For her parents, her cousins, and, she realized, Erwin's father. The old Master of Horse. Moved, Olive stared at the diminutive little flowers for a moment before shouldering the satchel, then she leaned quickly forward and kissed Bairn on the cheek.

Olive mounted her horse, smiling again at Bairn as he returned to the stables, then waited for her escort to lead the way. Only then realizing that 'the way' was through the town. And they were riding there. On horseback, not in a coach. For anyone to see. For everyone to see. A cold, sinking feeling grew in her stomach, but when the guard set out, she urged Searchlight to follow with them. What was Erwin Therrien thinking?

---

OOC: I stole the cemetery location from your other thread. Hope I got it right!

Erwin watched the exchange with contemplative silence, saddling his own horse even as Olive embraced the old stablehand. Bairn was a good man and very proficient at his job, and nobody could fault him for holding sentimental value in the Carwick family name. After all, that lineage had been so synonymous with Wulfbauer that even Erwin himself had difficulty sometimes realizing that the Carwicks no longer ruled the Duchy. It felt strange to him even now, hearing the words "Duke" and "Therrien" in the same breath.

As the procession rode out the gates of the Keep and through the streets of Wulfbauer toward the cemetery, Erwin's observant blue eyes noted the way people stopped and stared from the street, from windows, from every which way. Evidently rumors had spread quite quickly and if there were nonbelievers before, now everyone could confirm that Constance Carwick was indeed alive. Funny how much difference a bath and a new wardrobe could make.

Inwardly Erwin chastised himself for arranging horses instead of a carriage. Truthfully he hadn't thought of the ramifications of riding out in the open with this woman, the mage symbol sewn into her clothing. Would the people think differently of him? Would they take this the wrong way? He didn't know.

His expression hardened into something unreadable as the group trotted their way down the streets and into the cemetery. It was a drab place like most cemeteries, except that the headstones here were all immaculately kept and often ornate. After all, it wasn't just anyone who could be buried here. The cemetery was punctuated by the grand mausoleum in its direct center, a giant structure that looked more like a cathedral than anything. Two honor guards stood solemnly at the doorway, for it was indeed a great honor to stand watch over the Mausoleum of Dukes.

As they all dismounted, the two guards saluted Erwin (and perhaps Olive) and opened the large double doors for them. The rest of the party remained outside, but Erwin gestured for Olive to enter into the torchlit interior with him. Steps led downward into catacombs, the resting place of every Duke and Duchess of Wulfbauer. Erwin had to swallow down his uneasiness. After several months of assuming the dukeship, he still had difficulty coming here.

Olive rode straight-backed, and a little wide-eyed, through the streets of the town, trying hard to keep her eyes on the horse's ears. Just as something to focus on. Something else to focus on beside the growing number of gazes glued to her. With the Mark embroidered on her riding coat, she felt like a sitting duck. But the stares and whispers she garnered as the assembly passed through the town didn’t feel threatening, or aggressive exactly. Olive wasn’t sure what they were, though. The attention made her feel uneasy and uncomfortable, whatever the people were thinking. It wasn’t like being in the castle, where the people there were at least people she knew (and knew her), at least many of them. This felt like being on display.

As they rode, Olive’s eyes strayed from the horse to peer back at a group of people from the corner of her eye. A small girl, likely too young to know who she was, made eye contact with her, making Olive gulp. But she held the girl’s gaze until the horse had moved too far forward. At least, she thought, this way it wouldn’t be long until everyone knew she was alive.

What that would mean, though, she didn’t know.

It was a relief at first to exit the town and enter the cemetery. For a moment, Olive felt like she could breathe again. But it only lasted a moment before the drew up to the stone mausoleum. She froze in her saddle, at first unable or unwilling to dismount. Could her parents really be in there?

The soldiers all dismounted, though, and so did Erwin. So, numbly, Olive did likewise, accepting the hand of a soldier as she dismounted that she may otherwise have refused. When Erwin beckoned for Olive to follow him into the cold stone corridors of the resting place of the Dukes and Duchess of Wulfbauer, she hung back. Suddenly she did not want to go in. She didn’t want to see proof. Her instinct, in that moment, was to bolt. Like a rabbit or a deer fleeing its captors at the first chance. But she took a deep breath, and walked slowly into the torch-lit light of the mausoleum.

It felt like miles of stairs and corridors and catacombs before they reached more recent tombs. How long it really was, she had no idea. Her eyes, wide and a little shell-shocked, scanned the names of her predecessors until at least they came to the fresh, smooth granite that read


Olive stopped dead in her tracks, clasping a hand to her mouth that covered a small choking sound. For many moments, she simply stared, frozen in place. It was true. She had known it was true. But in that moment, when she saw their names, it was real. She would never see her parents again. She would never be able to make peace with them, to apologize to them, to forgive them, to tell them that she had come out fine, that she didn’t blame them. Never be able to tell them that she understood, now, why they had been so strict with her at times, why they didn’t want her to stand out, never thank them for how hard they must have fought to keep her with them, at home, and not with the Church. Never anything.

Her heart felt like it was going to burst. All the tension that had been between them before the war. All the time she’d spent worrying about them after. All the time, she knew, they must have spent worrying about her. She’d never even been allowed to send them a letter. And if they wrote any to her, she’d never received it. What must they have thought became of me, she wondered, when they went to their graves?

Finally, she took a slow step first towards her father’s tomb. She’d had an easier relationship with her father. She’d known about his death, and had been able to mourn him. She touched it gently, then rested her forehead against the cold stone. Olive pressed her eyes shut tight, and her breath was heavy with emotion, but she wouldn’t let herself cry. Not in front of Erwin Therrien. For some reason, she just couldn’t. But she wished very much that she’d been allowed to go this far alone.

After several moments, she stepped away from her father’s tomb and stood in front of her mother’s. Her expression turned from sadness to simple disbelief. Her fingers traced lightly over the beveled letters of her mother’s name. Harlow had been a duke, a military man, Olive had been told of his death and, as much as it grieved her, she understood how it happened. But her mother… It had only been a matter of days since Olive had learned of her mother's death. She didn't even know how it had happened. It couldn't be true, but her fingers felt the truth of it written in the stone...

”We fought the last time I saw her,” she said suddenly aloud, though it wasn’t clear if she was talking to Erwin or only herself. ”Because I’d cut my hair short. It was so stupid. To think of it now… I just can’t… I was never even able to send a letter, or…”

Olive fell quiet for a moment, and if Erwin looked at her, the struggle to keep her emotions composed would be readily apparent. She took a long, ragged breath, then glanced back at the duke. ”Do you know… Do you know how she died? I didn’t, I only learned recently that...” She voice caught and she turned away from him, her gaze returning to the unbelievable letters of her mother’s name.

---

OOC: Since Erwin probably should know, Caroline died of influenza or consumption or something of that nature during the long winter.

Erwin stood some steps away from Olive as she stood over the tombs of her parents, giving her ample space to grieve on her own terms. The torchlight down here flickered dimly up and down the catacombs, casting dark shadows here and there, but at least there was no wind to howl through the corridors. Out of the corner of his eye, he could just see a small alcove further down from the graves of Avery and Caspian Carwick, in which another familiar person lay -- his father, Marsden Therrien.

He wasn't looking in her direction when she spoke aloud, her soft voice echoing through the catacombs. His eye were locked upon the distant grave of Duke Therrien, and perhaps she might have seen a glimmer of something different in his face. He looked more somber at that moment, more lost.

Upon hearing Olive's wavering voice, the Duke looked to her with a hardened expression, but said nothing. She'd already turned away by then, and he was thankful that she missed the pursing of his lips. After all, despite how well he outwardly kept his emotions in check, he did truly sympathize with her grief.

"The winter took her," he said quietly. "When every house grew cold, and fuel was too scarce to burn, she took ill and passed some months ago. I am sorry."

Olive nodded numbly. Even if she hadn't looked away before Erwin turned his eyes to her, it would have been unlikely that she'd have noticed his expression in that moment. Images flooded her mind of her mother cold and sick and dying, and alone? Olive hoped very much that she had returned to her family home before the end. That she hadn't been in alone Wulfbauer Keep, where her husband and daughter were long gone from. But she wouldn't ask the specifics now.

She spent a long time staring at the tombs, touching the cold stone as if to verify that they were real, and fighting back tears before composing herself with a long, ragged breath. She rubbed her face, hiding for half a moment behind her hands, before she made herself do what she knew she would have to do. Move on. Carefully, she selected the two largest bundles of spring flowers from the satchel and unbound them. Rather than lay the carefully arranged flowers, she spread the crocuses and snow drops carefully over the tombs of her parents, covering them in flowers.

Then Olive forced herself to continue to the tombs of Avery and Caspian. Like with her mother, she simply couldn't believe that they were down here. That it was really them. They were both so young... She had to resist the urge to pry open the lids of the tombs to see their wasting bodies for herself. How could they really be there? She thought of Avery, who she should have married, if the world had turned out differently, who she always thought would have been a very good duke. He was kind, and patient, and strong. Everything a ruler should be. And Caspian, who'd been a kindred soul to her growing up; not regal like his elder brother, but carefree, mischievous, and adventurous. They'd been more or less the same age, and Caspian and Olive had gotten into a world of trouble as children and teenagers. Now he was here. Now they were both here.

"They're too young to be here," she muttered, more to herself than to Erwin. "How can they be lying here?"

Olive thought about asking Erwin if either had any time to serve as Duke. The quick procession of fallen dukes - her father, Avery, Cass, Marsden Therrien - suggested that they might not have. But she found herself unwilling to, or perhaps unable. He wasn't her friend or her peer, she reminded herself, he was her captor. She wiped her cheek, which had grown wet, then set the bundled flowers onto the resting place of her cousins.

Finally that left old Marsden Therrien. Olive took a step towards the last tomb, remembering all the times she had bothered the old Master of Horse when she was a girl, and how kind he had been to her. It was only then that she thought of Erwin. His son. Olive looked back at Erwin then, and actually looked at him. However hard he might try to hide it, he couldn't keep all emotion from his face.

"I'm sorry for the loss of your father. He was a good man, and very kind." she said slowly, eyes not wavering this time from Erwin. "I wanted to tell you yesterday, but..." she sighed, looking back at the last grave. "I suppose I didn't want to seem like I was trying to curry favor. I'm sorry."

Olive placed the last bundle of flowers on the last grave, then stepped back, looking at the row of tombs. Five tombs, five deaths, five people she would never see again. Five more things they war had stolen from her.

Erwin let out a soft sigh as he turned away from his father's tomb. Even now he had difficulty staring at the inscription in the stone bearing the name of Marsden Therrien. He hadn't had the proper time to mourn like his younger siblings, especially not since he'd immediately been thrust into this role the moment his father drew one final breath and expired. Even now he had difficulty processing the fact that Wulfbauer had lost four dukes in six months. Avery had only several months to take in the role. Caspian never even had the chance to formally set foot back in Wulfbauer Keep. Both had been tragically mowed down in battle.

He'd known Avery, of course. The two of them had served together in the military and were quite familiar with one another, on a professional if not personal level. He'd been a good man, and would have made a fine duke. Marsden would also have made a fine duke, if only he'd had more time.

Would Erwin?

"Thank you for your condolences," he said quietly to Olive, looking sadder and wearier than before. Perhaps it was the fact that they were underground, away from the crowds of critiquing eyes, that he finally let some of his stony exterior crumble away. The two of them were more similar at that moment than they could have realized.

"My father should be the one to rule this land," he said under his breath, looking off at nothing in particular. "He knows what to do."

Stepping forward, he removed his gloves and placed a hand on the small bundle of flowers. Even through the harsh winter, Wulfbauer's beauty found a way to spring back up through the unforgiving snowdrifts. Bairn must've spent a great deal of time picking this many flowers. That's how much respect he had for Olive.

She probably knew how to run the Duchy better than him. But here they were, their roles reversed.

"It's good to know you're alive, Constance," he said suddenly. "The Duchy needs its Carwicks."

OOC: Tragically mowed down!

---

He knew what to do. Olive thought that silently to herself, but she wouldn’t say it out loud to Erwin. All of these men were firmly in the past tense. All of these men... Olive looked back to Caspian’s tomb. He’d barely been a man the last time she’d seen him.

What he said next, though, took him by surprise and for the moment shook her from her reverie of family memories. The Duchy needs its Carwicks. She looked at him a long time, and though grief still masked her face, her expression changed a little. Studying him, uncertain what to make of his words.

“Wulfbauer needed my father, maybe,” she answered finally, quietly, ”or Avery. I think Avery would have-” Her throat caught and she took a moment before continuing, her voice a bit more strained, ”Avery would have been a fine duke. And Cass would have grown into it. But I’m a woman, and a mage. I’m not like they were.”

Her eyes slid away from Erwin, back to her father's tomb behind them, and when she spoke she sound tired, or defeated, "Wulfbauer doesn't need Constance Carwick."

"They may yet," Erwin replied quietly, finally stepping up to the marker on his father's tomb.


The inscription was cold to the touch, and so smooth. It wouldn't be difficult to see just how new it was. New in more ways than one, for it was the only tomb in this catacomb that did not bear the name Carwick, or at least the only one out of those still legible. Perhaps Wulfbauer Keep had housed a family other than the Carwicks at some point, but time had worn away the names on those grave markers. Only the history books held their names now.

"Woman or not, mage or not... you represent the dynasty that ruled this duchy for Ansgar knows how long. The people will we glad for your presence."

Or at least knowing that the lineage lived on. He couldn't tell for sure how they might react to the news that their new Duke had defied Calent's orders with regards to mages.

And at the very least, Erwin was inwardly glad. If she truly was her father's daughter, she'd know more about running the Duchy than him. His eyes drifted back to his father's grave and his brow furrowed. Father, what would you have done here?

They may yet.

Olive wasn't sure what to make of those words, or what Erwin was thinking when he spoke them. She watched him for a long moment as he inspected his father's tomb. She searched her memory for impressions of Erwin before, what he was like, and what kind of man he might be now. What kind of duke he would be. But she came up with little. She'd been much younger than him, at least by the calculation of children; Erwin had been half adult by the time she was old enough to have any memories of him.

But more than anything, his words just added weight to the stone that was already weighing on her heart from visiting these graves. Olive had thought a lot about what responsibility her privilege brought her over the past years; the risks she could take that others could not. But it had been a long time since she'd thought about what her responsibility to Wulfbauer was. Surely the best thing for the duchy was for Olive to stay as far away from it as she could.

Wasn't it? She wondered now if this was why Erwin had rode them through the town. She doubted that Erwin was correct, but then she remembered Valance. The villagers had all stood beside her. Something in her stomach clenched at the thought.

Finally she let out a quiet sigh. She was emotionally exhausted, worn through, and was growing chilled in the cold air of the mausoleum. But she could think of nothing to say in response to Erwin's words. "We should go," she said instead. "I'm not sure I can stay here longer..."

Erwin nodded silently and gestured for her to follow him back up the steps. He, too, could only spend so much time down here, where the only things that lingered were cool moisture and sad memories.

As they stepped back up and out the mausoleum, the Duke paused at the entranceway. He'd come with a handful of soldiers, but that number seemed to have doubled since he and Olive had gone down into the tombs. A slight frown creased his brow as one of his soldiers approached.

"My Duke," the man said with a salute, "the army has returned from Reajh, they will cross the border in the afternoon. Forward scouts have already arrived at the Keep with news. Your council has been summoned."

Erwin pressed his mouth together and glanced briefly to Olive. Back to business.

Olive followed Erwin out of the long halls of the Mausoleum, only glancing once over her shoulder back at the tombs of her parents and her cousins. The sight of more soldiers when they emerged stopped her short for a moment, and for half a moment before it registered that they were Wulfbauer soldiers, she thought they were from Hellvion or the Grand Duke, here to collect her.

But did anyone know, she wondered now, that she had been involved? At least to some extent, even if she hadn’t foreseen what would actually happen.

What the soldier said, though, made her eyes widen in only half-masked surprise. The army had returned from Reajh? Erwin had called back the Duchy’s army? All of it? She wouldn’t ask now, though; or she wouldn’t ask Erwin. Olive was smart enough to know that that wasn’t her place. Whatever Erwin had said in the dark of the Mausoleum, she was a prisoner. All the same, she was disappointed that they didn’t discuss the news there and then, and her heart raced to know what had happened.

The army has returned from Reajh.

They party returned to Wulfbauer Keep rather faster than they had left it. Olive was escorted back to the room in the East Wing to find a small stack of her things. Old things of hers; a few books, a sketch book, some pencils. And a note from Grace saying it was just a few things to pass the time. As grateful as she was, though, what Olive wanted was to know what was happening outside of the guarded little room.

---

And outside the little room in the East Wing, a breathless, red-cheeked rider was relaying the news from Reajh to Erwin and an assortment of his advisors.

”Your emissary to Reajh tried to contact the Grand Duke to confront him with the vile things his ‘General Krah’ has done, m’lord,” the scout panted, ”but the Grand Duke has only just returned to Reajh himself. He only just survived an attempt on his life. In Hellvion, at Duchess Melora’s ball. A rebel spirited in, a, a bomb, m’lord.

"Your emissary could get no audience with the Grand Duke, but one of his advisors said that if one village,” he swallowed, knowing no one was going to like what he’d have to say next, ”even by accident, if one farmer’s village in Wulfbauer was destroyed in the pursuit of these criminals, it was a price Reajh was willing to pay. Not the Grand Duke himself, m’lord, but one of his men.”

A murmur of shock and indignation ran like electricity through the assembled men. And all eyes turned to their duke, waiting to hear his reaction to this grim news.

The news was met with an equally grim expression from the Duke, though the blaze in Erwin's eyes failed to mask the anger boiling in the pit of his stomach.

So Calent had failed to respond to the Duke of Wulfbauer's urgent request for an answer. He couldn't pin the words of a lowly advisor on the Grand Duke himself, but those words were enough to question whether Calent would ever take responsibility for Valance and for Krah.

Even by accident, if one farmer's village in Wulfbauer was destroyed in the pursuit of these criminals, it was a price Reajh was willing to pay.

Of course news of the Hellvion disaster had trickled into Wulfbauer already, but reports on that attack were scattered and contradictory. Nobody on his staff knew for certain the extent of the damage, or whether these rebel mages had come remotely close to harming or killing the Grand Duke or any of the other nobles in attendance. It briefly occurred to him that he'd been invited to this same event days after he'd assumed his dukeship, perhaps as a gesture of goodwill from Melora, or as a means of gauging how he'd do in that social circle. Regardless, Erwin had declined in favor of tending to more domestic problems. Hindsight had justified that choice.

"Keep pressing for an answer," Erwin replied in a low, granite voice. "I want an answer from the Grand Duke. I want his own words, from his mouth."

His advisors all gathered closer to the Duke, some urging caution, others urging him to send a letter of apology and have the Wulfbauer army redeployed to Reajh.

"One village is worth these criminals," Erwin repeated, half to himself. His counsel all fell silent. Erwin's voice rose.

"No criminal is worth the innocent lives of Wulfbauer's people. Have the army sent to the border of Hellvion. Tell Calent that he either delivers the head of Krah Mordeth to me, or he is no Grand Duke of mine."


The silence remained as the gravity of the Duke's words weighed upon the gathered men. They knew he held one of the culprits of the Hellvion attack. Was he refusing to turn her over?

Would history justify this decision?
-------------

Evening was beginning to fall when a knock came at Olive's little East Wing door. The guard opened it to allow Grace in bearing a tray with a modest supper. More importantly, Grace carried a look of urgency on her face. As the door closed behind them, the old lady in waiting whispered, "You'll want to hear about this."

Olive had spent the rest of the day perched in the window sill, staring out the narrow window. The visit to the graves had left her emotionally exhausted and she was, in truth, grateful in that moment for the solitary nature of her confinement. But when Grace came in, she looked up. The woman wasn't supposed to stay with Olive for longer than necessary, and she was fairly certain that Grace wasn't supposed to stay and gossip with her.

So she glanced cautiously at the door, behind which were the two constant guards.

"What do you mean?" she finally asked, sliding down from the window sill and taking the tray from Grace. For now she set it aside, untouched, her attention on the older woman.

"Duke Erwin recalled the entire Wulfbauer army, every last man," Grace whispered under her breath as she fussed with both the dinner tray and with Olive's attire. If the guards were to peek in, they'd see an old lady doing her job.

"He's also calling for the Grand Duke to answer for Krah's actions at Valance. I think he means to defy Calent! This may end badly," she continued in a hushed voice. Her eyes searched Olive's, for both women knew -- she was right in the center of this whole situation.

"M'lord, of course we all agree with you on the value of Wulfbauer life, but are you sure this is the best way to preserve it? We must send our troops back, Duke Therrien. And the criminals that were captured in Valance, brought to justice. It's the only way. We cannot risk open defiance of the Grand Duke's orders."

The counselors were all abuzz after Erwin's pronouncement, fighting to speak over each other. No one was sure what to think.

"Rumors have spread that one of the prisoners," a voice finally cut through, an older lord, well past his years in the army, "is Lady Constance Carwick. If that is true, then the young lady can be no criminal. We must protect her. It is our duty to her father."

"Any mage can be a criminal!" the eldest son of another lord sneered. "A mage is a mage. That's what this has all been about, hasn't it? The law has been clear; all mages are to be handed over to the Grand Duke's men. Criminal mages are to be hanged."

That caused an uproar. A tumult followed: I refuse to believe that Lady Constance could have... - ...Our duty is to Wulfbauer, not to Calent's endless quests... - ...But if the army is called back... - ...could severely affect our trading...

Everyone, it seemed, had something to say. And none of them looked entirely confident in their young, untested new duke. After all, this hadn't been the man they had chosen. That man was under the earth.

---

"Call back the army? The entire army?" Olive repeated Grace's words, staring ahead at the blank wall as Grace tugged at and fussed over her hair. "I heard them say something of that when we were returning from... But I didn't realize they meant the duchy's entire forces."

"Oh, I wish your father were still alive, Olive," Grace fretted. "Duke Therrien is, well, he's a fine enough man, but..." Grace sighed. She shouldn't, of course, be speaking openly about her duke like that! But she prided herself on having spent most of her life serving the Carwicks. And this new duke; it would be a long time before Grace's image of him recovered from that thief woman he'd let run about! And now with the Grand Duke..

Olive cut in to save Grace from having to explain herself. "Any action that brings the war to a swifter end is a good one, Grace," she said, calmly but with a firmness that had been lacking from her voice since the flight from Hellvion. "If the dukes start to question the war... Calent can't keep it up forever. Some good may come of Duke Therrien's actions. Perhaps much good."

Grace sighed. She finished the bun and came around front to look at Olive properly. There was a sadness there, but also a compassion. Olive had forgotten how much these people were, well, like family. "Well, I hope you're right, Olive," she said wearily, putting a hand on Olive's cheek. Then her expression hardened and she continued with a strict tone more familiar to Olive's memory of her, "And if Duke Therrien thinks for just one minute that he's going to hand you over to anyone, don't you think we'll let him! You rest up now; you've had a hard day. I'll try and bring you news as I get it."

Olive gave Grace a small, sheepish smile, feeling a bit like a girl again. She supposed she probably was still a girl in Grace's eyes. But the smile faded as she watched the maid make her way out, and Olive suddenly called out after her, not yet sure about the wisdom of doing so, and she felt a heaviness set in upon her. Any action that brought the war to a swifter end... She shivered, thinking of what had happened in Hellvion. Would Roderick's actions bring the war to a swifter end, she wondered, remembering his anger, his pain... or simply a bloodier one?

She felt her own responsibility turn over in her stomach. What would her actions do?

Posted around a large table covered in maps and papers, the argument between the Duke's counselors raged on into the night. Hours and many pots of hot tea later, the small council remained divided as ever. Every man around that table could only agree on one thing: the prisoner housed in the East Wing was, indeed, Constance Carwick.

Her miraculous return to Wulfbauer notwithstanding, the noblemen continued to urge Erwin to act upon their suggestions, whether it be hanging Constance in the morning or ceding from the realm and declaring outright war on the Grand Duke. He didn't know who to trust. Indeed, the Duke could barely discern who was working toward whose interests. Were they faithful citizens of Wulfbauer? Did they have designs on the duchy for themselves? Were they in the palm of Calent?

"Enough. We will reconvene in the morning," the Duke finally said when the many candles in the study burned bright. With a frown and a gesture, he ordered his advisers out. Convinced that the Duke would not change his decision at least this evening, they all left without much protest.

With a groan Erwin practically collapsed into a cushioned chair and buried his head in a hand. Fumbling, he reached for his cup of tea and took a long sip, eyes closed as he tried to clear his head. Perhaps his declaration earlier in the day had been made out of momentary frustration, but he'd had the rest of the evening to weigh every side of the coin. He'd heard all the advice in the world.

And yet, something in his gut told him that he would not change his mind on this matter. He couldn't decide whether this was , wisdom, pride -- or foolishness.

A little while later, a knock sounded on Olive's little East Wing door, which swung open. Silhouetted against the hallway's torchlight Erwin stepped into the little room and pulled out one of her chairs for himself, sitting as the guards closed the door and locked it behind him.

"We need to talk about Hellvion," was all Erwin said.

Olive lay spread out on the hard, narrow bed, her hands folded behind her head. She stared at the ceiling, drifting between memories of this place, her family and her childhood, and the news that Grace had brought. Occasionally she wondered about what Erwin had said in the mausoleum. About how long he would think she was useful, and what would happen when he stopped. But mostly she thought about her parents and the chunk of her life that had been spent here with them. How far away it felt.

She pulled herself up into a sitting position when she heard the door open. Her surprise to see Erwin - and not one of the maids - was unmasked as he strode in and sat down. As that was the room's only chair, she swung her legs off the bed and sat perched on its edge. If she was surprised to see Erwin enter the room, though, she didn't look surprised at his statement. In fact, she was surprised she hadn't been questioned by him about it before. Not only Hellvion, but what Olive was doing - in general - alive and outside of the camps. And whatever it might have made her feel, she looked at him unfazed.

"Alright," she answered simply, waiting calmly for Erwin to say his piece.

Erwin leaned forward in his chair and clasped his hands together, thinking. He'd already put himself and the Duchy in a delicate situation today by sending to Calent what essentially amounted to an ultimatum. He had to be delicate with the way he handled this whole Hellvion situation.

But first, he had to know the background of it all. Looking up at Olive, he exhaled softly and began.

"I'm sure Grace has already slipped news to you of what I've spent today doing," he said. Before she could protest in the old maid, he raised a hand and added, "That's the decision I've made for now, but I need to know if I'm justified in doing so. Am I keeping an assassin in this castle?

"I'd heard about what transpired in Hellvion, at Duchess Melora's ball. But I know nothing of the details, and all I hear are conflicting stories. So be candid with me and tell me from the beginning what transpired."

Olive did open her mouth to protest, but not Erwin’s decision. She wasn’t quite presumptuous enough to give a wholly unsolicited opinion to a duke; her duke. Not at this moment, anyway. She’d opened her mouth to deny that Grace had told her anything. A lie, but a white one.

She’d been expecting, of course, Erwin to ask her about Hellvion. But she hadn’t expected him to ask so broadly. So she paused a long moment, studying Erwin and trying to decide what ‘from the beginning’ meant. If she gave away too much in response to his open-ended question, after all, she might risk more lives than her own. Finally she nodded her assent.

”I’m no assassin,” she said, starting slowly. ”And I did not know such a violent attack was going to happen. I was there. I stole Bryony’s invitation; we look enough alike. I wanted to find Avery, or someone, just to let them know that I was okay.I- I didn't know yet, about Avery and Cass, and before then, I had been purposefully avoiding returning to Wulfbauer.” Olive spoke carefully, but calmly, her tone and expression composed. She resolved to say nothing that wasn’t true, but she was mindful of what she said nonetheless. And it was true that she’d hoped to find Avery, though she hadn’t admitted it to her compatriots. ”But more than that, I wanted to tell people about what was happening, across the country and in the north, in the camps. People who might actually have the power to change something. It was risky and maybe stupid, of course, but having a ball like that, after the winter we’ve had, and with a war going on…”

Olive’s carefully composed expression cracked then, and her nose crinkled in the disgust that she felt about Melora’s lavish ball. She’d spent the winter scraping and starving herself, but more than that she’d been traveling through the country and seen how much everyone was scraping and starving. Including in Hellvion. It made her stomach churn again, thinking about the presumption of such a lavish and exclusive feast in the midst of all that.

Recomposing herself, Olive continued measuredly, ”The explosion happened before I had much of a chance. I wasn’t in the hall when it happened, so I can’t tell you exactly what happened there. I was outside with Aella and-”

Olive clamped her mouth shut, eyes widening a little as she suddenly realizing what she’d said. ”Please don’t ask her to confirm it,” she finally said, worry creeping into her measured tone. ”It would be a bad position for her to be in. If they knew she’d known a mage was there and hadn’t gone immediately to the guards or, I don’t know.”

Olive could only imagine Melora’s reaction to that. A childhood friend of Aella, Olive’d been strictly banned from their residence after she’d been Marked.

”Well, the explosion happened, and I fled of course. Many people did, but the consequences of being found for me were rather high. A templar who I had run into before, however, saw me as I was trying to get out and pursued me. He knew I was a mage. You know the story from there.”

Erwin, for his part, remained silent as Olive carefully weaved her narrative. It was clear from the start that she was choosing her words, but he didn't expect any less from any person in this position. He had not thought for a moment that she would spill every single detail, or admit to every charge against her.

His brow raised slightly at the mention of Aella. Like with Constance, Erwin had met her years ago and had little recollection on her as a person. He didn't even really know Duchess Melora all too well, for that matter. But that was another lead, and he lingered on that fact for a moment before tucking it away in his mind.

"The way you tell it," he finally said after a moment to digest her tale, "I'm to believe that you were there by coincidence, that you were not associated with whoever was responsible in Hellvion."

He leaned forward slightly, blue eyes gazing at Olive. Something in his expression seemed to suggest that he was both curious and appreciative of her honesty -- but also slightly disbelieving. She had more to tell.

"How did you escape the camps, and how did you ever intercept a letter bound for your cousin?"

"No, that isn't what I said."

Olive didn't hesitate to correct Erwin's assumption, though it was born out of her own omissions. She was still clear-eyed and composed. Olive knew how damning this conversation may end up for her, but she wasn't cowed and didn't seem afraid.

"I was not there coincidentally, and I was associated with the man I'm fairly certain was responsible. But I didn't lie. I didn't know his intentions, or when he formed them."

She didn't elaborate. She'd corrected his assumption and hasn't asked anything further, so Olive didn't offer anything further. Her reaction to his next question was an instinctual, gut feeling - a cold clenching of her stomach, a flash of unexplained anger. 'How did you escape the camps.' Though she might not be able to articulate why, even to herself, Olive felt a fierce protectiveness of those years, those memories. Perhaps 'protective' wasn't  the right word. But she wasn't going to offer them up to Erwin's curiosity. No, she didn't owe him any information about that time.

Outwardly, she only frowned. "Does it matter how I escaped the camp? I was interred there, and now I'm not. That's criminal, however it happened. I don't see how it's pertinent here beyond that." There was a fierceness in her eyes behind her otherwise composed answer. Olive would answer Erwin's questions about Hellvion, yes, but it was clear she was not going to give up more than that. Not now.

"As for Bryony's invitation," she continued, her posture backing off a little, "letters are intercepted all the time now, during the war. When  you're forced to live as a fugitive in the wild, there aren't many ways to get information about what's going on. I was with a man who had intercepted a courier when I saw the invitation. The rest were sent on their way, I kept the letter for Bryony." Olive said this all simply, unapologetically. Because it was true, not just the way it had happened, but the necessity of intercepting letters. The realities of living as a fugitive might sound sordid from the noble loft of a duke, but they were realities none the less.

Erwin looked at her, unmoving and silent. She was right when she said her camp escape wasn't pertinent. He had no interest in how she escaped or even her experiences in the camps themselves, for they had nothing to do with the subsequent chain of events leading up to Hellvion and Valance.

Her story did beg the question though. "You were associated with the perpetrator, but you did not know his motives. You didn't know he planned on killing the Grand Duke, or anyone for that matter? You were simply there to find your cousins, and nothing more?"

Of course it didn't add up, but a part of him hoped fervently that she really was innocent of the murder attempt. At the very least her non-involvement would somewhat justify his keeping her alive and protected.

”I already said that my primary reason for being there wasn’t simply to find Avery,” Olive corrected him. Her green eyes watched him, steady and studying. She wondered what news exactly had reached him. What she’d experienced - the explosion that had destroyed half of the hall - had been much bigger than what Olive would call ‘a plan to kill the Grand Duke.’ She didn’t know how many had died, and it made her stomach a little queasy to guess.

She took a breath, then decided to preempt the questions that would surely come next. ”The plan that I was part of - that I thought we were both part of - wasn’t to kill anyone, Grand Duke or not. The bomb that he carried was meant to be placed in the armory. It would be empty with all the guards patrolling the grounds and attending  to the ball. Higher security, you know. And it’s far enough away from the main hall that it shouldn’t have done anything more than scare the guests, if badly. But maybe that’s what people need, if they think they can go on with balls and petty politics when their people are starving, mages are still held and killed in camps conveniently beyond their sight, and boys as young as fifteen are now being drafted into a war they’d rather pretend wasn’t going on.”

Despite her words, Olive sounded more worn down than bitter. She’d lived firmly by her convictions for the past few years. They’d been the only thing she’d had, really. She still believed them, she thought, but the memory of the explosion, the fate of Valance, gnawed in the back of her mind like a rat. She gave a heavy sigh, looking away from Erwin and towards the window. ”I don’t know when his plan changed. Maybe that night. Maybe earlier. Maybe someone should have known his anger was too great. I can’t tell you. We were separated at the ball, and before the time we were meant to meet to go to the armory, the explosion came from in the grand hall. I don’t know more than that.”

Olive looked back at Erwin for a moment before she spoke again, "I realize it sounds convenient for me to say I didn't know of his intentions. But I can only give you my word."

Erwin frowned and let out a soft sigh. His hands clasped together and he hunched over, eyes peering up at Olive.

He wanted to believe her. He wanted it to be the truth, that she was simply party to a misguided attempt at sending a message, and that any casualties were not her fault. He wanted to distance her involvement from the true culprits at Hellvion, if for no other reason than to prove his judgments in this matter correct.

He had a nagging suspicion in the pit of his stomach, of course, for what sane man would have believed every word told him by a mage or a prisoner in these times? When each person had to struggle to look after themselves? Olive had a large incentive in lying about her involvement to protect herself. But why would she stay silent through whatever beatings his guards had doled upon her, just to admit her involvement privately to him, knowing full well that these small transgressions were enough for him to send her to the gallows?

No, he decided for now that she was telling the truth. Or at least most of it.

"You were mistaken for the real culprits," he said half to himself, as though formulating her story for her. "You knew them, that is your whole involvement. After, you fled home to Wulfbauer. Your people tried to safeguard you, but in the process their homes were razed. And here we are."

From where Olive was sitting, it wasn’t 'as though' Erwin was formulating her story for her; that seemed to be exactly what he was doing. She had been prepared for much more of a confrontation than this - condemnation of her actions, her own morally-charged justifications, an accounting of the brutal crimes she’d witnessed with her own eyes that were lawful, and the just actions she'd seen that were not. Much like the arguments she’d had with the Templar. But not, it seemed, with Erwin Therrien. Erwin Therrien surprised her.

And she wasn’t sure what to make of that.

She was smart enough not to try to correct his story, built upon half-truths and omissions. But still she wanted to know. ”Why are you doing this?”

Even if Constance Carwick still carried some favor with her own people, no one would question a duke for handing over - or killing - a mage, no matter her birth. It would earn Erwin favor outside of Wulfbauer, and perhaps give him a more steel-clad reputation within. So why wasn’t he?

"I am a loyalist, and I care about the well-being of Wulfbauer," Erwin said, sitting up straight. "I'll not have the Grand Duke's reckless crusade endanger our people, especially not innocents."

The same thought ran through his mind about whether turning Olive over to Calent would help bolster his place in the Grand Duke's court. After all, he was new to the political forum and needed to quickly find himself powerful allies there, to solidify his position among the Dukes.

But how could he be a part of a court whose increasingly erratic persecution of mages, many of whom were faithful law-abiding citizens, began to touch on all the other people? He could not bring himself to roll over quietly while Calent butchered his people in the name of a holy war against mages, no matter what his thoughts on mages were. A line had to be drawn somewhere.

"This war needs to stop," Erwin let out with a soft breath and his shoulders sagged slightly, though he fought to maintain a aura of control about him. He clearly wasn't ready for so much responsibility thrust on his shoulders so soon.

"We barely survived the Long Winter, and now all of this is happening. We should be focused on rebuilding, not burning down what little we have left. Laws or not, mages or not, the people deserve better. You deserve better."

”On that, at least, we agree. This war needs to end.”

Olive let out a sigh, looking again towards the tall, narrow window. From a few meters away, she couldn’t see anything in particular through it. Just a vague impression of the sky. But it made her wonder about everyone out there and what was happening to them.

”But it won’t end like this. With how things are now as some new status quo. It can’t. If you give people no choice but to fight for their lives, they’ll fight.” And that’s what was happening. Olive’s words didn’t come out as a threat; but a simple statement of reality. She’d watched it happen. Most of the mages who’d been interred with her in the camps had been law-abiding citizens who were terrified at the idea of using their magic. It was their greatest fear. She’d watched as they were pushed and prodded and beaten, until they were left with no choice but to rebel against the government they’d once obeyed.

It had happened to her.

Olive broke her reverie and looked back at Erwin, seeing the slight changes in his demeanor. It wasn’t her place, of course, to ask him about his actions as a duke. She knew that, but her curiosity got the better of her and, sensing the slight relaxation of the tense formality between them, she asked abruptly, ”Did you really withdraw Wulfbauer’s troops and deliver Calent an ultimatum?”

"No it won't," Erwin agreed quietly, also glancing out the window to the dark sky beyond. Appropriately enough it was overcast, much like his mood for most of this day. Come the morning, his counselors would all be back and he would once again be thrust in the middle of a dozen clamoring voices.

Her question was quite bold to say the least, but at this point in time he really had no reason not to tell her the truth. If anything else, she might offer him wisdom from a perspective none of his other advisers held.

"I did," he said after a moment's silence, rubbing at his temples.

Olive's eyes widened, just a little, in a faint look of surprise. She had assumed, truthfully, that Grace had gotten a little carried away; or that lines had been crossed in the telling and retelling of events that passed between the staff. That Erwin hadn't really issued an ultimatum to Calent.

"Oh," was all she managed at first. "I thought that last part had been exaggerated. Or mixed up somewhere in the retelling." He clearly knew that Grace had spoken with her and didn't seem particularly upset about it, but habit still kept Olive from naming any names. It was always best to leave room for plausible deniability. She watched him, the way he slumped his shoulders, the way he rubbed his temples. It was clear from her own expression that she was holding back her own thoughts on getting confirmation of this news. And though she knew she was already overstepping the boundaries of 'prisoner and warden,' she decided to press - cautiously - on. Instead she said, still carefully, "That's very bold. For a new duke."

Erwin paused to look at Olive, slightly taken aback from her question. If his ultimatum to Calent had been bold, her words in the East Wing were bolder. But the Duke decided then that he trusted this prisoner of his more than he did his advisors. At the very least, he didn't have to worry about her motives.

"A decision made in the heat of passion," Erwin said with a shake of his head. "Bold, or foolish."

He stuck with it though. Despite the backlash he'd received. Or perhaps because of it.

He had a reputation among the soldiers of Wulfbauer, of being the commander who had the presence of mind to take gambles and make daring maneuvers on the field of war, to great success. But this political battleground required more finesse and subtlety, and perhaps his skillset was more detriment than help. For the first time, the Duke quietly wished he was back in the field. Things were simpler out there.

Yes, she believed that. Olive frowned a little. 'The heat of passion' was no time for a duke to be making decisions. It was clear from her expression that she had quite a lot to say that she wasn't saying. She might be bold, but she wasn't impetuous. Or, not quite impetuous enough to give Erwin her opinion when he hadn't asked for it.

But Olive was so used now to everything being discussed, every decision being made by painful consensus, and generally speaking her mind over the past few years (well, probably her entire life), that she was clearly struggling a little.

Finally, she asked, "Sorry, ah, Duke Therrien, but you've already sent the messenger with your demands, or you've already decided to send it?"

At least she was managing to remember to be polite enough to call him 'Duke Therrien,' as odd as the words felt on her tongue.

"No messenger has been dispatched yet. My counsel wanted more time to persuade me otherwise."

He saw the way she tensed up slightly, as though suppressing words that desperately wanted to be said. Likely she had her opinion on his actions.

"You can speak freely, Constance," he said quietly, curious about her thoughts. Any guidance couldn't hurt.

Olive hesitated for a moment, still conscious of the fact that it wasn't really her place to tell a duke what to do. Even if he was the duke of the duchy her father used to rule. But Olive was never good at holding her tongue.

"Well, if I were you," she started, pushing back her bangs in a slightly self-conscious gesture, "I would be a bit softer about it. Tell Calent that, in light of recent events, you need to consolidate your resources in Wulfbauer. Or that if he can't guarantee the safety of his allies from his own troops, it's necessary for you to keep your forces in Wulfbauer to defend their own land and people. He will understand what you want without you directly challenging or defying him. And if he brings Krah to justice, it won't oblige you to return your troops to his service in exchange. If it isn't what you think is best at the time."

She shrugged, as though to say, 'But what do I know about it.' But it didn't stop her from adding at the last moment, "And whatever you're going to do, I'd do it first thing on the morrow. Before your counsel can get a word in. You can't let them think they can push you around."

Despite how confident she'd been in her words, Olive's gaze slipped sideways away from Erwin back to the window again. Something about being here made her feel a bit like a girl again, and even fighting as a rebel wasn't the same as saying what a duke should do.

Erwin quietly took in her words. When she was done a silent pall fell over the little room, interrupted only by the faint sounds of an owl drifting into the high window from somewhere far away.

Her advice, of course, was absolutely meritorious. Perhaps his outburst that morning had been a little bit extreme but he was too new at this game to know all its small nuances. Olive's more subtle approach was definitely a doable compromise.

"That's the best advice I've heard today," he finally said, his low voice cutting through the silence. "Maybe you should be my counsel instead."

'Maybe you should be my counsel instead.'

Erwin's comment elicited a small, uncomfortable laugh from Olive. It seemed like a strange joke to her. Even if he'd meant what he said, that it was the best advice he'd heard that day. She was a prisoner here. Not a guest. And certainly not an advisor. Erwin had been more than gracious with her - she was still a little surprised that she was sitting here at all, and not swinging from the gallows - but her life and freedom were in his hands. She certainly hadn't forgotten that. And what Erwin thought? Olive didn't know. She couldn't read this new duke.

Olive pushed back her bangs again and turned from Erwin back to the window, listening to the hooting of the owl. These lapses of silence were becoming, at least for Olive, increasingly awkward. Of course, she told herself, she had initiated it - stepped over the line between prisoner and fellow noble (a side of the line she was sure she no longer belonged on) herself, when she questioned Erwin about his decisions.

"Well, I'm not sure how well that would go over with your advisors," she finally said to break the awkward silence. "Taking the advice of a prisoner over that of your pledged lords is a bit unorthodox," she added with a half-amused, half-smile.

Erwin had never been known to have a particularly developed sense of humor, and was sightly surprised by the reaction elicited by his tiny jest. But given how tense the room was already, her small laugh was a welcome departure, despite the tinge of nervousness in her voice. Sitting back in his chair, a small chuckle escaped the Duke's lips, the first in a long time.

"They would likely not take too kindly to it," Erwin agreed with a slight smile. "They've all worked so hard to get in my good graces."

That utterance erased the look of ease from his face. To get in my good graces. It still felt odd to have these young and old noblemen clamoring to cement their place in his court.

"I still cannot tell who is trying to help Wulfbauer, and who is trying to help themselves."

Olive watched Erwin a little uncertainly as he sat back, chuckling. She had the vague air of a half-feral dog or cat, unsure whether or not to trust the human extending a hand to it. After a moment, she followed suit and her posture relaxed a little, as well. Though saying that she looked ‘comfortable’ might be a bit of a stretch.

”I think you can assume they are all working in their best interests,” she replied, ”or in the best interests of their respective lands. That is, if they’re the right sort of lord. Just as, in the Grand Duke’s court, you would be working in the best interests of Wulfbauer. I assume. But some,” she gave a small shrug, making a face. ”Well, my father and his father were heavy-handed, in a way, in the fashion they ruled. Fair, I think, but… I imagine there are lords who see this as an opportunity to to steal a bit more power and influence for themselves. Harder to do when you have a long-serving family, whose power,” she almost said ‘right to rule,’ but decided not to, ”is unquestioned.”

She looked at the unease on his face, and thought of the way he’d rubbed his temples, his vaguely harried look when he’d first discussed his actions and his advisors. He was a military man, wasn’t he? Surely he’d been in the position to tell people what he wanted done. Her father had joked that he’d had to treat his counsel like his lieutenants in the field. It felt odd, thinking about how her father would have ruled when she only just that morning had laid flowers on his tomb.

Suddenly, a thought occurred to Olive, and she asked, ”Who’s on your counsel? I might remember some of my father’s thoughts on some of them.”

The more Olive fed him advice under the guise of this conversation, the more Erwin realized how little he knew about the political forum, or at least how ignorant he'd been. Of course there would be lords working for their own personal benefit. The question was whether he knew who was who, and whether he even cared.

"I can be heavy-handed," Erwin acknowledged. He'd had plenty of experience with it in the field. So much so, in fact, that he'd garnered a frightful reputation among his lesser officers for his steely demeanor and his lack of patience for incompetence. The soldiers had all loved him. The officers had likely respected but resented him.

The difference was that he'd been trained for the battlefield. Here, he had no training whatsoever in the running of a duchy, and being heavy-handed only worked when one's decisions were correctly made. He could just as easily make a misstep and send Wulfbauer plunging into chaos.

Pushing that train of thought to the back of his mind, he went back to answering Olive's question.

"They're all left over from your father's time. Lords Kassian and Perry. The Master of Coin, Lord Burrows. Chancellor Kenins died last spring, replaced by his son Roland."

Olive listened and thought for a moment before answering. It was painful to bring up memories of her father. What she knew about this counsel she knew from complaints or off-hand remarks he made, mostly. While they were riding or hunting or dining together. Happy memories that hurt now. But they were all she had to go on. Olive hadn’t been trained by Harlow, given his ‘professional’ opinions, in the same way Avery had.

”Kassian and Perry both served in the army alongside my father when they were all young,” Olive started the slow process of recollection. ”He joked sometimes that Kassian was more concerned about finding decent husbands for his six daughters than he was about the running of the duchy, but I imagine that’s long since passed. Lord Perry has a wealthy and productive estate with a lot of trade, and he always keeps that in mind. They were both very loyal to my father, though,” she said, not saying that she wasn’t sure what that meant for Erwin.

“Lord Burrows had a more contentious relationship with my father. He isn’t working for himself,” she said with a bit of a frown. ”His interests are very much for Wulfbauer. But a different Wulfbauer than my family served. He always wanted a wealthier-seeming duchy. Or a wealthier nobility, perhaps. To fashion Wulfbauer more like Hellvion. A very counter-Carwick way of thinking, I suppose. But he wasn't out for personal gain, per se.”

”Old Kenins was a good man; he served under my grandfather first. His son, though,” Olive made a face that showed she was trying to think of how to speak politely of him, ”I suppose I’d say he was always ambitious. Their family is an old one, and I don’t think he was content with how his father played their hand. When it was decided that it would be too contentious for Avery and I to wed, after the last Grand Duke was assassinated and tensions with mages got too high, I think he waited less than a week to ask my father for my hand. A calculated risk that having a mage as a wife would be worth placing himself in the duke’s immediate family,” she said, her nose scrunching a bit in distaste. What Olive didn’t know, but Erwin would, was that this was the same young lord who’d insisted that a mage was a mage, and should be handed over to the camps in the north or hanged in Wulfbauer. ”I can imagine he wouldn’t like his family being passed over for the Master of Horse, when a new duke had to be selected.” Realizing how that might sound, she added quickly, ”I think your father was the right choice, though. He was a very good man. A very Wulfbauer man. But you can imagine how a jealous peer might see it.”

"And yet they all give such different advice," Erwin said with a sigh. Still, it was helpful to gain some insight into the political history of some of his advisors. Each man's advice made more sense given what little motivation Olive could glean upon.

He wasn't at all surprised to hear about Roland Kenins though. Of all the men on his small council, he was one that Erwin could read like an open book. It wasn't a big surprise that the younger Kenins would adamantly call for hanging mages. He likely had larger aspirations than Wulfbauer itself -- namely, to get into the Grand Duke's good graces and perhaps cement his place in Calent's court.

"Roland Kenins changed his mind rather quickly," Erwin told her. "You know he's clamoring to have you sent back to the camps, or hanged? If I were to guess, I'd say he wants to be the Grand Duke himself."

He leaned forward.

"And if I followed your plan, how do you think each man would react?"

Olive snorted derisively at Erwin’s little insight about Roland. ”I doubt he’s changed his mind at all. I imagine he would have been only too glad to see the back of me if my father had agreed. Probably would have worked out very nicely for him - show how loyal he is, having to give up his own ‘beloved wife,’” she said, rolling her eyes. ”He phrased it all very much as a big favor he was doing to the duke. ‘What other man will take her’ sort of thing. I think that shows exactly how he has always felt about mages. Or maybe how he sees everyone, as stepping stones.”

But Olive looked a little surprised at Erwin, when he asked his last question. How did she think each of them would react? Olive hadn’t seen any of these men since she was a teenager. And she wondered suddenly if Erwin was really so alone in all of this that he was leaning in so much to confiding in his prisoner. No, she thought, he was using her like any other tool. Trying to hear whatever echoes of Harlow Carwick were still rattling around in her head.

”That… I really don’t know,” she finally answered, giving a small helpless shrug. ”I’m not sure I wouldn’t just be making up any guesses I’d have. It’s been over five years since I was here and privy to my father’s thoughts.”

She felt a pang in her stomach, then, and it probably showed on her face. The last time she’d been here, her father had been alive. This morning she’d seen his tomb. There was no going back to any place where she could just ask him. Olive crumpled a little at the realization, however obvious it should be. After a moment, she took a breath, and composing herself again, said, ”I suppose if you’re confident in your decision, you shouldn’t worry about how they will react. If you can show them you’re confident.”

Erwin folded his arms across his chest and sighed. "Perhaps it's time to replace Kenins with someone less interested in himself. His family holds sway in the south though, and the last thing I need is more dissent in Wulfbauer. Ansgar knows there's enough of that to go around."

He looked back to her. "I'm more confident in carrying out your advice than any other venture, so that's a start. We'll see where this path leads."

As he stood he added briefly, "For what it's worth, I think you would have made a fine statesman."

Olive listened as Erwin voiced his thoughts outloud. She wondered if he was really telling them to her, or merely speaking to himself while she happened to be there. She didn’t say anything at first. Olive hadn’t been thinking about how to handle Kenins, and she wasn’t sure herself which actions would be more dangerous where he was concerned. And Erwin didn’t ask her thoughts on it, but…

”I would be careful with Kenins,” she said then. ”If you dismiss him without reason, it may look as though you’re threatened by him.”

The rest of Erwin’s words, though, only made Olive frown, though she tried to hide it. But she didn’t understand what angle Erwin Therrien was playing, soliciting and perhaps even taking her advice - though he could tell her anything, with no guarantee he would follow through. And that troubled her. When he told her that he thought she’d ‘have been a good statesman,’ Olive almost found herself telling him, ’I’m a mage. I’m your prisoner. I’m the ‘enemy’ you’ve been fighting this war against.

But she didn’t.

Instead, Olive only offered a small, half-smile, and said, ”In our country, I’d have to have been born a son to be a statesman. And I wouldn’t be your counsel; I’d be your duke.”

However bold, her words weren’t boastful; in fact, Olive looked a little amused. But more than that she looked weary. The day had been emotionally tolling and, in many ways, confusing.

Erwin had maneuvered toward the door of her little room, but paused to look over his shoulder at her. Perhaps those words might have struck a sensitive nerve in a Duke from another duchy, but oddly enough it elicited the smallest of smiles from Duke Therrien. He unconsciously ran a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair before responding, "If that were so, I'd guess that you would have made your father proud."

His brow creased slightly at the thought of internal strife within Wulfbauer Keep, should he deal with Kenins the wrong way. The young man was of similar age to Erwin, and his youthful ambition clearly shone through. He had to tread carefully.

"If you require anything more, let the guard know," he said with finality before softly rapping on the door. It opened for him and then closed gently, leaving Olive to her own thoughts.

The next several days - or was it more than a week already? - passed in a malaise for Olive. She had grown accustomed to being active, to feeling useful, to doing something. Left alone, cooped up and caged, indefinitely left her feeling cyclically panicked and depressed. And lonely. When she was feeling more determined, she took to sketching. She'd never been a master at it, but like all well-educated ladies, she was at least proficient. She drew the faces of the dead. As she remembered them, and as she'd last seen them... Lorent, Orchid, Old Mag, Darren... Those who died in the camps, and after. Other times she lay listlessly on the hard bed, or stared out the narrow window. Willing herself to somehow not feel the passage of time.

She'd often been locked up alone in the camps, no food and little water, as punishment for transgressions someone of lower birth would have been killed for. But then it always felt like it was for a purpose, and the longest was never more than a week. This felt different. Maybe because, before this, Olive had, actually, in a way been free.

Olive was thinking about that, perched in the window sill, about the wide open country and the shelter of the forest and wondering what was happening now to the others she'd fought alongside when the door swung open. It wasn't a meal time, so Olive was surprised to see Grace and another, sturdy old maid - Olive recognized her as Dorothy, a housemaid who'd worked there when she was a teenager - carrying a large, full laundry basket. Both of them looked a little flustered, and Grace did not look happy.

"We won’t be long. We're just here to change the sheets," Grace told her loudly, but did neither maid made a move towards the bed. She continued in a more hushed, but just as stern a tone. “Now Olive,” Grace started straight away, in a tone that she remembered from when she'd been scolded as a girl,  “I don't know where you've been or what's happened to you, and I don't want to, but I know you've had a hard time. Without taking into account the loss of your poor parents. So I understand you're sad, but you can't spend all your time drawing these grisly images," she said with a wave and a grimace to the sketches of hanged and broken and  starved dead littered around the room, "and glooming around about the past. Hard and painful as it is."

Olive just stared at her. She felt like a teenager being told off for not studying enough, or not taking good enough care of her clothes. Lectures she was sure she had gotten from Grace. She wondered if the lady's maid had any other way of talking.

Registering her silence, Grace continued. "Now I've talked to Bairn about it, and we both agree you need something productive to turn your energies to." What did Grace expect her to do up here? "After his injury left him unable to serve in the army, Bairn said it was working with the horses that helped him heal. Helped his heart and mind heal. Well, we can't get any horses up here, can we? But Bairn's got a stable bitch with pups and he said she's stopped taking care of the runt, so-"

Olive didn't hear what Grace said next, because Dorothy had pulled aide the sheets in the laundry basket to reveal a small pup; it was red and white, still sleepy and pudgy as a baby. Olive actually gasped, clasping a hand over her mouth. She couldn't quite find words as Dorothy lifted the pup and put it inO live's arms.

"Well, I know you've always liked dogs," Grace was saying, frowning. It was clear she thought the whole thing Very Improper. But Olive was also sure that it had been her idea. "He's just old enough now to eat food, as long as it's soft enough, Bairn said. But the poor thing can't compete with its littermates. Cook's said she’ll make sure you get the right sort of things in your meals, and a bit extra when she can manage."

Olive looked up from the squirming pup in her arms and opened her mouth, but Grace held up a hand before she could say anything. "But I expect you to be putting a real effort into this, Miss Olive. Into taking care of the pup, and yourself. I don't want to find you in here only drawing and crying over things in the past, you hear me?" Grace was sterner than ever, frowning deeply. This was, of course, all very against the rules. Grace was not one, typically, for breaking rules. But she had always prided herself in serving the Carwicks, not just the Keep, and Constance Carwick was the last.

Olive set down the pup for long enough to throw her arms around the stiff, disapproving maid. ”Thank you.”

”Yes, yes, well,” Grace huffed, but her tone already melting, ”it’s just until he’s old enough.”

---

In another part of the Keep, Lord Kenins rapped a short knock on the Duke’s study.

”M’lord, if you can spare some of your time..” he started, not waiting for Erwin to summon him in. He gave the duke a cool smile as a greeting. Kenins was the youngest man on the counsel, but he was perhaps five years Erwin’s senior and had the grating habit of taking on a slightly elderly brother tone from time to time. ”If I may have a word?”

Kenins showed himself a seat across from Erwin. ”There have been some nasty rumors circulating that are causing me some concern, m’lord. Primarily amongst the household, but…” He let the sentence hang, as if to say, ‘but you know how word spreads.’ ”Now that you have withdrawn the army from the war and they are returning every day to Wulfbauer, drawing them away from the war with the mages… So soon after Lady Constance’s arrival here… Well, there is some talk that you’ve been bewitched by the girl. Nonsense, I know - though who knows what these mages are capable of - but it is troubling some members of the staff here. I’ve had multiple bring their concerns to me. And, well, you know how staff are… It’s only a matter of time before they start talking to the servants in other houses. It’s only a matter of time before the rumors spread across the entire duchy.”

His words were, more or less, true. There was some talk amongst some of the staff, but less than he proposed. And he had done nothing to discourage such rumors, naturally.

That next morning was chaotic.

Or at least that's what his small council descended into when Erwin revealed the news to them: he'd sent an emissary to the Grand Duke already. Though his message was not as full of vengeful rhetoric as he'd alluded to when he first made the decision, it still held a hint of dissatisfaction at Calent's action, or lack of action.

Of course the Duke did not mention Olive, or that he even met with her the previous night. All they knew was that his message was toned down as she had suggested, but still expressing a need for justice.

Kassian and Perry showed cautious optimism at the Duke's actions, while old Lord Burrows expressed concern about the welfare of the Duchy should trade be cut off. Of course Roland Kenins was the most vocal of Erwin's detractors, urging him to retrieve the messenger before more damage was done to the relationship between Wulfbauer and the Capital. His pleas fell on deaf ears.

And so he came again several days later.

Sitting across from Erwin with a well-practiced face of calm, Kenins listened as the Duke replied, "Those rumors are both unfounded and absurd. Lady Carwick is safely housed in the East Wing, where she can cause no harm. Do I look bewitched to you, Kenins? No, these are my decisions and mine alone. I want justice for Valance."

Kenins nodded as if agreeing.

"Yes, my lord, but at what cost? If you'll at least allow me to take Lady Carwick to a location away from this castle where she might not be able to use her influence on you..."

Her political influence, or her magical influence? Erwin thought with a slight frown as he watched Kenins. What game was this man playing?

"I'm Chancellor of Wulfbauer, my Lord," Kenins continued. "I can take her to a location where she will be safe and well-treated -- but kept under lock and key until such time as you command."

Erwin shook his head.

"No, she must remain here for now. That's final, Roland."

"I don't know what a bewitched man looks like," Kenins answered in a drawl, "but like with all rumors, it isn't a matter of truth but of perception. But, as you said, it's your decision, of course. Though if the girl isn't a threat and if her story is true, it does seem cruel to keep her a prisoner here and not release her to, perhaps, her mother's family."

If Erwin couldn't be convinced to be harder on the mage, it could, of course, be just as useful to Kenins if he was seen to release her.

"But of course you don't want to discuss the matter any further, I can see that. Then if I can take up a little more of your time, I think we need to think very carefully about how the potential fallout of this matter will affect our exports and trading relations. As you know, the south of the duchy makes its greatest profits in hops production. Right now the biggest buyer after local Wulfbauer breweries is the royal cellars in  Reajh. Now, I was speaking with Lord Burrows about this, and..." Kenins droned on about the nuances of trade negotiations and possible economic outcomes and consequences an interruption to exports. Not all of the information he told Erwin was true, of course, but he was confident that the military-minded soldier's man knew as little about trade economics as Kenins did about how to sew a dress. His purpose, of course, was to overwhelm Erwin.

He'd gone on for perhaps fifteen minutes, bringing out scrolls and figures and calculations when a guard burst into the chamber, wild-eyed and frightened looking. It was one of the guards that should have been posted at Olive's chamber.

"M'lord," he panted, "in the East Wing... it's... it's witchcraft!"

---

Upstairs, Olive had been laying dozily with the puppy fast asleep on her stomach. For the first time in awhile, she felt a buoyant lightness to her spirits. Furry, squirmy, red-and-white-furred lightness. She was running her hands over the sleeping pup's coat when she suddenly heard a commotion outside her door.

One of the guards was talking in rising alarm, calling out to the other guard, she realized. But no answer came. And then, after a moment, she heard gargled choking and gagging. Soft at first, but growing louder and more violent. The hair stood up on the back of her neck. She plopped the pup down next to the bed, hidden from the doorway, and ran to the door.

"Hello?" she called. "What's going on? Is everything okay?"

Not that Olive could do much if it wasn't. She knocked loudly against the door, but all she heard on the other side was the man's choking. Olive ran to the window, but there was no one below to call to. The east wing was situated far away from the busy center of the castle, and the window looked out only to lonely, empty countryside.

Erwin remained attentive and thoughtful -- for the first five minutes. But even his sharp mind for logistics began to falter when Kenins started speaking of market failures and artificial price suppression, and it took every ounce of his willpower not to let his eyes roll into the back of his head.

When the door burst open with a loud bang Erwin jumped slightly in his seat. But inwardly he was glad for the reprieve, even if the news was startling. Jumping to his feet, he mentioned to Kenins in passing, "We will discuss this later."

They arrived in the East Wing to the scene of wide-eyed horror and frantic whispers among the gathered guards and house staff. There lying on the ground before the locked door of Olive's room was one of his guards, still but for the occasional twitch of a limb. The man's face was a deep shade of red-purple, as though he'd suffocated.

With a grim expression on his face, he motioned for the men to clear an area around the body, then muttered to the nearest man, "Open the door." Somewhere behind him in the hallway, Kenins arrived and silently watched.

The commotion outside was growing increasingly loud and harried, but still no one answered Olive's calls. Fearing that someone would soon be inside the room, however, she at least had the presence of mind to wrap up the pup in a little nest of blankets and shove him underneath the bed. The creature was still sleeping, and mewled only a little when disturbed. Once that was done, Olive turned back to the door. She heard Erwin's voice giving the command to open it, and she braced herself for whatever was coming.

The guard outside obeyed his duke's order and unlocked the door and pushed it carefully open. The tension amongst the guards was high. They were unsure what was supposed to be behind that door. Was it a young noble lady, last of a long and beloved line? Or was it a witch? The options, normally so black and white, left them all uneasy.

But it wasn't the nervous guards that Olive's eyes fell on when the door opened, but the dead guard, laying prone before her cell. The surprise on her face was clear, for a moment, but it was followed by a sinking looks of not-surprise. Of course. The guard outside her cell dead. And who better to blame than the mage inside? Who would believe a 'witch' over a guard? A woman over a man in the service of his duke?

Her eyes only lifted when she felt a familiar sensation: the muzzle of a hand cannon aimed ready at her chest. She looked up slowly to the man wielding the gun, the second guard who had been on duty, the one who had run to fetch Erwin. She didn't say anything, just held the man's angry gaze levelly. Another young woman might look struck with a shocked innocence. But while Olive looked stricken, she also looked defiant and resolute.

"The witch! I heard her talking in here, weaving some sort of spell," the guard sputtered his accusation, "then Donnal started choking - by magic! - and there was nothing I could do to stop it! She did it! Sitting in there, while we were protecting her, choking us one by one!"

Kenins hung back, watching with interest. He wouldn't risk getting too close to the scene, less the accusing guard let any knowing look pass his way. He wouldn't let his work go to waste. It would be a shame if the man died in vain, after all.

"For Ansgar's sake, man, lower your weapon," Erwin commanded in exasperation. The soldier's hands were nearly shaking with rage as he pointed the dangerous end of his gun at Olive. For her part, she hadn't budged an inch since they'd burst into her little cell of a room.

He couldn't tell if that showed her defiant courage, or proved her guilt.

Something didn't add up though. Why wouldn't she just start choking the rest of them to death now? With the Duke so close, at least an attempt might have been warranted.

He had to defuse the situation, but how? The guard's finger hovered dangerously over the trigger.

"Don't let her out of your sight," he finally said in a commanding voice, after placing a hand on the guard's gun to lower it. At the same time he gestured for several of the other guards to approach and form a ring around the now-open door. "Send for the surgeon, I want to know what killed Donnal."

The pile of blankets rustled.

One of the guards ducked his head in assent and hurried off to fetch the surgeon.

For a long time, however, it felt, it seemed as though the other guard hadn't heard his duke's command, or was bent on disobeying it. Olive didn't look away from the muzzle of the gun still pointed firmly at her. It was clear from her unflinching gaze that this wasn't the first time Constance Carwick had faced such a situation. And though she felt her pace quicken the longer the weapon stayed up, she kept her head held high, her posture proud and defiant.

Finally, perhaps sensing the eyes of all his fellows on him, the guard began to lower his weapon. But just as he did a small, shuffling figure, still completely covered by the blankets, emerged from the bed, moving crouched and low to the ground.

"See!" the guard hissed, and his gun snapped up to the blanket-clad shape crawling out from under the bed, "she's summoned a demon! Angsar help us all!"

That was the moment when Olive's firm, controlled demeanor cracked and her eyes went wide with a combination of fear and surprise. "No! she exclaimed, scurrying to the side to put herself in front of what was, of course, the puppy.

The sudden flurry of movements caused more weapons to be drawn, though only the first guard's was now pointed at Olive.

"Move this instance!" the guard bit harshly. "Look, she's protecting the hell spawn she's summoned here to ruin us all!"

Kenins stayed lurking in the background, silently observing. And silently, he wondered if he'd picked a slightly too dramatic guard to bribe. But it was too late for that now. He would simply hang back and observe. This could still work out in his favor.

Admittedly, even Erwin had been slightly startled when the blankets started moving by themselves. It didn't take long for the guards to all swarm around him, their weapons raised.

The other guards eyed Olive with a mixture of anger, fear, and suspicion. But when the Duke met her gaze with his own steely blue eyes, they were narrowed in a slight disapproving frown. Had she somehow betrayed the implicit trust between the two of them?

Slowly he stepped forward to the protests of his guards, especially the one still waving his gun dangerously in Olive's face.

"Don't do it, my Lord! She'll bewitch you and have her demon tear your heart out!"

Erwin gave the man a pointed look, and then turned to Olive. "Take a step back," he said quietly but with enough firmness in his voice to hammer home the fact that it was a command. Then he slowly and tentatively reached for the blankets.

They jerked to the side.

The guard spun and pointed his gun at the pile.

The blankets pulled away to reveal the curious, sleepy eyed puppy they had concealed. Too young to pick up on the tension between the humans, the pup whined for attention, wagging its little tail as it paws pawed at the hem of Erwin's trousers.

A palpable sense of relief passed between the guards. There were even a few stifled chuckles. It was a puppy. The exact opposite, it seemed to them, of a demon. And perhaps, it seemed, they could once again think of the girl in the east wing as a Carwick, not a witch.

Except there was still the dead guard lying at their feet.

And the muzzle of the first guards gun was once again trained on Olive, shaking with the man's anger. He sensed that he had lost the argument of the summoned demon, and this only heightened his rage.

"She changed it! To trick us! She's a witch, a sinful mage here to bewitch us all!"

Olive looked between the pup and the man. But when she saw the look in his eye, she didn't dare look away again. The mad glint that shone there gave her the chilling feeling that he might pull the trigger at any moment. But none of the guards acted. They looked to their duke, to the whining puppy, waiting for a lead to follow. Who was the danger here? Who needed to be protected? None of them wanted to guess wrongly.

It was to this tense scene that the surgeon finally arrived. "You called for me, my lord? "

Erwin's shoulders sagged slightly at the sight of the dog. His men were all suspicious of Olive to varying degrees, especially as to her alleged magical powers. He knew better of course, but the sight of the little ball of fur brought one name to mind.

Grace.

Of course she'd been feeding her information, and of course she'd bring Constance Carwick something like this to keep her occupied. And the Duke would not have acted too harshly upon something so innocent, despite what his staff might say. But that didn't solve the issue of the dead man at the door.

He gestured to the corpse. "I want to know how he died," he said in a cold voice. He didn't believe that Olive cursed the man, of course; he knew better. But that didn't rule out a handful of other possibilities, including unlucky choking -- or poison.

"Milord, an autopsy will require some time, perhaps days," the surgeon replied in a timid wavering voice, to which Erwin simply said, "Then do it."

Maybe there was a glimmer of apology in his eyes as he slowly stepped up to the little puppy, eyes locked on Olive. Behind him, the guards had their weapons raised just in case, and inwardly held their breaths as Erwin knelt down to pick the pup up by the scruff of the neck.

It was Erwin’s seizure of the puppy that finally tore Olive’s attention away from the guard whose weapon was still aimed angrily at her. Despite herself, her eyes went wide, and the composure she’d carefully kept since arriving in Wulfbauer cracked, and a desperate emotion was plain on her face. It was only a puppy, of course, and another person might think Olive irrational. Hell, with a clearer head, Olive would probably think so herself. But in that moment, the thought of losing the puppy nearly caused her to burst into tears. Maybe it was realizing how little control she had over her life, or how much she’d already lost, but somehow the pup was mixed up with all the people she’d loved and had taken away. Orchid. Lorent. Her parents. And in that moment she looked more like a shell-shocked refuge than the noble daughter of a duke.

Olive nearly rushed forward to snatch the pup away, but had the presence of mind, at least, to know how foolish that would be. It didn’t stop the words that came tumbling out of her mouth, though, ”Please don’t take him, my lord, he’s too small. He won’t, he’s all I -”

But Olive’s desperate entreaty was cut short. Because at the same time Constance Carwick’s inner turmoil was unfolding - her mix of memories of the camps and attachment to the dog - another one was reaching a boiling point, only meters away. The guard had never taken his hand cannon sights off of Olive. His hands were already shaking with anger and with nerves when the Duke demanded an autopsy of the dead guard. That would reveal only one thing. The guard gritted his teeth, heart pounding. No. The witch would have killed them, once she had the chance! Surely the Duke understood that! But no. The Duke, and half his guards, were more occupied by the puppy than by the real, magical danger in front of them.

If the truth were to come out, he was not going to go down without justice. He was not going to fail at his duty. There was only one thing to be done.

So right as Olive was begging the duke not to take her puppy, the guard pulled his trigger. Only one of the other guards saw what was happening, and threw himself at the mad man. He acted soon enough, perhaps, to save Olive’s life. But not soon enough to stop the shot. And it reverberated through the east wing cell with a crack.

It struck Olive near her shoulder. She dropped to the ground in shock, not yet able to feel the pain below her collarbone. She watched in a daze as the blood, her own?, poured onto the stone floor below her. Somewhere in the background, very, very far away it seemed, she could make out someone screaming about a witch.

The castle descended into chaos.

Within the small chamber that was the East Wing, the wheel lock gun's heavy discharge sent a cacophony reverberating intensely off the stone walls. It struck Erwin's ears with hellish fury, sending him staggering in utter shock. In all the acrid smoke that filled the room, he didn't know what happened first: whether his soldiers tackled the shooter to the ground, or whether the other guards tackled him to the ground.

Somewhere in between it all, he dimly realized that he'd dropped the tiny puppy who'd promptly scampered out the door and down the hallway in utter terror. That was the least of his worries though, as the smoke burned his eyes at the same time a high pitched whine drilled holes in his head and drowned out all other noise.

Something slick brushed up against his hand, and looking down he was almost shocked to see dark red blood clinging to his fingertips. He held up the hand dumbly, staring at the bloody droplets as they trickled down his arm. Was he bleeding? No, he hadn't been shot. Someone else had been.

Constance.

As his senses drained back into him, he could just spy Olive on the cold stone floor, a bloody wound in her shoulder pouring blood all over. With a grimace he scrambled forward toward the fallen woman even as his guards tried to hold him back and out of harm's way. The ringing in his ears began dying down, just enough for him to be able to hear the shooter's screams of "WITCH! WIIITCH!" as he struggled beneath the weight of his fellow guards.

Shoving his men off of him, he scrambled forward on his hands and knees toward Olive. Without a second thought he pressed his hand down on her wounded shoulder, even as he shouted "ARTEM!"

The surgeon had fled out the room as soon as the gun had discharged though, and was nowhere in sight.

Well, even Kenins hadn't expected that. From the hallway he couldn't see immediately everything that transpired inside. But when the smoke cleared he saw the stricken Constance, white as a sheet and covered with blood. And Erwin beside her looking nearly as shocked as she was. It hadn't been his plan, but already he was seeing opportunities.

Kenins stepped decisively into the little room and addressed the three soldiers holding back the mad man who had fired. "Take him to the dungeon," he instructed them, "before he hurts anyone else. He'll be dealt with later." The guards nodded and, with some struggle, hauled the man away. He screamed ”witch!” the whole way until he was too far to hear.

As soon as the man was out of the room,  he turned to another guard and barked, "You were in the army, man. Didn't the teach you how to treat a wound? For Angsar's sake, use all these sheets and things and make a tourniquet for the girl before she bleeds to death!"

The guard nodded a little dumbly, still waking up from his own shock, then hurried to do as he was told.

"And you, go fetch that damned fool doctor," he said to another guard. Even he couldn't hide his disdain. He might not care for the girl's life, but a man running away from his duties like that? It was shameful!

Once the guards were all set to task, Kenins stepped forward and put a hand to Erwin's shoulder, coaxing him up. "Come up, my lord, you've had a shock," he urged in a choice perhaps too gentle. That was perhaps a commentary on a military commander of all people being left shocked by a gunshot. "Come away so they can bandage her wound until that doctor returns."



While all this was going on, Olive stared at the blood pooling on the ground, propped partially up with one hand; her other hung limply. She felt as if she were a thousand miles away. As if it was someone else’s blood. Whose, she had no idea. Though she thought mildly to herself that whoever it was, they were in trouble. Whoever that is, she thought, they’re bleeding far too much. The edges of her vision were going black, focusing to a single tunnel, when Erwin put his hand over the wound.

That snapped Olive back to her body. She stared at Erwin, and then she remembered with a jolt where she was and what was happening and for a moment she looked alarmed. As though suddenly realizing she was the one bleeding. But her eyes unfocused after a moment, her frame sagging.

((OOC: What's funny is, when I started writing it, I meant for this to be a shorter post.))

Erwin could feel the warm sticky blood under his fingertips as he pressed down on the wound in Olive's shoulder. After the initial unexpected surprise of the gunshot so near his head, a cooler sense of purpose set into the Duke's mind as he held on tightly to at least staunch the bleeding for now. Pressure on the wound, he remembered in reflex.

The ringing in his ears still drowned out nearly everything else, and he shouted again, "ARTEM!"

Feeling a hand on his shoulder, Erwin shrugged off the touch with a deep scowl, his hands remaining pressed down upon the wound -- at least until another quick-thinking guard dropped beside him with a handful of ripped sheets. As the man took over tending to the fallen Carwick, only then did Erwin allow himself to be pulled away from Kenins.

He looked down at his bloodstained clothes for a brief moment before shaking his head, trying to rid himself of the ringing. By Ansgar, he'd never heard the discharge of a firearm so close to his ear, and in such a confined space.

"Find the damn surgeon and get him back here!" he commanded in a voice perhaps a bit louder than it needed to be. Of course, the dead guard still lay halfway across the room's only exit, and he gestured for some other guards to pull the man out of the way.

"Milord," Kenins said as Erwin watched Olive being tended to. "They have the situation under control, let us leave this scene and discuss this. Clearly your own guard has been compromised."

Erwin's jawline was set firm as his fists clenched up in balls at his side. The gesture was barely noticeable, but he shook his head very briefly. "Go, Kenins. Go to the dungeons and find out what that guard knows. If he's being paid to kill Constance Carwick, I want to know today."

The young advisor stepped back slightly, a look of utter surprise on his face. Could he be so lucky today, that the Duke didn't suspect him yet? Rather than expose himself, Kenins regained his composure, nodded quickly with a bow and said, "As my Duke commands," before hurrying off.

There was still, as Kenins saw things, ample time to redirect any suspicion of the guard's death to him. If anyone even remembered that the guard had died, at this point. Because now there was a much bigger, and much more pressing question: Who had tried to kill Constance Carwick? The answer, simply, was the guard. He'd been the easiest to convince to frame her - through a third party, of course! - but Kenins hadn't realized how zealous he would be left to his own devices. Oh well. But no one needed to know that. The answer people would think would be:

Who had the most to gain from her death?

All there was to do now was to shut up the guard. Kenins hurried towards the dungeons; he caught up with the soldiers and the guard as they began the descent down the long, stone stairs. And his keen eye noted that, in the continual struggle with the guard, one of the soldier's gauntlets had dropped onto the top stair.

"Put him in a solitary cell," Kenins called after them, "I want to question that man before any other-"

His commands were cut off, because in that moment Kenins 'slipped' on the mislain gauntlet. He controlled his fall enough that - while he'd end up with a sore bum - he wouldn't fall further than he'd need to. The guard, however... In his 'fall', Kenins slammed hard into the guard, sending him sprawling down the stairwell. None of the soldiers dared try to hold onto him. The two soldiers and Kenins watched in a long, drawn out moment as the body of the guard tumbled down the steep stone steps, until it finally landed with the man's neck at a sickening angle. And there he lay: dead.

"What in hell!?" Kenins blustered, and all three men looked to the gauntlet left on the stairs. "Which one of you left that there!? There's a man dead, now! And it easily could have been four!"

The soldiers looked wide-eyed to each other; they knew this could easily mean their job. Or worse. They looked at Kenins, who sighed. "Let me handle this. I know you're both loyal men. I saw how quickly you acted back there to save, Angsar willing, Lady Carwick. If anyone asks, he slipped."

...

Upstairs, the surgeon finally returned, shame-faced and escorted by two guards and a stretcher. He hurried past Erwin to Constance, who was hanging somewhere between consciousness and unconsciousness. In her head, she was dimly aware of the fact that she was surrounded by soldiers, surrounded by guards. And someone had shot her. She was bleeding. A voice inside her told her that she should fight. But she was too weak to follow through. And when the guards moved her to the stretcher and carried her out of the east wing room to the surgery, she didn't manage to struggle.

Artem paused only for a moment behind the guards and the stretcher to say to Erwin, keeping his eyes on the ground, "I'll do everything I can, m'lord."

The guards carted the stretcher off to the infirmary as quickly as they could, followed after by a hurried Artem. Erwin followed as well, perhaps out of instinct. If there was a time for Constance Carwick to die, now wasn't it. Not especially during his tenure as Duke, however long or short that might last.

When he got to the door of the infirmary though, several of the guards already posted there stopped him briefly, urging him not to watch. Through the doorway he could already see his surgeon dive right to work, using a sharp blade to cut away at bloody clothing to expose the wound. Erwin could already tell that it was a mess in there. They'd have to clean the floors twice over.

He tried to make his way in, but again the guards cautioned against it. Just as he was about to order them to stand down though, more people arrived at the scene, including some of the more curious and concerned household staff -- and Grace.

"By Ansgar, let me in there!" the old lady was shouting, almost to the point of coming to blows with the one young guard trying desperately to keep her out while keeping her unharmed. Before Erwin could even say "Grace--" she managed to slip her way past the guard and to the surgeon's side.

And then another guard arrived at the scene, saluted to the Duke while biting his lip, and then proceeded to relay the bad news. Erwin's eyes widened and he whirled on the man.

"What do you mean 'dead'?"

"He- he slipped, m'lord," the unlucky guard answered. "He kept struggling the whole way, and didn't even stop when we got to the dungeon stairs. They're so narrow and high, that when he tried to get out of our grip and reach for my knife, it was too chaotic and, and he fell."

The soldier swallowed, looking thoroughly uncomfortable. "It's a long fall. Lord Kenins arranged for the body to be brought up for an autopsy. To make certain that he wasn't under some spirit or poison that made him act so rashly. Once Lady Constance is taken care of, that is."

Inside the infirmary, Artem the surgeon was finishing the operation. At the close range of the shot, the main bullet had blown clear through the young woman, but there had been many smaller pieces of shot to remove. And she had lost much precious blood in the process. Now he was cleaning and bandaging the wound. When it was done, he gave some instructions to his assistant, have the pale faced Grace an encouraging squeeze of the shoulder, and went out to brief the Duke.

"M'lord," he began stiffly, still embarrassed by the way he had fled earlier. "The lady is still alive, but she's lost a lot of blood. In the next few hours we should know," he coughed, "which way she shall go. I've given her a tonic to keep her asleep. It's important that she keep taking it for the next day or so. That is, if... Well. We shall have to wait and see."

Erwin was left speechless and exasperated as the guard saluted and hurried back to his post. The one possible lead into what happened to the dead guard, gone in an instant. All he had left now was for the surgeon's report on two autopsies he'd have to perform.

That same surgeon's words at least brought the Duke some comfort. After the man also hurried back inside with a face as red as the blood staining his clothing, Erwin entered the room. Olive lay on the table, eyes closed and face pale, with swaths of bandages wrapped around her torso tightly. Even now, small traces of blood were beginning to seep through the white linens, and likely the surgeon would have to replace them soon.

But at least she was still breathing.

Standing over her grim-faced, the Duke remained silent and unmoving for a few more moments before allowing himself a frustrated exhale. Everything was falling apart.

The quiet of his study provided some small respite from his otherwise hectic day. He sat behind his desk in fresh clothing, eyes staring down at a stack of papers illuminated by many candles. The words just weren't clicking in his head though, likely brushed aside by the pounding ache inside his skull.

Luckily his wandering mind snapped back to focus at the sound of a soft rapping at his door. It opened, allowing a grizzled looking man in fine velvet to enter.

"Milord, if I could have a moment of your time," said Lysander Burrows, Master of Coin.

Lord Burrows entered the study wearily. It had been a long for everyone. And he'd spent a good part of it listening to troubling reports from Lord Kenins and from some of the guards who had been present in the east wing.

"I'm sorry to trouble you, Erwin," he began, and there was a clear sign of trepidation in his face, "but I'm afraid it's important. But first I can relay some good news," he said as he entered the room properly, closing the door behind him, "Artem says that Lady Constance should live. In a day maybe he will take away the sleeping tonic."

In spite himself, he gave Erwin just the briefest of looks to gauge if the Duke would consider this news good.

He cleared his throat, the suddenly changed tracks, asking, "Do you want a drink? Oh. No. Of course not. I may help myself to b one, though..."

He poured himself a whiskey left over from the old days of Harlow Carwick and sat down opposite of Erwin.

"It's Lady Constance I've come to discuss. As you can imagine, there is ample talk of foul play and. Well. No accusations have been made. But I think we need to make sure that no such accusation can be leveled at you, m'lord..."

It was clear he had more to say, but he paused to take a drink. This was not a conversation Lord Burrows wanted to have...

Erwin watched the old Master of Coin pour himself a drink and nurse it gently. Truthfully he was glad someone was finishing off the last of Carwick's personal bar. He didn't have the heart to have the expensive liquor removed, though he knew he would not drink it himself. It sure did help appease guests.

The older man's words piqued Erwin's attention. He leaned forward with a tired frown on his face, trying to sound the words of Burrows in his mind. Did he hear that correctly?

"...what do you mean? Accusations leveled at me? That's absurd."

Of course it was absurd. He was the only person in this entire damned duchy -- or in the whole country -- actually trying to keep Constance Carwick alive. And as evidenced by earlier today, he was doing a piss poor job of it.

"Yes, absurd, indeed," Lord Burrows agreed, though he was more watchful of Erwin's expressions and countenance than he might normally be. "I'm certainly not accusing you of anything, m'lord. But there are a few things we need to discuss. And now I'm afraid we ought to have... well..."

The old Master of Coin took another sip of the whiskey before continuing.

"I'm sorry to say that it's financial matters. I suppose I should have discussed it with you sooner, but, well, I know how you feel about 'money talk' and I frankly never imagined it would need to be discussed." The old man was, of course, talking around himself quite a bit and he seemed to be aware of it. Finally, after a bit of hemming and hawing, he set into the matter. Trying, of course, to keep his tone and cadence clear enough to not bore the military man who'd become his duke.

"The matter at hand is Harlow Carwick's will, and Avery's after him. Of course all of the duchy's wealth and holdings pass on to whoever is the reigning duke, in this case you. As a steward, let's say, to be used for the duchy. That is, any income and revenue from the land... Agriculture, industry within Wulfbauer, and the like," he glanced up at Erwin to make sure he was following. "But quite a bit of Wulfbauer's reserve funds come, in fact, from private and foreign holdings. Stakes in trading companies, mining operations abroad, foreign land holdings... that sort of thing. Those sorts of assets can't be held by the duchy directly, naturally; they're private investments. Of course, when the Carwicks were ruling, they held these assets and used them as reserve for the duchy. Naturally. So we never had to consider them separate from the duchy's finances."

Lord Burrows shifted in his seat, pausing to give the information so far a chance to sink in. "But you see, when Harlow didn't produce a son, he added an addendum to his will. That in the case that there was no Carwick heir to the duchy to inherit these private holdings, they would instead," he cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable with the news, "be passed to his daughter, Constance. This was before all the unpleasantness of the war broke out, and no doubt he included it to ensure that if Avery died before the pair were wed, she'd still be married to whoever inherited the duchy. After the war began and it was clear Constance could never be duchess, and after the girl was sent to the mage camps, I pleaded with him to change the will. He refused - driven, I think, by guilt for having consented to her internment. As his will now reads, Constance inherits the duchy's private holdings as long as she lives. While she was unaccounted for, the funds were to be managed by the Master of Coin - as I have done, and honestly I imagined they would stay under the purview of the Master of Coin after me, too. I never imagined Constance was still... Well. If, on the other hand, it was confirmed that Constance had died, the will states that only then should the funds pass on to the current, reigning duke."

He paused for just a moment to let this troubling news, too, sink in. "I tried to convince Avery to change the will, of course, but he likewise refused. So you see, Erwin, that as it stands, you have quite a bit to gain from the young lady's death. Financially, but also politically. Of course I will testify that I had not yet made you aware of this, if it comes to that," he paused again to look at Erwin, perhaps wondering if the duke hadn't learned the information another way. "I know I should have brought this all to you as soon as she returned, but what with Valance and Krah, well - That was a failing on my part. I know that. But you see how it might look.

"And there were some troubling reports... Lord Kenins and more than one of the guards reported that no one tried to disarm the man? Before he fired the shot, that he'd been allowed to keep the loaded weapon aimed at Lady Carwick for some time? While you were looking for a puppy?"

He let the question hang there, taking a cautious sip of the whiskey. "Well, I wasn't there," he finally concluded, "but you must understand the importance of us - of you - coming out ahead of this, Erwin. As strange as it may seem given all the evidence to the contrary, to many people young Constance isn't a mage, she's a Carwick. Look at what those people did in Valance, after all. If people think that you tried to have her killed, while she was in your custody, well... it could be very damning. We're in a delicate position here."

The talk of foreign holdings and reserve funds almost flew completely over Erwin's head, and it must've shown on his face as he frowned deeply, trying to follow along. By the end of it, his only real takeaway was this: it appeared as though he would profit the most from Constance's untimely death.

"So that's the way of it," he said slowly once Burrows was done. There was a simmering anger burning behind his cold gaze. "People actually think that I made an attempt on Constance Carwick's life for my own gain."

With a sigh he stood from his chair and stepped over to the little bar. His eyes gazed down blankly at the glass container full of deep amber liquor, and a thought occurred to him that maybe he might enjoy his first in ten years. Ansgar knew he could use it.

But instead he snatched up a nearby flagon of cold water and poured himself a cup, downing it quickly before refilling it.

"Look, Burrows. The last thing I want is Constance Carwick's death on my hands. I'm trying to keep her alive and well, dammit! Mage or not, her family name is the only tie the people have left to the old regime, to hundreds of years of tradition. If she died too... Wulfbauer would collapse upon itself."

He shook his head. "I had no reason to think that guard would pull the trigger. He's a loyal man, Kenins himself recommended him for guard detail months ago."

He paused and shot a look to the Master of Coin. Did he have reason to doubt Kenins?

The look, or rather non-look, Lord Burrows returned to the Duke of Wulbauer was coolly neutral. The dropping of Lord Kenins name and the pointed look was exactly the same tactic, if it was a tactic, that Lord Kenins had used when so-subtly suggesting that perhaps Erwin had been responsible for the attempt on Constance’s life. Lord Burrows was too old to get in the middle of that sort of in-fighting. It was a young man’s game, and he felt too old to play it. All he wanted was a stable and, more importantly, prosperous duchy.

”Well, one can never know how a man will act with a mage after all these years of war,” he answered. ”Clearly whoever did do this - assuming of course, that it was any more than a mad man acting out in a time of war, which I’m not sure it wasn’t - doesn’t ‘want Constance Carwick’s death on their hands,’ as you put it. No one has accused you of anything, Erwin. We need to keep it that way.”

The old Master of Coin let out a weary sigh and took another drink and thought, for a moment, wearily of the days when Wulfbauer had Harlow Carwick’s firm hand on the tiller. ”If I can give my opinion on a non-financial matter, I think you should take your own words to heart. The girl is the last link to the Carwicks, and her reappearance after all these years when we thought she had died… Well, it could be a great morale boost to the duchy. You were a military man, you know how important morale can be. On the other hand,” he frowned, ”having her reappear, seemingly miraculously, only to be shrouded in rumors of criminality, kept as a prisoner by the new ruling duke, hidden from the public and even other nobles… Well, what are people to think?

“I know it’s out of my range of expertise, but I would say that - for better or worse - the girl is here now. Make use of her. Reassure people that you have no dark ulterior motives. And that she is the same girl they knew when she was a child. However true that may or may not be. If the people think you believe it, they will, too.” He looked thoughtfully into his glass. Lord Burrows did not like having to think about all of these other matters. Trade, taxation, money management… those were the things he enjoyed. Finally, he offered, ”Her mother was duchess for some thirty years. Let Constance stand in for some of the roles Caroline filled. At least while you have no wife," he added with a pointed look. That matter was one the Master of Coin had brought up with the unwed duke more than once. But he wouldn't go on about it now. "The spring festival is coming up. Her mother always judged the flowers. Let Constance do it. Hell, her father judged the March beer; let her do that, too, since I imagine you won’t,” he added with a small, gruff laugh. It faded quickly, however, ending in an uncomfortable cough and he frowned into his glass.. ”But let people see her, let them feel that some things are still intact in Wulfbauer.”

Finally, his frown deepening, he added one final note, ”And we’ll have to tell her, once she’s well. I’m afraid the will is quite clear on that.”

Erwin continued pacing behind his desk, oblivious to the fact that it must've been tiresome for the old Burrows to crane his neck and follow along. He stopped briefly at the high window to gaze out at the bailey below. Beyond the walls of the Keep, the soft twinkles of the City of Wulfbauer gleamed in the near distance, soft pins of light against the otherwise black landscape.

Thousands of his people, all worn down by a brutal winter and the shadow of civil war threatening to darken their homes. Burrows was right about the morale.

"She's only a prisoner for as long as we sit here waiting for word from the Grand Duke. Perhaps it's my fault and that I played my hand wrong with the army and Valance, but I don't know if there's a better way about it. Just to show Calent that I'm a reasonable man, but not one he can trod over with his blind crusade."

He sighed and sat back down, draining the rest of the water. "But maybe you're right. Constance doesn't deserve this and maybe giving her more freedom will show the people that the Carwicks are still around and that I'm here to look after them. They'll like that. Or at least those that don't agree with Calent and his mage war..."

He gave the Master of Coin another sour look at the mention of marriage, though this time his face wasn't as unforgiving as it usually was when the topic came about. If nothing else, Erwin knew that the Master of Coin could be wrong about many things but the issue of his bachelorhood was not one of them. Apparently even with all the strife befalling the Duchy, he wasn't doing a good job of pushing that task to the back of his agenda.

"The spring festival is a good idea," he agreed with a nod of his head. "It'll have to be a lighter affair this time, since we cannot afford to waste what little food stores we have left. Constance can adjudicate both of those competitions and I'm sure they'll love her for it. Unless you want to judge the March beer. I remember you and my father matching mug for mug back in the day."

He leaned back and gazed off wistfully at nothing in particular. "Perhaps I'll participate in the riding competition again. I won once, you know, when I hadn't reached twenty summers yet. I think every girl that spring wanted to tie her favor around my arm. Those were the simpler times."

’Maybe you’re right. Constance doesn’t deserve this.’ Erwin’s words left Lord Burrows looking troubled. And the crease in his brow deepened when Erwin went on to talk about ‘Calent’s mage war.’He sat thoughtfully for a moment, then took another sip of his whiskey and cleared his throat.

”You understand, of course, my lord, that I’m talking about appearances only. Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy to see Harlow’s girl alive; I was with him when she was born, you know. But she was barely eighteen when they sent her to the camps, and this is the first anyone has so much as heard from her since. A lot can change in a person between eighteen and twenty-three. Until we know more about where she has been and what has happened to her, I don’t think we should make any assumptions about what has changed in Constance.”

He leaned back and let out a heavy exhale. ”But you’ll learn soon enough that appearances matter more in this business than any of us would like to admit. And it may help ease the people, and the girl. We will, of course,” he started hesitantly, fully aware that Erwin had avoided the financial aspects of this conversation, ”have to convince her to sign over her financial rights to you. It would be a nightmare managing the duchy if such a large chunk of the reserve were in another’s hands. But that can wait until things settle down a little." He took the last sip of the whiskey, set the glass down, and pushed himself up. "I’ll leave you to your thoughts, my lord. It’s been an exhausting day for all of us.”

But the Master of Coin couldn’t help but pause in the doorway and look back at his duke. ”But if you ride in the festival this year, Erwin, and any lady wants to ‘tie her favor around your arm,' for God’s sake, let her.”

With that, the man left Erwin to his solitude.

---

The next day found Olive gradually emerging from the drugged sleep with a deep sense of panic in her stomach. She couldn’t remember why, but her urge to flee or fight was overwhelming as she struggled out of the gray sleep. She wasn’t safe. She needed to escape. She’d been caught. They were going to send her back, they were going to….

She awoke fully with a start, panting and sweat beading on her brow. It took her a moment to remember where she was. And when she tried to sit up only to be met with a sharp pain in her shoulder, what had happened. She lay back with a groan. And the reality settled on her: the fears she’d initially felt while struggling to wake weren’t phantoms. She had been caught. And regardless of where she was being held, it was clear she wasn’t safe. And what would the duke do with her now?

Before any feeling of fear or anger could overtake her, though, she felt something wet on her fingers. Her right arm had been bound in a sling as part of the bandages of her shoulder, but her left hand lay by her hips and, she realized, something was licking it. She risked the pain and dizziness to sit up a little and look: there was the red-furred pup, curled up in her lap and licking her fingers. He must have found his way to her, or more likely a servant found him and brought him here. Either way, it was something, and Olive felt a slow exhale relieve some of her tension.

"A nightmare I certainly look forward to," he replied with a tinge of sarcasm, though he kept it to a minimum. Burrows was right about the potential headache that these reserve funds would cause, on top of the headaches they'd already given the Duke. When it came time to resolve the issue, he'd need Lord Burrows and all of his expertise.

But that was a problem for another day, and Erwin was left in his study, sitting alone in contemplative silence as the many candles danced his silhouette against the dark wall behind. There was an odd spot on his left hand, an empty space around his finger where a ring should have been. Perhaps soon that space would be occupied. He didn't look forward to it.

---

The little pup's gentle lapping was soon joined by the soft chorus of songbirds, the first of the season,  wafting in through the half-opened window and into the room. The air seemed fresher here, and perhaps brighter. It was, after all, not the East Wing but her childhood room. Some of the furniture from her days in the castle had been switched out and replaced but for the most part it looked the same as it had before Olive had been shipped from the mage camps. Small tables and a vanity lined one side of the room, the large four-post bed along the other, and a plethora of furs and carpets swept across the stone floor.

Her groaning had evidently alerted whoever had been assigned to keep watch, for within moments Grace darted her way into the room. The maid instantly gravitated toward bedside, where an expression relief washed over her tired old face. "Oh thank Ansgar you're awake!" she nearly cried, reaching out to fluff pillows for her so that she didn't have to struggle to sit up. The little puppy, indignant at having been interrupted, nestled deeper into the blankets.

From behind her, the surgeon stood expectantly in the doorway. He made no move to enter though. The ladies were having their little moment, and he was too embarrassed from the previous day to interrupt.

The singing of the birds cut through Olive’s thoughts and, opening her eyes to her surroundings for the first time, she realized that she wasn’t in the infirmary. And she wasn’t in the East Wing. She was in her room, her room. She couldn’t believe it, and at first she felt only sick. Why had she been put here, with all these memories?

But she didn’t have long to contemplate this - or reel from it - before the door opened and Grace hurried in. She didn’t say anything at first as her mother’s old maid fussed over her. She was awake, but she still felt dizzy and vaguely sick from the drugged sleeping tonic, and weak from the ordeal in the East Wing. Grace had only just got Olive sitting up when Artem cleared his throat.

”We’re sorry to interrupt your rest, Lady Carwick,” he said apologetically, avoiding direct eye contact with her as he spoke. ”It’s good that you’re awake again, though I imagine in a good deal of pain. I will make sure something is sent up to alleviate that as best we can. But it’s important that for the next few days you keep resting, and stay in bed. For life has been spared, but your shoulder's sustained considerably damage. We don’t want you doing yourself more harm by getting up and about before you’re well again.” As he went on with his dry medical advice, Olive wondered what he meant by ‘up and about’ anyway. Yes, this room was bigger than the East Wing, but there still wasn’t so much she could do to really overexert herself in here.

When he was done, the surgeon excused himself and Grace set about fussing over Olive while obliquely filling her in on what had happened since the previous day’s incident. Olive was having a hard time focusing on what she said, though. She was too distracted. She couldn’t believe she was here. So much of the room, her room, was the same. An old map of the streams and forest of Wulfbauer, drawn by a great-great-uncle in a fanciful, romantic manner. A copper birdcage, now empty, that had once housed a goldfinch her father had given her for her nineth birthday. And then she noticed something that hadn’t been there before. It was a series of small watercolors that Olive recognized as being her mother’s work. Lively paintings of daily life, not the stuffy oil canvases of professional artists. And what more, though she had never seen the paintings before, she recognized the subject of the watercolors as herself.

The first was of Olive, maybe nine or ten, dressed in a fancy new dress, looking equal parts innocent and guilty as both she and the dress were covered in mud. As though she’d been rolling around in it. Which, of course, along with the stablehand’s boy, she had. Next to it was a twelve-year-old Olive with her arms thrown around the not-yet-fullgrown Connlaothian Trakcer who was already the size of a small pony. She frowned, thinking of her old loyal dog who had died in the camps. And last of the series, she was embarrassed to see, was herself as a surly-looking teenager (as only teenagers can look surly), maybe sixteen, being scolded by a faceless butler who was holding the bottle of Orchian apple brandy she had clearly tried to steal. It occurred to her at first that these were all aspects of Olive’s personality - a messy, unladylike trouble-maker - that she had always thought her mother abhorred. The second thing that occurred to her was that her mother must have moved the watercolors into the room after Olive had disappeared. Thinking of that, of her mother putting these here in her daughter’s empty room, made Olive’s heart feel as though it would physically break. She couldn't believe she would never see her again.

She could feel her throat tightening when some of Grace’s words caught her attention. Grace had, of course, been talking the entire time. But had she really said… ”Wait, Grace, did you say that Duke Therrien arranged for the guard to shoot me?”

”Certainly not!” Grace responded promptly, clearly considering herself above such gossip and finger pointing. ”I said that some people are saying that he did. Well, I don’t know if he has or not, I’m only a maid. But I have to say, I don’t think a gentleman should let a loaded rifle be waved around at any lady, no matter who she is!”

Right, Olive remembered that. The moments before the guard had shot her were something of a blur. But now that Grace said it, she remembered the guard holding the handcanon aimed at her for what felt like a long time. She had seen the fanatical look in the man’s eyes. Why hadn’t Erwin? The thought sent a chill down her spine. But then another memory swam into her head, of the duke’s face after she was shot, when he tried to stay the bleeding. But it was hazy, blurred… could she trust it?

---

After leaving Grace with the young Lady Carwick, Artem continued to his next duty. He delivered the results of the autopsy to Duke Therrien in person. The first guard had, he found, been poisoned. Very likely with Wolfsbane. The second guard, he could only say, had indeed fallen down the stairs. Why he had fallen was beyond the scope of an autopsy to reveal.

The news was troubling indeed, and for once the Duke did not enjoy having his suspicions confirmed. And of course his only lead into the entire mystery had died at the bottom of a long curving flight of stairs. At best, it had been a small conspiracy which had died with the unfortunate guard. But of course things were never so simple.

Especially once Artem told him that the autopsy had revealed Wolfsbane. While not uncommon around duchy, it was especially rare at this time of the year and in such cold weather. Worse, processing enough of the deadly herb to extract liquid venom required skilled hands and time -- or someone with money.

Thankfully Erwin had plenty of other affairs to occupy him the rest of that day and the next, though he couldn't help but notice the way some of the household staff were looking at him. It didn't take long before the quiet rumors reached even his ears. It took all of his effort to hide his indignation and anger at such an accusation.

Finally, on the third day, after having ridden through town and back on official business, the Duke had enough time in his schedule to check on his recovering guest. Trading in his riding cloak and gloves for a more subdued grey tunic, Erwin climbed the stairs to where Constance Carwick's old chambers were. This wing of the castle had much more life than the East Wing, and there was a maid waiting at the door to let him in.

Bed rest was not a huge improvement, it turned out, on being kept locked up in the East Wing. If anything, Olive had preferred her time in the East Wing. It was full of less memories, less reminders. It presented a question Olive hadn’t faced before, though: if it weren’t for her shoulder, she could escape from this room. She’d snuck out, down the trellis, more than once as a teenager. But should she? Erwin’s words in the mausoleum kept coming back to her. The duchy needs its Carwicks.

But Erwin Therrien might have tried to have her killed. And she was a mage. She could bring Wulfbauer nothing, she was certain, but trouble.

Olive was trying to distract herself from all these thoughts with a book when she heard the door handle click and saw the door open to reveal the duke. Olive pushed herself up to sit up straight, closing the heavy book in her lap and moving it awkwardly aside with her one good arm. The other was still bound in a sling. ”Duke Therrien,” she greeted curtly.

Olive waited until she saw the maid had shut the door before attempting a bit of a smile. ”If you’ve come to finish me off, I hope your aim’s better than your man’s was. This bed rest business is driving me mad.” Being the ‘target’ in question, Olive felt entitled to make the joke. She’d learned early, as a mage, to employ humor to dispel tense situations. But it came across weakly, all the same. And when her smile faded, it was replaced by a look of doubt, as if hoping it was a joke after all.

Erwin felt the coldness the moment he entered Constance's fully furnished room, though certainly not from the lack of heat, which emanated in waves from the crackling hearth in the corner. No, this was a different coldness. From the way the recovering Carwick stared at him and greeted him so abruptly, she might as well have been shooting icicles out of her eyes and through his gut.

Hearing the door click shut behind him the Duke removed his gloves and opened his mouth to say something, but was quickly interrupted by her words. At that moment a look of exasperation flew across his features, wrinkling his brow so heavily that someone might have thought he'd eaten something sour. After all, Erwin Therrien, Duke or not, had never been known to express his emotions so openly.

"By Ansgar, that rumor has reached even you!" he said with a hint of irritation as he tossed the gloves onto a table. He had to shake his head and step to the window, avoiding eye contact and instead staring down at the bailey to compose himself. How in all the hells did he end up with the blame? What was he doing wrong?

Finally, he roughly pulled a chair up to her bedside and plopped himself down on it, cradling his head in his hands. It was bad enough that he had to contend with Lord Burrows and all his numbers, which already drove him mad. Not to mention that Calent had yet to send any word of response, either in apology or in condemnation. And now this. Unconsciously his mind went to the jagged scar across his side, a reminder of when he'd almost been assassinated some months back. Was he really doing that poorly with Wulfbauer? He knew it'd be hard work... but this was beyond his imagining.

Problems had to be fixed one at a time though. With another shake of his head, he finally made eye contact with Olive and said firmly, "Listen, Constance. I had nothing to do with the attempt on your life, and I swear it by my family. What it does prove is that I have less control over this castle, let alone this Duchy, than I thought. I know it all sounds too convenient -- the Carwick holdings, your father's will..."

An odd silence fell between the two of them, and he felt a nagging in his gut that she didn't quite believe him. Not that he could blame her, the circumstances surrounding her shooting were just all too timely to not suspect him as the primary perpetrator. Two men dead, one of which was the only one who had answers.

And from the way he'd kept her locked in the East Wing for so many days, maybe she had every right to suspect him. For the hundredth time, he wished he hadn't assumed the Dukeship.

If Constance was cold towards the duke, it wasn't because of a dislike of or anger with him. It was born out of, well, a certain awkwardness. How were you supposed to interact with the man who was keeping you prisoner in a house that used to be yours? Whose family was now ruling where yours once had? Before, of course, she would have taken the liberties of a certain amount of familiarity with him - even if they never knew each other so well - simply because of their relative stations. But for now, being curt and formal seemed like the safest option. The whole confusion was aided, probably, by a helping of uncertainty: Could she trust him? Should she fear him? These were questions Olive didn't know the answers to yet.

Her eyes widened a little at his sour, and she thought overblown, reaction to her 'joke.' The duke, it seemed, was in no mood. "It was just a joke," she muttered, half-apologetically.

Olive watched him carefully as he plopped down onto the chair, looking more exhausted, she thought, and concerned than he had when he'd last come to talk to her about Hellvion. The puppy, who had been curled up asleep at Olive's feet, wagged its tail, though, and belly-crawled to the edge of the bed closest to Erwin. It laid its head flat on the edge of the bed, wagging its tail and quietly whining for the man to pet him.

And while the puppy was doing that, Olive was turning over Erwin's words. She watched the way he held his head in his hands, thinking for the second time that the Duke seemed to be letting some wall down with her that she doubted he did with his advisors. Because she was the last duke's daughter? Because she was a woman? Because they'd known each other, sort of, once? She wasn't sure, but when she finally broke the pregnant silence between them, it was to say, "I believe you. Olive hadn't known she was going to say that until the words came out of her mouth. But once they were spoken, she knew they were true. In her gut, she did believe him. "I believe you," she repeated, self-consciously sitting up a little straighter and brushing back a stray lock hair from her face.

But the last thing he'd said made her frown, and her brow furrowed a little. "What... holdings, though?" She didn't know. She'd been eighteen when she'd been sent to the north. Her father had never discussed the matters of his will with her. "What about my..." her voice tightened for a moment. Talking about her father's will just reinforced what she already knew: He was gone. "My father's will," she finished, looking to Erwin. What did that have to do with what happened int he East Wing? Olive raked her memory for anything her father might have told her, but under the influence of the concoctions Artem had given her to dull her pain, she couldn't find something.

Erwin paused to look at her, trying to wrap his own head around it. So she didn't know about the holdings, considerable financial assets that rightfully belonged to her, or at least as Burrows had described it. For a brief second he considered retracting his words and keeping the information to himself. But that would go against the whole point of his coming here in the first place. He was here to repair bridges, not further damage them.

With a soft exhale he said quietly, "Your father had considerable holdings to his name. Private interests in foreign land, mining, that sort of thing. They weren't Duchy assets but family assets to be passed down the Carwick line. And they're supposed to go to you. Or rather, they do belong to you."

He paused again, wondering if she already suspected what he would say next: that her death would have been an incredible windfall for Wulfbauer's coffers. Not that the Duchy couldn't use the money. Ansgar knew every single duchy in the entire country would have killed for an influx of money like what Constance Carwick's inheritance could have offered.

Instead he took the moment to reach forward to pick up the little puppy, placing the squirming animal in its lap as it gleefully wagged its tail. He'd always loved dogs. His own hounds were probably out in the kennels right now, spending all their pent-up energy running in circles.

"Did Grace give him a name? Or have you come up with your own?" The puppy let out another gleeful bark as Erwin scratched it behind its ear.

”Oh.” Oh. Considerable holdings. Private interest in foreign lands. Family assets. Olive blinked once. She hadn’t been expecting that. She hadn’t been expecting that. Financial assets that were… in her name now? Olive racked her memory. Her father had always believed in diversification to keep Wulfbauer stable as well as strong. And part of that, Olive remembered, included investments in private businesses, both foreign and domestic. She’d never thought of it as family money, however. It had always been part of the duchy’s reserve fund. But, oh, of course. A duchy couldn’t own stakes in businesses, or foreign properties, and things of that nature. But until very recently there had been no need to make a distinction between what belonged to the Carwicks and what belonged to Wulfbauer. But now… Olive looked at Erwin, understanding.

Of course. With her male cousins deceased and her female cousins married, Constance was the last Carwick. With her gone, she imagined, the private holdings would pass on to Erwin. And now that she was alive again, and confirmed to be alive, having Wulfbauer’s private holdings in the hand of a runaway mage would be nothing short of a headache for the new duke.

Olive shook her head; she hadn’t thought about things like that in a long time. Not that she’d ever had to think much about it in the first place! Her father had, of course, gone over some of the practical matters of running the duchy, including financial, but that was a long time ago. Still. For a moment, Olive wondered if she’d spoken too soon in telling Erwin that she believed him. It struck her that her death would, indeed, be extremely convenient for him. But no, somehow she still believed him. Why should he mention it, otherwise?

The puppy strained upward to try to lick Erwin’s face, and Olive’s attention returned to the present. She watched the man and the puppy a little jealously; feelingly guiltily possessive of the dog’s affection. ”I don’t think Grace deigns to name animals,” she answered. ”I call him Kipper. I don’t believe in long, serious names for dogs. Like Alexander or Count Woofington the Third or anything silly like that.” She paused for the moment, then added seriously, ”I didn’t make that up, you know. Lord Petri’s son’s dogs were Count Woofington and Viceroy Barkley.” Lord Petri was lord of Clearwater in southern Wulfbauer, and Olive rolled her eyes to summarize how she felt about the dogs’ names.

She leaned back against the headboard of the bed, regarding Erwin uncertainly. She found herself at a loss as to what to say. Surely he didn’t come here to discuss dogs. Maybe he was hoping that she’d suggest herself that she sign over her rights to the Carwick holdings? Or maybe he hadn’t planned to discuss that at all, except that she’d asked. Maybe he just wanted to make sure she didn’t think he’d tried to kill her. She’d quite like to know what his plans for her were; Was she confined to this room now, instead of the East Wing? Was she free to move about as she pleased? Was she free to leave? But those all seemed like very bold questions to ask.

So instead she tried to muster a wry smile and asked, ”Is that why you moved me here from the East Wing, then? To try to charm me out of my family’s money?”

She flashed a second quick, if meek, smile to try to preempt another sour face from the duke, underlining 'it's just a joke!'] But again, she felt that the it fell a bit flat, but she still didn’t really know how to act with him. So the mix of awkward formality and weak humor would have to do for now.

"That's because Wilhelm Petri is and has always been an idiot," Erwin remarked with a wrinkled nose as the dog's wet tongue skimmed his nose, remembering just how boorish and fanciful the southern lord had been the few times they'd met. As he held Kipper aloft, the puppy stopped squirming just long enough for man and animal to share a brief gaze together. Then it barked again and began wriggling in his hands.

"I should not speak ill of him though, he'll soon be Lord Petri," the Duke quietly remarked as he gave the puppy one last gentle scratch behind the ear before setting it down on the carpeted floor. Kipper instantly shot off and darted around the room as only energetic young pups could do, yapping loudly and running from wall to wall before skidding to a stop at Olive's side, whining for her to get up and play.

Is that why you moved me here from the East Wing, then? To try to charm me out of my family's money?

That caught Erwin's attention and he looked back at Olive with a slight crease in his brow. It occurred to him them that she might've been trying to inject some levity into their conversation, especially from the way flashed the briefest of smiles his way. Did he really have that poor a sense of humor?

The edges of his own mouth creased in the faintest of smiles as he sat back in his chair. "You can thank Lord Burrows for your room, and I'm sure he'd be more than happy if you signed over your assets to the Duchy, he'd be happily counting for weeks. But no, after taking a gunshot the least you deserved was a more comfortable bed to recover in. Besides, having Constance Carwick locked up in the East Wing like a prisoner would neither do you nor Wulfbauer any good. Call it a show of solidarity."

He hunched forward, hands clasped together. A small apologetic look appeared briefly on his face before vanishing as he continued, "It sounds like I'm using you to make myself look better, doesn't it? I suppose I am in a sense. If that doesn't charm you, I don't know what will."

Well, she was glad he said it so she wouldn't have to. 'Sounds like' didn't seem like the case to her. She frowned at the implications, though. Was she really such a potent figure in her home duchy? She was, after all, a mage. First and foremost. That's what Connlaoth thought, anyway. And what she herself had come to think in the past years.

"Aha, so, I get to be your political pawn," she said plainly, her voice was devoid of accusation; she was just starting a fact. At least that's how it seemed to her. She let out a puffed exhale with her cheeks. "Well," she said with another small and somewhat forced smile, "I suppose since you're keeping me alive, it's the least I can do. After all, I did complain to Grace that it was hard not feeling useful..."

She was trying to keep the conversation light, an old survival trick she'd employed for much of her life after being Marked. Everything was always easier when people were at ease. But Erwin's words weighed heavily on her. Carwick financial holdings. The political implications of having 'Constace Carwick locked up like a prisoner.' She thought she was, well, done with those sorts of worries. That sort of responsibility. And of course Erwin wouldn't be able to keep it up forever... tolerating a mage and a woman and a criminal holding large financial assets that were typically used for the duchy.

"Er, Duke Therrien, sorry, but, I suppose the, um, inheritance can't be turned over to the duchy?" It wasn't clear if she was asking, or obliquely making an offer. "I mean, that must be why it's privately held by my family? Or, me, since..." her tongue caught on that. 'Since I'm the only one left. "That's very inconvenient for you. And, well, I'm sorry, but why not keep me locked up in the East Wing? I'm a mage, everyone knows that. And locked up," she shrugged, "is locked up. I guess what I'm trying to ask is... what, exactly, is my status here?"

Erwin could only shrug his shoulders honestly, glancing away. "I don't know the answer to that question. I only learned of these financial matters several days ago from Lord Burrows, and he only told me that they were in your name. In any case I'm not here to deprive you of anything."

Anything else. Ansgar knew she'd already been dragged through the mud enough.

"You weren't in the East Wing because you're a mage," he continued, "you were there because of Valence. But now you're just Lady Carwick returned to Wulfbauer. And as to that..."

He took a deep breath, gathering his thoughts as to what to say next. It really was true that he was using her to strengthen the Duchy's perception of him as the Duke. It sounded the exact type of political play that he might have scoffed at in days past, but Erwin kept telling himself internally that it was all for the good of Wulfbauer. With the recent string of dukes and the bitter winter, the people needed a strong leader to gather around.

"I need you to have a stronger public presence as Lady Constance Carwick. The people still love you, you know, mage or not. If they could see you out and about perhaps they can forget about the hardships of the last few years." And the last winter.

"The Spring Festival is coming soon, and your mother and father always participated heavily in the festivities. You can take over your mother's duties and judge the spring flowers. And perhaps the March beer too, if you fancy such a task."

Olive was prepared to say something about how she obviously still wanted the funds to be used for Wulfbauer's reserves, as she was sure it was intended to. But before she could open her mouth to do so, Erwin suggested... what?

Olive's eyes went wide, and again she scooted to sit up straighter in the bed. At that moment, she wished very much that she wasn't in a bed at all. She felt much more vulnerable, much less ready to fight her corner, than she would if she were properly dressed and standing. His 'suggestion' left her winded; it was one thing to have her story be used for this or that reason, but, a stronger public presence?

"They didn't 'love me' when they sent me north to the camps," she sputtered, and immediately regretted it. She looked down, cheeks coloring a little. That had been a choice her parents had made, for much the same reasons that Erwin was suggesting this now. It wasn't a decision that belonged to anyone else, lease of all the common people of Wulfbauer. "Sorry, that wasn't fair," she muttered, not making eye contact with Erwin.

The silence that followed was thick. Sensing the tension between the two, Kipper lay flat on the bed and turned his head form Olive to Erwin and back, whining quietly. In her heart of hearts, Olive knew that Erwin wasn't asking anything of her that wasn't already expected of her simply from the circumstances of her birth. The role of a young noblelady was to do as she was told, for the benefit of the duchy, or her father, or her husband, or... But that life was supposed to be over now. She'd never wanted that life to begin with! She wasn't 'Lady Constance Olivia Carwick', she was a mage, a fugitive, a fighter. That had been the real purpose of her title, the influence that went with it, the ability to stand up to the government that had cast them aside. Including her. Including hundreds of innocent people. Not to judge flowers.

"What?" she asked, finally looking up at Erwin, as though only just hearing his words. "No! The Spring Festival? You can't be serious. I don't want people to 'forget!' Think of what that means. Forgetting the war. Forgetting the neighbors, the brothers and sisters, the daughters and sons that should be there but aren't. That are either dying in Calent's camps or on pointless battlefields. No one should forget that! That was why-" she bit her lip, looking away to stay her tongue, her expression tense and hard. Angry. She had nearly said something about how that was why they had attacked the ball at Hellvion, but given how that turned out, even she couldn't make herself say it. And, just as importantly, even she knew that the Spring Festival was no grand ball like Melora threw in Hellvion. That it was for everyone, common and noble alike.

"Perhaps I used the wrong word," he quickly corrected, feeling the heated passion coming from her frantic response. He said nothing when she abruptly fell to silence and looked away, though he surely could guess at what she might've said next.  The Hellvion affair had started this whole mess, and in a way had resulted in Valence.

His expression hardened at that thought and he continued, "I don't want the people of Wulfbauer to forget the toll this war has taken on them, nor do I want them to forget the suffering and the dead. Ansgar knows we won't ever forget what Krah did." Or the fact that the Duke would've hanged the bastard in this very room if he were available for it. Even he could hear the little crack in his voice from where he had to fight to keep himself composed.

With a soft exhale, his voice took on a calmer, more neutral tone.

"I want them to see that despite everything that has happened, Wulfbauer continues to persist. That there's some semblance of normalcy, or that we're slowly returning to normal if that could ever happen at this point." It occurred to him how grossly inadequate that sounded especially to someone like Olive who'd lived the nightmare of the mage camps. While he'd been in the military since the Purges began, he had never been assigned to any detail even remotely close to the mages and only knew of the atrocities from hearsay. Border skirmishes paled in comparison to what she'd faced. He had difficulty even imagining the horror.

Maybe his openly defying Calent, in withdrawing the Wulfbauer army and halting the summary deportation of mages from the duchy, would begin to heal those deep wounds. Or maybe it wouldn't make any difference at all. He couldn't be sure. He wasn't sure of anything he did these days.

A silence lingered between the two of them, though his eye contact never wavered. Finally, he said quietly, "At least that's the hope."

Erwin might have kept his eyes firmly on her, but Olive’s gaze was planted in the middle distance, fixed on a speck on the wall opposite of her. But that didn’t mean she didn’t listen. What he had to say, it sounded good. But the gap between how the things people said sounded and what they actually meant, she knew, could be a broad one. And she couldn’t help but think that they also sounded empty; nice-sounding words to placate her, make her more pliable. She thought he might even believe them, but what did that mean? Good intentions alone wouldn’t be enough to heal the wounds of war.

But it might be a start. That’s what a voice in the back of her head said, though in her anger she wanted to ignore it. Olive ran a hand through her hair, letting out a slow exhale through her nose.

”Hope for whom?” she asked, finally meeting his persistent gaze. Her voice was still tight, but the flare of anger had drained out of it during her long silence. ”And what sense of ‘normalcy’ do you want to return to? This war didn’t come from nowhere; it wasn’t like an earthquake or a flood, an act of nature no one could have predicted. It was born out of generations of accepting that the discrimination and violence meted out against mages was ‘normal.’ We can’t return to that if we want the war to end.”

And if they returned to that normal, then what would have been the point? All the ruined lives, all the spilt blood, all the families torn apart. It would all be for nothing.

Again, silence descended upon the room.

She was right, after all. The situation gripping Connlaoth had not come about suddenly, but had swelled in the consciousness of the people for years —generations, even— until the distrust of mages finally erupted in madness. Erwin still remembered when news of the Grand Duke's murder had trickled into Wulfbauer, almost ten years ago. That had been the impetus, but he never could have imagined how terrible the result could have been.

But those ten years had seen a marked increase in brutality and violence against the mages. Men, women, children. He'd seen his fair share of blood and combat, but the thought of systematic liquidation brought an unsettling feeling to the pit of his stomach. No, it'd definitely gotten worse.

"We cannot continue as we are now," he finally said in response, with only a shrug of his shoulders. How else could he explain it to someone who knew the horrors firsthand, and much better than he? Instead he picked up Kipper and set the dog on the ground, crouching low to pet the pup's furry muzzle.

"Maybe it's impossible to change hundreds of years of cultural belief, let alone go back to ... whatever we had before this war started. But wherever we end up, we could start now. A mage given the opportunity to preside over duties reserved for a Duke and Duchess. They'll see that this Duchy isn't sending anybody North anymore."

Thinking it over, Erwin let out a soft mirthless laugh. "They'll either appreciate the gesture, or take up arms and burn down this castle."

'But wherever we end up, we could start now.'

Something in Olive's expression changed, and she wondered if she was seeing now Erwin Therrien, the military leader. Words mattered, she knew; words could inspire people, on the battlefield or off. And for the first time, she was looking at Erwin again. The few times he had spoken to her about political matters, he seemed so, well, unsure of himself. But when he spoke like that, Olive saw a more than capable leader; and she wondered if he could see it as well or not.

And, of course, it meant he was right. As uneasy as it made Olive feel. Duties reserved for a Duke or Duchess, handed over to a mage. Even if that mage was the daughter of a Duke and Duchess. What other mage could do it? But he was right. It would matter. Or, at least, it could matter.

Which meant she would have to retract her initial objection.

Olive was silent for a long moment, then ventured carefully, "I don't think it's a matter of whether it's a gesture people will 'appreciate' or not. It's about..." she searched for the words for a moment, "what message their duke sends them. The people will listen. They'll listen," she sat up a little straighter again, feeling a bit self conscious, "to you."

But that wasn't the only thing Erwin had said. And she was almost too afraid to ask. Olive bit her lip, then asked with obvious trepidation, "Did you really... You really aren't sending any mages north, to...?"

She didn't finish the sentence, her green eyes keen on Erwin. Looking both hopeful it was true, and concerned that it wouldn't be.

"They'll listen to me," Erwin said without looking up at her, half repeating her words and half voicing them to himself. Inside, he knew they likely would. In the military, a soldier listened to the words of his commanding officer and accepted them. Maybe running a duchy wasn't so different.

Of course, there was the other similarity between a command post and a dukeship: respect. In both situations it had to be earned. He'd earned it in the army, but he was still new to this job. And worse, begrudging assent from Wulfbauer's citizens was more difficult to win for an untested Duke -- and likely easily lost.

When her careful question drifted to his ears, he finally stopped playing with Kipper and met her gaze with his own azure eyes. "I recalled the army and put a halt on all such activities while we await Calent's answer for Valance," he said slowly.

And then he shook his head and added in a slightly quieter voice, "But I have no intention of sending even one more Wulfbauer citizen to the camps."

What would the council think of that? What would the people think of that? For weeks now, he'd played out the conversation in his head, and each time his advisors had agreed with him that halting the unnecessary condemnation of Wulfbauer lives was for the best.

Or maybe that was just how he wished they'd react.

Olive stared at Erwin. The emotion brought on by this news was clear on her face, however much she tried to conceal it. 'No intention of sending even one more Wulfbauer citizen to the camps.' She wondered if he really understood what that meant; what he was really saving people from. What it meant to be sent to the camps. If, that was, there were any mages left that hadn't already been sent there.

It wasn't lost on her that Erwin had made the move as a political maneuver, done to spite Calent. And part of her wanted to ask why he hadn't done it months ago, if he believed it was wrong. How many people might have been ferreted out and sent away in that time? She didn't know. And she knew there would be no use in questioning his intentions now.

Olive swallowed, unsure what to say. This news had, truthfully, winded her. So she pat the bed, and immediately the little puppy scrambled onto her lap. She ruffled his ears, avoiding his sharp little teething puppy teeth as he tried to gnaw affectionately on her hand.

"You're right," she finally said, watching the puppy instead of Erwin. "Of course, if you want me to, I'll..." her tongue tripped on the words, personal pain mixing with the political conversation. Her mother judged the flowers. Her mother had always done it. Olive doing it meant, well, she'd seen the cold stone tomb. "Of course I'll serve as judge at the Spring Festival. If you think it's best."

As the puppy darted away from him and leaped back up into Olive's lap, Erwin was left crouching down near the carpeted ground. There was a distinct change in her facial expression despite how much she tried to hide it. Neither he nor anyone else could undo the horrors she (and other mages) had endured in the camps, but this was a start.

And with her approval, his own features also visible softened, more out of relief than anything else. He gave her a brief nod before standing up again.

"Good, it's settled then," he said, the faintest hints of a smile curling at the corners of his mouth. He was glad she agreed. "And if you wish, you can judge the March beer too. I'm afraid for Lord Burrows' health if he takes the job. I doubt he can handle that much in his old age."

His eyes drifted toward the window. Though still desperately cold outside, the sun shone brightly in the sky with barely a cloud to obscure it. "The poor weather is starting to abate. If you're recovered enough from your wound, you should take some time to go out and enjoy it. I'm sure Bairn has been taking great care of your horse."

"I probably know more about March beer than I do about flowers," Olive muttered, half to herself, petting the belly of the puppy who was now flopped onto his back. This conversation was so surreal, though. Judging flowers. Judging March beer. The Spring Festival. It was as though ghosts from her past were being reflected through distorted glass into her present: Familiar things like the Spring Festival, cast into the terrible reality: her parents couldn't do it. They were dead. That was the new reality.

But Erwin's next words caught her attention even more, and Olive looked abruptly up from the puppy at Erwin. "My horse?" she repeated, before the implications of what he was saying sunk in. Olive held his gaze for a moment, then leaned back against the bed, letting out a low exhale. There was a lot, in this brief conversation, to untangle. After a moment, she looked back at him again, frowning a little, "Does that mean I'm free to... leave? If I wanted to?"

Or was she still a prisoner, of some sort.

Erwin wrinkled his brow at that question. It was a delicate thing.

"You must understand that I cannot just let you leave," he said, looking back to her. Unconsciously he folded his arms across his chest in thought, not realizing how it might look like a show of authority. "But neither am I restricting you to your room, or the East Wing, or wherever else. If you do wish to stretch your legs or ride to town, I'll have some guards accompanying you."

His jaw clenched a little and his frown deepened. "Guards that are loyal and won't turn on you."

Like the last one.

"But this castle is open to you, as it was open to you when you lived here."

”Yes, I understand,” Olive answered quietly. She didn’t ask him why not, if she was supposedly ‘just Lady Carwick returned to Wulfbauer.’ Olive understood she would never really be just the returned Lady Carwick. Though she noticed he didn’t give a reason why she couldn’t leave - stating that she still had to be held accountable for Valance, or that by the very nature of her being escaped mage made her a criminal, or any of the number of reasons he might give. And she wondered if he had decided that she would stay simply because it was politically advantageous for him and, well, he could.

Olive let out  slow exhale through her nose, her new reality sinking in. A prisoner with some freedoms, but a prisoner none-the-less. Was it really so different than the life of any noble lady?

”Well, I might not test the loyalty of your guards just yet,” Olive finally said in an attempt at flat humor, experimentally trying to roll her injured shoulder a little. The motion caused shooting pain through the join, and she quickly stopped.

She let out another short sigh, brushing back her bangs again with her good arm. Not that they had fallen into her face; it was just a nervous habit. ”I am grateful that you’ve protected me, Erwin,” she said, not joking now, and using his given name for the first time. Not, she supposed, that it had really been done for her own benefit. But whatever his motives might be, he could just as easily had hanged her. As she, herself, had suggested. She continued, ”And I want my family’s money to still be used for Wulbauer. But,” she straightened up a little again, another tick, self-conscious of how bold her next words were, ”I want some say in how it’s spent. And what it’s used for.”

That, of course, was a privilege not usually reserved for reigning duchesses. Much less political prisoners. But Olive held her gaze levelly on Erwin. If Olive was going to be an indefinite 'guest' here, she couldn't just sit around and make appearances for Erwin, not if it was in her power to do more.

"Clearly I haven't been doing a good job of it at all," he replied softly, gesturing to her bound arm. His own attempt at a little humor. "But I'm trying."

The Duke was just about to bid her farewell and head for the door, when her final request made him pause for a moment. He nodded once more.

"Of course. Lord Burrows will handle the details about your holdings," he replied. He could already see the glimmer of joy in Burrows' eyes once he delivered the new -- the man practically breathed money, after all. It was a wonder why they hadn't chosen him as Duke over Erwin's father. Just another part of the political process that he didn't quite understand.

"If you need anything else, Constance, do let me know."

The weeks leading up to the Spring Festival passed much easier for Olive than the previous weeks in Wulfbauer Keep. Not just because she could move about the manor, but because she had something to do. With Erwin's 'blessing,' she'd taken the initiative to work with Lord Burrows on the management of the Carwick money. If Erwin had expected this to be a joyful event for the poor old money-counter, he'd been woefully incorrect. Lord Burrows had never imagined that not only would the Duke not talk the girl out of the money, but actually granted her license to use it! Unprecedented!

Constance had come nearly every day to go over some detail or the other with him. At first, she just wanted to gain a fuller understanding of just what the funds were and how they could be spent. But once she had that, she was full of ideas! Some were easier to get by Lord Burrows than others. He'd agreed to implement a relief fund that single mothers could apply to. Though they'd had quite the argument about whether Olive meant 'widows' (Lord Burrows was sure she must!) or if she meant mothers-of-children-without-fathers... including even the bastards of camp girls! But, as this was otherwise an appropriately ladylike cause, she'd eventually pushed it through. When she tried to talk to him about larger-scale issues like infrastructure improvements, Olive always hit a brick wall of, "Well, that's an issue for the Duke's council." The implied second-half of the sentence was, "And not for a young lady." But as confident as Olive was working with Lord Burrows on these things (or pestering Lord Burrows, to hear his side of the story), she was hesitant so far to bring up the issues with the duke. Somehow even she knew that telling the Duke himself what he should be doing with the duchy was pushing things a bit too far.

That didn't mean that Lord Burrows didn't tell Duke Therrien what he thought about the girl's heavy involvement in the management of the Carwick funds every chance he got! But in truth, Lord Burrows never complained as loudly as he might. Lady Constance, after all, had more patience for monetary details than the duke did. And while he would never admit it, even to himself, he enjoyed having someone to talk to whose attention lasted longer than thirty seconds.

But as the days drew closer to the Spring Festival, Constance felt increasingly anxious. Her thoughts straying from the details of business management to worrying about the Festival. Olive had never been so nervous on days leading up to guerrilla attacks when she was still free and fighting. But she had a growing list of worries about the Festival. Foremost, was the simple act of being shown in public when she represented the Hated Enemy of the War. It was stitched right there on her dress for all to see. What if Erwin was wrong? He'd been wrong about the guard. And even if no one tried to harm her directly, part of her still quelled to think of having all that negative attention cast onto her.

And beyond that... what would she say to people? Not the common people at the Festival; she was less worried about that, more used to interacting with them in the last years. But all the nobles who had known her as a girl. They'd be there, too. What would they say to her? What would they ask her? What would she say to them, if they asked... well, anything? It seemed like a stupid thing to worry about, but Olive couldn't push it out of her mind. She'd never been the most socially graceful noble lady as it was.

"Grace, I'm scared."

"You'll be fine." And here she was, the day of the Festival, listening to Grace's reassurances as she dressed her. "You can always focus your attention on children. That always looks very good for a lady, and children are sweeter than adults, anyway. Your mother was always very good at that."

Olive nodded numbly. Her mother, unlike her, had been the epitome of understated grace. Olive had always just been a mess. Now she was a mess, and a target, and even more of an oddity than she'd been five years ago. At least, she tried to tell herself, it was the Spring Festival, not a ball or anything so garish. There would be folk dances and contests and lots of things happening. It'd be over before she knew it.

"You might even enjoy yourself, Constance."

Olive bit her lip, peering into the mirror. Unlike for a proper ball, Olive wore a folk dress not unlike a dirndl. All the women, peasants to ladies, would be wearing something similar. And like all unmarried women, Grace was braiding spring flowers through Olive's hair. At least, she thought, it'd be easier to fit in. Stand out less. Still, Olive brushed her fingers over the embroidered sign of the Church. However artfully it had been sewn into the dress, there it was.

"I've never even been to a Festival unescorted. I always went with Caspian or Avery," she fretted. Olive was beyond embarrassed to even be thinking about these things. She'd never been so anxious about it as a teenager. And they seemed so trivial now, but she couldn't help it. If given the chance to swap places with a soldier going into battle, she'd do it in a heartbeat. "I asked Lord Burrows to take me," she added with a self-deprecating frown, "since his wife is too ill and his daughters are all married. But he said he spent far too much time with me as it is and was glad for the opportunity to be rid of me for a day."

Grace seemed to also frown at that. "Oh that absolutely will not do!" It wasn't entire obvious whether she was concerned about Olive having nobody to watch over her -- or just the fact that having an unattended Lady broke so many unspoken protocols. Ansgar forbid that ever happened!

A knock coincidentally came at her closed door, which Grace opened to reveal the Duke himself.

Erwin was also dressed for the part, up to and including the crisp white shirt and the feathered felt cap upon his head. He hadn't planned on coming this way initially, but something compelled him to check up on Constance.

He too felt a little self-conscious about wearing such casual garb on this day, but the tickling in the pit of his stomach wasn't just nervousness. Truthfully, a part of him was actually looking forward to the Festival and to living at least a single carefree day away from the Dukeship. Not that he'd fully escaped his duties or even the constant pall of the war that still hung heavily over Wulfbauer. But there was a level of excitement in him, which he was careful not to show too freely especially when Grace bowed low to him.

"Everyone seems to be in good spirits," he said to the two of them. That made him feel especially good. The castle staff all had an extra perk in their step and the town had looked much livelier from his window that morning. Much of the army had been deployed to the border near Valance but many of them had been able to see their families at least briefly before they marched off. Those soldiers lucky enough to still be tasked with patrolling the city were in even better moods. Their loved ones were sure to be attending.

"Ready?"

"My Lord," Grace said with a disapproving frown, "Lady Carwick is lacking an escort for the festivities. Perhaps you can take on the task."

Erwin looked past Grace and raised his eyebrow slightly at Olive, the one woman in all of Wulfbauer who probably didn't need any escort. Was that even a thing still? He wondered what she was thinking at that moment. Probably annoyed above all else.

Regardless, Erwin nodded and shot her a brief smile. "I would be honored. The horses are being saddled as we speak."

Oh dear lord. Behind Grace, Olive looked mortified. With Grace still facing Erwin and unable to see her, Olive shook her head, green eyes wide, and mouthed, 'Not my idea.' But as soon as Grace turned around, her alarmed and embarrassed look turned quickly into a polite, if shy, smile.

For a servant, Grace certainly seemed to have a knack for being in charge!

"Well, that's settled then," Grace declared with great self-satisfaction. She turned to Olive and, to her surprise, Grace gave her a quick hug and kiss on the cheek before giving her, quite literally, a push out the door. In truth, the old woman was also worried about Constance's safety after the incident with the guard. Though she wouldn't add her worries to the girl's own.

Once in the hallway, alone with Erwin for the moment, Olive still looked a little shell shocked. "I didn't put her up to that," she said quickly, betraying more self-consciousness in her voice than she would have liked. "I was just joking with her about how sick of me Lord Burrows is."

She hadn't looked at Erwin while explaining herself, and despite herself she blushed. Realizing it, her blush deepened a little. She couldn't believe herself. As a teenager, she'd always been bold to a fault. But on her own terms. Sneaking off with the younger servants or getting into trouble at university. At proper occasions for nobility, she'd always been a little awkward. Afterall, she'd always rather stood out. And Olive was all too aware that Before, the handsome and popular Erwin Therrien wouldn't have looked twice at a twiggy little thing like Olive. So now to have her elderly maid corner him into 'escorting her' to the festival...

You're being childish, she scolded herself harshly. She made herself remember the time she'd drawn the lot to end the suffering of a comrade too wounded to recover. Yes, her hand had shaken, but she had pulled the trigger. This was a festival. If she could manage that, she could manage this.

Right?

"Anyway," Olive stated to take the attention off herself. She tried to push back some hair as a nervous tick, but Grace had done too good a job of binding it back. "You ought to have some lady you're courting to look after.  Lord Burrows certainly thinks so, anyway," she added with a little grin, regaining her composure. A little. "You don't need to trip over me all day. Just leave me with one of your trusty guards. I've still got one good shoulder, after all."

Evidently Grace was still exacting some measure of control over Olive's highborn life, and the horrified Carwick's mouthing brought the faintest hint of a grin to Erwin's face. "Thank you, Grace," was all he said before he and Olive stepped out of the room, her pace more than noticeably hurried.

As they strode through the halls toward the grand staircase, Erwin briefly glanced sidelong at her as she tried to explain away Grace's antics. "I'm sure Grace only has your best interests in mind," he reassured her with a slight shrug. Not that he knew what she was up to either.

He didn't notice the way her cheeks rosied as they walked side by side, but at the mention of courting a lady it was Erwin's turn to take a stutter-step. He almost choked on his own words and had to let out a cough before responding to her.

"Lord Burrows has made his thoughts abundantly clear to me on more than one occasion," he replied a little uncomfortably. He too had always acted according to his own terms, at least when it came to his private romantic life. A girl would strike his fancy and they would embark on a fun little fling. And in the end it was just that: something memorable but fleeting. He'd heard it from plenty in his household including his own mother and the late Hilda. 'You need to find a wife and settle down,' they'd say.

A day had finally come where his status as an unwed Duke actually jeopardized his future.

"Courting a lady used to be easy," he continued, now looking directly to Olive. "But now when I do so there will be at least some expectation that she become my Duchess. I don't know about you but I'm not exactly an expert in 'choosing a spouse' so to speak. That's new to me."

He let out another little mirthless laugh and added, "Maybe you can look after me instead, one shoulder or not. Make sure I don't choose the wrong woman."

He didn't know if that little jest was funny enough to qualify as a joke, and thankfully he didn't have to ask because down the grand staircase and out into the bailey they went. It must've been the most gorgeous day of the year, with barely a cloud in a sky and abundant sunlight.

A young lad hurried over with their saddled horses. It took Erwin a moment to remember that Bairn was taking the day off. Apparently his son had returned from the war and he'd asked to tend to his family affairs. There couldn't have been a better reason to grant the stablehand's request.

Olive glanced up at Erwin, just briefly, with a slight look of pity. There wasn't 'some' expectation that any woman he courted would be the next duchess, she wanted to tell him, there was every expectation of it! And of course there was. Did he really think he could still court ladies the way he had when he was a young military commander? She honestly did feel a little badly for him. Having one's wings clipped by the responsibilities and expectation of one's station was something Olive knew a thing or two about.

She smiled politely to the young stablehand who brought the horses around, taking a moment to run her hand over the velvet of Searchlight's nose again. At least, she thought, she had one old friend here. Her eyes searched for Bairn, or even... But he wasn't here. Neither of them were. She mounted the horse, and once they were riding towards the festival, continued the conversation with Erwin.

Anyway, it distracted her from the loud thumping in her chest. She couldn't quite shake the image of just being shot from a distance, while riding on horseback like a sitting duck...

"Actually," she started, a hint of an amused smile on her features as she relayed the next information to Erwin, "Lord Burrows made me swear to stay well out of the way if you came anywhere near an 'eligible young lady.' Just to keep anyone from getting the wrong idea, as he put it." She was openly smiling now, or was it a grin? "Well, I needed his agreement on how to set aside some funds, and I had to appease him. I can't go back on my word," she gave a helpless shrug. "So you'll have to make do on that front on your own. Anyway," she added, a little more thoughtfully, "for most of my life, my intended spouse was chosen for me." And now there he was, laid out in the cold stone of the mausoleum. "And even after that was, well, 'called off,' I suppose I spent the majority of my 'courtship years' otherwise occupied... So I don't think I'd be much help to you, anyway."

After all, right when she would have been considered 'eligible for marriage,' she'd been sent north. Where the rules of noble courtship were the least of her concerns.

The horses trotted along as they spoke, and soon the road took a bend and the color and noise and gaiety of the Spring Festival was laid out before them. Girls dancing around may poles, children racing hopes, colorful tents proffering March beer and sweats or displaying arrangements of spring flowers or prize lambs or calves, a cacophony of joyful music from different area of the festival, and beyond that, the competition fields, for shooting and archery and horsemanship, or later when everyone was too drunk for anything so precise, tug-of-rope and plow-pushing and dancing. It all struck Olive with an unease mix of nostalgia and worry. She wasn't entirely convinced yet that she wouldn't be chased out of the festivities with torches and pitchforks... She paused a beat, unconsciously running her finger tips over the embroidered Mark in her dress.

"At this point, having a wife chosen for me is as good an idea as any," he said with a look of feigned distaste. "What does one look for in a wife? Besides the manacles on my feet."

It wasn't hard to pick up on the subtext of her words, and the last thing he wanted at this point was to spoil her mood with talk of the mage camps. Instead he shot her back a grin that had several of his guards doing double-takes. Did the Duke just... smile? No, the flaring sunlight must be playing tricks on their eyes. Maybe they went slightly blind staring at snow for so long.

It was barely mid-morning but the festival was already in full swing. Perhaps the colors were a bit more muted than usual, and perhaps there were fewer displays of carefully bundled bouquets, but the mood of the town was as joyous as ever. Even the soldiers dotting the festival grounds had snapdragons tucked into their helms, no doubt given to them by their loved ones.

The muddy pathways were crowded with people but they all parted for the Duke and his entourage. Some watched him with uncertain eyes but for the most part the common folk smiled brightly as Erwin passed on his horse toward the competition grounds. Viewing platforms had already been constructed off to the side of the track, and even now highborn men and women mingled there, dressed in the same festive clothing as the rest of the population albeit in more expensively tailored garb.

Which meant the best place to go was the opposite way.

The stablehands there took away Argent to preen and ready for the riding display later, leaving the Duke on foot. He offered a hand to Olive. "Shall we? I believe you have March beers to judge, and I have a best-in-show to hand out to some cattle." He vaguely remembered the old Duke Carwick judging the dairy cows and handing out a bright silk ribbon to its beaming owner. He wondered if any Duke ever knew the criteria. He certainly didn't.

As they were swept up into the crowd, one thing was certain: people were still hesitant to approach the Duke and Lady Carwick. It was hard to tell which of them was the recipient of their furtive glances.

The children had no qualms about approaching, though. Already a handful of them had gathered around the two of them, some wide-eyed and staring, others bold enough to press handpicked flowers into their hands.

”Don’t let Lord Burrows hear you say that,” Constance warned, trying to push her own fears aside, ”or you’ll have an entire parade of eligible ladies brought before you.” After all, thanks to the war, there were many more eligible noble ladies than noblemen. And Erwin Therrien was Duke; he could quite literally have any of them he pleased.

But it was none of Olive’s business. And entering the Festival quickly took her mind off of it. Olive felt unspeakably awkward. After years of running and hiding, riding through a crowd that was staring at you just didn’t come naturally. In fact, she was so distracted she barely noticed the stablehand approaching and the horses instinctively drawing to a stop. She glanced down at Erwin’s hand. Constance Carwick was fully capable of dismounting a horse herself and her gut reaction was to do just that. But, You’re not living in the wild anymore, Constance, she scolded herself. There were expectations now. So, hesitantly perhaps, she took Erwin’s hand and dismounted. Quickly, feeling she might be her only friend at the event, Olive kissed Searchlight’s nose before the stablehand led her away.

”I think it’s a little early for March beer,” Olive commented absently as she followed Erwin. Her attention was still straying to all those around her. And she felt a wave of physical relief when he steered them away from the platform where most of the nobles mingled. Thank Angsar. Olive definitely wasn’t ready for that yet.

She needed a few March beers first. Or maybe that was a terrible idea.

’You can always focus your attention on children.’ Grace’s words echoed in her head when a little girl pressed forward with a fist full of yellow spring flowers. Olive crouched down to meet the girl and smell the flowers. Yes, this was easier. Children were far less intimidating! Plus, she thought, they had no idea who she was. Olive was asking the girl about the flowers and telling her how nice her dress was in a vaguely familiar voice cut through the crowd.

”Constance?” it called. ”Constance Carwick?”

By the time Olive had looked up and gotten to her feet, she found herself being embraced. It was a pretty woman, with dark red hair and bright blue eyes, dress made finer than average, like Olive’s own. Her stomach swollen beneath the dress in the mid-stages of pregnancy. And when the woman released her, Olive recognized her: It was Lainey Kassian. Lord Kassian’s youngest daughter. No, Olive reminded herself, Lainey Kenins. They’d been married shortly before Olive had left. She remembered thinking it was a pity; she’d always liked Lainey Kassian. A few years older than her, Lainey had always been kind to her, despite her Mark. But Olive just blinked at her now, feeling too startled and out of place to reply quite yet.

Thankfully Lainey filled the silence. ”Oh my lords, I can’t believe it; it is you.” She kissed Olive on both cheeks. And before Olive could reply, her husband appeared at her side. Lord Roland Kenins looked happy, confident, and in good cheer. The Kenins, it seemed, were also taking the opportunity to spread their charm around the common people.

”Constance,” he greeted with a warmth that hid the fact that he’d only weeks before tried to frame her for the murder of the guard. He took her hand and swooped down to kiss her once on the cheek. A very warm, familiar greeting from both of them. Olive was sure she’d never, in fact, been so close to either. ”It’s so nice to finally see you.”

Again, Olive just blinked. She was sure that last comment was really directed at Erwin. ”Uhh…” Maybe she wasn’t ready for this.

But Roland Kenins had moved on to greet Erwin, leaving Lainey with Olive. The other woman took her hand, asking with a mix of what Olive thought might be genuine compassion and pity, ”How have you been?”

”Um,” Olive realized she couldn’t stare and stutter her way through the entire day. So, lying a little, she finally mustered a smile and answered, ”Better since coming home.”

The sound of Lainey's voice had Erwin turning around. Of course he knew who she was, she'd always been a sweet girl in the noble circles those few times Erwin had made it to such functions. But that would mean that Roland Kenins was nearby. When Lord Kenins finally did materialize out of the crowd, Erwin felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. He'd been wary ever since that conversation with Lord Burrows, when the money counter had planted a seed of doubt in the Duke's mind.

"Lainey," he said with a genuine but muted tone of friendship as the Lady Kenins curtsied before her Duke. Offered a hand, he gave the back of it a small kiss.

His reaction to Lord Kenins was a bit more subdued even as the man bowed low to him and voiced out a "My Duke" at exactly the right volume for those around to hear him. The two women had slipped just out of reach, leaving Erwin to greet his fellow Lord with an expressionless nod.

"Lord Kenins."

If his answer was curt, it certainly did nothing to remove the carefully crafted smile upon Kenin's face. The Lord gestured at the small crowd gathered around them and said, "A wonderful idea, holding the Spring Festival as usual. After that long winter it'll be good for everyone to revel a little. I hear that you'll be gracing all of us at the riding competition this year. We all look forward to it. All of us remember the last time you participated."

Erwin doubted that. He'd last participated (and won) over ten years ago. Surely nobody remembered that far back.

"And I also hear that you'll be participating in the shooting contest," Lord Kenins continued, eliciting a slight frown from the Duke. "I've never seen it myself, but I hear you have a knack for guns."

Was that a jab at him, perhaps a veiled accusation that he had caused Constance to be shot? Or was he reading too much into subtleties that weren't there?

He nodded his head and answered flatly, "I'll be doing both. I'll also be handing out the prize for best-in-show. Lady Carwick will be judging the flowers and the March beer. Both of us are trying to involve ourselves as much as possible."

”Yes, I’m sure you are.” Lord Kenins glanced between Erwin and Olive, and Olive was certain there was some indictment in the look.

But before she could dwell on it, Lainey took her arm. ”Come on,” she urged. ”Everyone is so eager to see you.”

Everyone? Who was everyone? She did not want to see ‘everyone.’ Olive hesitated, glancing back at Erwin. Lord Kenins had dove into a detailed discourse on flintlock mechanisms and what an improvement it was over wheellocks, and how precision in aiming differed between the two. Well, Olive realized, there was no real reason to argue she needed to stay with him. After all, whatever Grace might have said, she wasn’t really here with him. In that moment, she missed Caspian with a physical ache. Though she’d been unofficially engaged to Avery, Caspian and her had been much closer in age, and he’d always stayed close by her side to deflect any excessive attention to Olive after she’d been Marked with his careless sense of humor. He would, she thought, know how to laugh Lainey off. But left to her own defenses, Olive found herself wordless while Lainey led her away.

How did that happen?

As they walked, Lainey talked over Olive’s uneasy silence. Telling her about her sons - three already! she was so blessed - and little daughter who she was sad hadn’t inherited her auburn hair. But maybe the next one!, she’d said, hand on her swollen belly. Of course, with three sons already, she was hoping for a girl. But she’d love it no matter what. Children were such a blessing! Olive was glad that Lainey was doing so much talking about herself and generally avoiding asking Olive too many questions. She expected this was an intentional and considerate act on Lainey’s part.

They hadn’t gone so far before Lainey brought her into a jolly knot of other nobles. All of whom she remembered once she saw them; but Olive was surprised by all of their faces. As though she’d forgotten about each of them until seeing them again. They greeted her warmly enough, though Olive thought a little less genuinely than Lainey had. And one or two glances lingered uncertainly on her. As she was passed around to be touched and kissed and embraced, it was all Olive could do to repeat each person’s name.

”I just can’t believe how much you look like your mother now,” one of the older women was saying, studying Olive intensely, looking for the signs of Caroline in her. ”Your mother is so sorely missed. You poor dear.”

”Uh.” Olive stared. Yes, she thought, she missed her mother, too… Should she say that?

”We’re just so happy to finally see you again, Constance,” a man was saying. ”We thought you’d be kept cloistered in the Keep forever!”

”Well,” Olive started, but what more should she say? ‘Oh no, I just like hanging out with the ghosts of my parents. It’s definitely not that the Duke keeps me there without letting me go or anything.’ Somehow she thought that might cause some ripples.

”I just can’t believe it’s been so long,” another woman said, looking at her with open pity. ”We were all so worried about you these last years! I prayed and prayed for you. I can’t imagine what it must have been like, having to stay with all of those… those people. Criminals and sinners and… Oh, I can’t imagine. How you must have suffered! I just hope they treated you properly.”

At that Olive nearly choked. She stared open-mouthed at the woman; all her words were stuck in her throat. She didn’t know if she was angry or anguished or just shocked by the woman’s ignorance and audacity. All those criminals and sinners. It wasn’t the first time she’d barely managed to respond to a question or comment - she hadn’t really responded to any of them - but this time no one cut in with a new one. All their eyes were looking expectantly at her.