“I know not of Duir’s intentions and care even less. His court is twisted like the killing snares. His men are his hounds. I’ve come to know their truths in one afternoon.” I spat the words with such venom that the small fox crouched under their sting. Seeing this, I made comforting sounds until it approached me.
“What has happened, Virago? Tell me. Better come to the kitchen and let us eat and you can tell me by the fire for your words chill me.”
“The vest is almost complete. I will not rest until it is done.” These words, I realized, had become a lamenting mantra.
“Bother the vest, be it done and damned. You have thought of nothing else since the arrival of the velvet and has it done nothing but cause you harm. Have you not slept but an hour in the last days?” Sylvain came and gathered the fox from before me. “Come, let us eat.”
I followed my brother from his room to the kitchen.
“What of Therese and the sick? Have they grown worse?” I asked, and vacantly went about lighting lanterns until the room came alive in the flickering light.
“I know not. I worked in the fields and woods alongside the old man who lives by the waterwheel behind the dairy. His flock had wandered wide and he worried they wouldn’t be found before nightfall. It took all the day and many miles of walking before the task was done. I ache with it, and sleep claimed me as soon as I sat upon the bed to remove my boots.”
“Oh, aye.” I watched as the small fox followed behind Sylvain until it was rewarded with a plate of scraps.
“I barely remembered to stoke the fire and put the stew to cook.” He stopped, turned from where the fox ate, and faced me. “But enough of my day. The weight of the air is like rocks. Tell me what distresses you.”
I could only shake my head. I feared words might invoke the scene and I couldn’t face it. Not now, maybe later, tomorrow, or in a month’s time.
“Virago.” My name was not as a question, but a demand cloaked with concern.
Unable to face his kind concern I went to the fire and lowered my face to its heat. “When they locked you in the dungeons I wonder if even in those horrors you were somehow better off than within their warped company.”
He came up behind me. “Virago.”
“No, I will not speak. I must bathe, find my work and finish it. By hell or heaven this garment will be done by the morning. I will go to the castle, fit Duir and retreat to the audience where I belong, among the common folk of the street. It is my place of preference now.”
“But at least fill your stomach before you bathe.”
“Leave the stew to warm for me. I will eat later.” The only thing I felt in my stomach was emptiness. The only hunger I knew was for revenge. There was no food capable of sating this appetite.
“I will help you. Don’t bother to protest. I will say nothing and neither shall you if you so wish it, but I will be by your side this night.”
Tiredly, I agreed, though I wished for solitude to figure out the course to which Sylvain would follow me. How could he follow if I knew not where it led?
I moved past him, but not before I lay a hand on his shoulder and gripped him tightly. We will leave here, I thought. There is nothing in Duir’s kingdom for me anymore, for Sylvain or for Seton. Would Seton come?
“Yes,” I found myself answering aloud. Yes, he would come. I was certain of it. It was this hope I clung to as I made ready to bathe.
* * * *
A weary dreamscape of actions propelled not by conscious efforts, but of unconscious intentions made the night before the coronation a confused nightmare. Revenge rode me as if I were a horse but alongside this rider were its companions, shame, fear, and rage.
My father taught me many things in the hours I spent at his shoulder, and in those hours there were tricks and techniques I employed now to refresh the crushed velvet. Sylvain worked silently by my side, the fox which he’d named Durant, after our grandfather, slept under the table at our feet.
We talked hardly at all, though words hung between us like laundry strung out on a day of washing. It was nearing dawn when the vest was done and in its splendor, I felt nothing. The night had worked its dulling magic on my soul. I was emptied of all emotion save one.
“Bring me your old cloak, Sylvain, bring me mine as well.” The words were cold and commanding; I had two more things to make before this night of silent question and cold revenge was done.
“What are you going to do, Virago?” my brother asked, concern plain in his voice as he stood to leave the room.
“My lover, Seton, has never known such finery, and why shouldn’t he?”
I could see the shock spread across Sylvain’s face.
“Your lover? But Seton is a man’s name.”
“Bring me the cloaks, Sylvain. It matters not Seton’s sex, but yes, he is a man. When this coronation is done, I will ask him to leave here with me and you shall come with us, if you care to. I am done with this place.”
Sylvain stood as one bewitched, his mouth working, struggling to find the words to make sense of what I’d told him.
“The cloaks! Get them, as I will spill my own blood before I leave this place without them done! Go!”
Sylvain left the room without saying more. I knew he was trying to grasp what I had said.
The fox whined from below as my voice woke it from its slumber. I leaned down and this time the creature allowed me to stroke its head. Its soft
