Soon after sunrise, people started whispering.
She was now called The Duchess of Ashes.
The servant in a nobleman's house had died. A goblet with poison. A murder at a masquerade party. And Kaelith was in the middle of it all once again.
She wasn't surprised.
She was prepared for it.
"We'll have a closed hearing," Corven said at breakfast, pushing his full plate aside. "Your foes will insist on this course of action. I'd rather be able to set the stage."
Kaelith smiled cynically. "Are you trying to control or protect me?"
He looked up but his expression remained inscrutable. "Both."
They had nothing to say to one another except for the clatter of breakfast silver and some distant morning doves outside the court. Kaelith, dressed in black silk and silver thread, exuded an aura of composure. But behind her mask, her mind worked furiously.
"Has Theron sent any messages?" she enquired.
"No news from your little ghost," replied Corven shaking his head.
Which meant he was close enough by then
"I need to go see that fountain."
"What are you doing there?"
"I think last night was just the beginning."
She stopped breathing.
"It's been poisoned," she said quietly.
Corven tensed beside her. "That's not the wine from the ball."
"No," she replied slowly. "It's something worse."
That was Nightroot – a rare toxin that slowly permeated into one's bloodstream, making its victims hallucinate, question everything… and eventually lose their minds. It was the perfect weapon for long games. For political warfare.
"Whoever would dare to lace the palace fountain?" Corven muttered.
Kaelith turned around. "Someone who is not afraid of the throne."
Out of the corner of her eye, there was movement—barely more than a quiver in the wall-covered archway.
Her body reacted before thought could act on it.
She spun while pulling out her dagger and threw it.
A gasp escaped. A yelp followed it. And soon enough, through a gap between two thick columns, came someone holding onto his shoulder where he had been grazed with a blade.
Thalia.
"Kaelith!" she exclaimed in panic. "You don't understand!"
Kaelith moved closer in long strides. "Then tell me what it is exactly."
"I obeyed!" Thalia pleaded tearfully. "I was guarding you, waiting for instructions—please, I am innocent!"
"And who told you to do this?"
Thalia's mouth opened slightly before closing again abruptly.
"I—I can't—"
Without any further warning, Kaelith grabbed Thalia's collar so tightly that she did not only slam her against the wall but also caused her to have charged eyes. Then he asked, "Who, Thalia?!"
They were coming closer. They were the guards of the palace. But these two interrupted them.
"Enough! If she's unwilling to talk, have her detained," said Corven.
Thalia wept while they dragged away.
Kaelith watched silently as she was being taken away and he looked on coldly.
She had her answer.
Now she just needed to locate the puppet master if Thalia was indeed a puppet.
And burn the strings.
That night in her private chamber at dusk a letter lay upon Kaelith's bedspread.
With no seal
No signature
But written in crimson ink:
"You dance well Duchess let us see how you fall."
Her hand twitched for a moment,
Then she reached for the parchment with one hand and set it ablaze using a firesteel from another hand.
As it crumbled to dust,
She breathed into its smoke "Then let us dance."