Chatter and polite conversation filled the ornate dining room before her creating a pleasant, hypnotic drone in which it was too easy to become lost in her thoughts. It was so easy these days for her to become lost in her thoughts. Her vision began to blur and she gritted her teeth, forcing herself to be present in this moment. She tried to ground herself. What could she hear? What could she see? What could she feel?
The only thing she could hear was the constant, low drawl of the dining room which was broken only by the light chinks and scrapes of heavy silver cutlery on delicate porcelain plates. The octaves of the conversation did not alter, nobody let out a loud laugh or raised their tone as if in anger or elation. After all these were wellborn, distinguished people with whom she dined with. They were far too refined for such behavior.
What could she see? She focused on the luxuriant dinner before her which clearly spared no expense. The bountiful dishes weighing down the handsome oaken longtable were carefully prepared with nobility in mind. Nothing anyone could think of was missing from the table which was ladened with more food for this one meal than the average commoner could hope to scrounge up for their family in a year.
What could she feel? She could feel the eyes of the servants who scurried around the table bustling to offer refills. They poured wine out of golden jugs into jewel-encrusted wine goblets that cost more than their lives. They tripped over each other to replenish serving dishes before they were even half emptied. She knew, of course, the reason they were so rushed to serve them. The cost of dissatisfactory performance could easily be their lives.
She felt how the servants looked at the diners. They kept their eyes low but she could feel them sneaking glances, hating the assembly’s wealth perhaps even more than they hated their own pitiful station in life. She felt the hunger in their eyes that had nothing to do with food and honestly she couldn’t blame them. After all, she too had once been in their place long, long ago.
A servant got her attention, offering her a refill of her own wine. She looked down at her untouched goblet, seeing her own beautiful reflection staring back at her in the crimson pool of liquid. She started, the reflection coming as a momentary shock as if she were expecting another face to be there staring back up at her. She tried to cover up her surprise but she wasn’t quick enough.
A concerned face was looking across the table at her, a woman who she had never met before today. She could tell with a quick glance at her jewelry and clothing that she was of a pedigree much higher than her own. Their eyes met and she shot her a clipped smile and tried to look as though she were wholeheartedly enjoying her meal. She had no appetite, she simply moved the food around her plate in a convincing imitation of eating. She could feel her eyes on her long after their silent exchange and she tried to swallow, her throat dry.
Several moments later another servant came by, a young man this time. He haphazardly poured more wine into her already-filled goblet in a rush to serve her. The wine sloshed over the edge of her goblet before he could stop the stream from the heavy golden jug he was holding. The wine pooled on the oaken table, a stream dribbling down onto the folds of her silk dress before she could react.
The servant gasped, but she grabbed his hand to stop him from drawing attention to his error. She grabbed her linen napkin and dabbed up the wine the best she could. She looked around carefully, sure nobody had noticed their exchange. All the other diners were far too engrossed in their own polite conversations. She jerked her head, dismissing the young servant who was as pale as death. As he should be, she thought. Had he made this mistake with anyone else at the table he would surely be dead within the hour.
By the end of the meal she was visibly sweating in a way that she could no longer hide. This wouldn’t work, she realized, looking down at her shaking hand, trying to calm it. She had to make a change. An unfamiliar man approached her, catching her off guard when he placed his hand on her shoulder. She disguised her shock as adoration when she realized it was her lord husband.
“I’m going to go over some business with the men in my study,” he said. “Did you spill your wine?” he asked, seeing the remnants of the stain on her lap.
“My mistake,” she said quickly.
“You haven’t been yourself since we returned home from our trip to the seaside,” he said, his voice full of worry. “Why don’t you lay down, Arabella? You appear unwell.”
“Of course, my love,” she replied weakly.
After her lord husband disappeared to go to his study with the various other lords and highborn men present she made her excuses to the ladies before disappearing from the dining room. The sprawling corridors of the Meadow Manor were maze-like and unfamiliar to her. She felt confused and disorientated as she walked, keeping a hand on the cool marble wall to keep herself grounded.
“Excuse me,” a woman’s voice behind her rang out, echoing in the vast chamber.
“Yes,” she said quickly, not turning her head to meet the woman’s eyes. She wiped at her face hastily; she was sweating again.
“Lady Arabella, right? Your manor is beautiful,” the woman said, an echo sounding with every footfall as she approached from behind. Her voice was calm and soothing, she spoke as if she were addressing an injured animal. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”
“I’m afraid not,” Arabella said, turning around to face her. She saw it was the same woman she had met eyes with in the dining room earlier.
“My name is Lady Eleanora,” Eleanora said. “I saw what you did for the servant back there and I must say, that was very kind of you. However, you should be more firm with your servant. Maybe not death as I would have done, but perhaps just taking a hand. You don’t want a reputation of weakness, and you know how they like to talk.”
“Of course,” Arabella said.
“You don’t appear well. Please let me escort you to your chambers. Shall I call upon a physician to meet us there?” Her eyes glanced back to the direction of the dining room where servants scurried about cleaning.
“No,” Arabella said quickly. She looked at Eleanora’s kind face and felt herself grounding, her senses sharpening. She’ll do, she decided with a smile. “I don’t need a physician. Perhaps just rest and companionship.”
“Lead the way,” Eleanora said, taking Arabella by the arm. Strength seemed to flow into Arabella’s body through their connected arms and she found she did remember the direction back to her chambers.
They were silent as they walked, the only sounds the echoing footfalls of their fine shoes against the polished marble floors. The occasional servant they passed fell silent in respect, darting out of the way and averting their eyes from the ladies. They quickly arrived at Arabella’s chambers, which were several connected rooms lavishly furnished with every item a noble woman’s heart could desire.
As they entered the threshold Eleanora made several polite comments about the furnishings but they fell on deaf ears. There was no point in listening, she knew the compliments could not be genuine. Certainly whatever chambers Eleanora herself lived in were far nicer and more comfortable than anything at this manor. Arabella stared at Eleanora as she walked around her rooms with hungry eyes.
“I must say, I have been eager to speak with you,” Eleanora said, surprising Arabella.
“Whatever about?” Arabella asked curiously.
“Why, you were there, when it happened, where you not? In the Seaside Estate. I have some questions about what you may have seen.”
“Tea?” Arabella asked with a smile when Eleanora stopped speaking. She looked taken aback but covered it quickly with a smile. “My sitting room is just this way. We can discuss it there.”
“That would be lovely, thank you.”
“What do you take in it?” she asked, her smiling growing with every word. Eleanora’s eyebrows shot up.
“You prepare it yourself? Have you no bell for servants?” Arabella laughed.
“I do but I prefer to make it myself for my friends. It feels more meaningful that way.” Eleanora smiled.
“How charming. I’ve never thought about it like that before. You have a good heart,” she said. Arabella chose not to comment on that, brushing the comment off with a laugh.
“I have a delectable variety of cranberry tea from the northern bogs gifted to me by a visiting lord. You really must try it.”
“I would be happy to, there is nothing better than enjoying another ladies company over tea, don’t you think?”
“Nothing better,” Arabella agreed, standing up and excusing herself to make the tea.
She had done this many times by now, more times than she could count if she were being honest. She used to keep track, long ago, but had stopped bothering with documentation over the years. It seemed pointless, in fact very little seemed to have meaning these days. If anyone found her memoirs it’s not like they would believe them, anyways.
Arabella entered the small kitchen attached to her chambers. It was very simple, meant for little more than servants preparing her nighttime snacks or drinks. She quickly lit a fire in the stove and set a kettle full of water on to heat to boiling. She set up a tray with two cups with saucers and a small tin of biscuits.
Glancing over her shoulder to make sure Eleanora did not follow her into the kitchen she withdrew a knife from the block on the counter. She rolled her silk sleeve up, exposing her forearm. She sucked in a quick breath before bringing the knife down upon her skin, slicing away flesh until several drops of dark red blood blossomed out of the wound.
She carefully held her wounded arm over Eleanora’s cup, letting thick drops of her blood fill the bottom layer of the empty cup. She bound up her arm haphazardly with a tea towel, rolling her sleeve back down over the makeshift bandage. She poured the hot water into both cups and threw in the cranberry tea with a generous measure of sugar.
“You’re certainly feeling better,” Eleanora said when Arabella reentered her sitting room, smiling broadly and carrying the laden tea tray.
“I guess I just needed another ladies company to lift my spirits.” Eleanora smiled at this. Arabella sat the tray down on the table and handed Eleanora her cup.
“Red?” Eleanora questioned, staring down into the crimson depths of her cup.
“The color of cranberries.”
“My, it’s certainly different,” Eleanora said after having her first sip of tea. She had an uncomfortable look upon her face, her lips pursed.
“Yes, it’s quite rare, a delicacy in the north,” Arabella said. “Now, what did you want to discuss with me?”
“Oh yes,” Eleanora said, setting her cup back down on the saucer and unpursing her lips. Her eyes lit up as she built herself up for what she was about to say. “I have my suspicions about what really happened at the estate. I’d like to hear your version of events before I approach my lord husband with my concerns. I plan to plead that he brings my misgivings to the king himself.”
“You suspect foul play?” Arabella asked, feigning shock. “Who could do such an awful thing to poor Lady Margot?”
“It’s not what happened to poor Lady Margot that disturbs me so,” Eleanora said, lowering her voice slightly. “Although that is truly awful, in its own way, of course.” This genuinely surprised Arabella.
“Could you elaborate?” Arabella asked. Eleanora looked around nervously before leaning in closer.
“This happened after you left the estate, I’m not surprised you don’t know. Lady Margot’s lord husband is trying to cover it up but it was reported that three bodies were found in the servant’s quarters the next day. Drained of blood.” The shock and outrage on Arabella’s face was genuine. Was there another practitioner of blood magic lurking? What could they possibly be doing with that much blood? “Oh, I don’t mean to scare you,” Eleanora said, misreading Arabella’s expression.
“Drink up, it bitters as it sits,” Arabella said, motioning for Eleanora’s cup.
“Of course,” Eleanora said, drinking deeply from her cup and grimacing slightly from the taste.
Arabella knew courtesy dictated Eleanora finish her tea she was served. It was only polite, and they were highborn ladies, after all. This is why it was so much easier to do this to nobles. They were much, much more predictable than the lower class.
Arabella’s mind buzzed with mixed outrage and curiosity at the news Eleanora had brought her about the blood-drained servants. Why would the practitioner waste their time with servants? How had this happened the day after she was there? Something was amiss.
“I’m sorry if I upset you,” Eleanora said kindly. She winced suddenly, reaching under the table to grab at her leg.
“Are you okay?” Arabella asked.
“Yes,” Eleanora said, her expression pained. “My leg has a cramp, that’s all.”
“Let’s not discuss these dark events any longer. My heart can’t take it. Tell me about yourself, where is your manor?” Arabella asked.
“We live in a palace to the south, in Verity’s Garden,” Eleanora said, looking a bit disappointed about the change of subject.
The mention of Verity’s Garden made Arabella’s heart skip a beat. Verity’s Garden? Why, that’s right by the palace of King Noland. Eleanora was oblivious to Arabella’s surprise, instead focused on setting down her cup and taking a biscuit. She bit into it eagerly, ready to cleanse her palate. “You’ll have to come visit with your lord husband, we have a summer harvest celebration coming up,” she had to stop talking, her frame racked with a coughing fit.
“Here, drink your tea,” Arabella said, pushing the cup into her hands. Eleanora drank from the cup before coughing a few more times.
“I’m so sorry, I don’t know what came over me,” Eleanora said, fanning herself. “I must have swallowed the wrong way.”
“It happens,” Arabella said dismissively. “Tell me more about yourself. What is the name of your lord husband? How did you meet? Any children?” Eleanora smiled, appearing a bit uncomfortable.
“I’m married to the great Lord Lysander, our marriage was an arranged affair,” her eyebrows knitted together. “You should know that, of course. Lord Lysander is the younger brother of the great King Noland. I thought everyone knew his brother was the Lord of the Verity’s Garden.”
“Children?” Arabella pressed. Eleanora sat down her mostly-empty cup, a quizzical expression on her face.
“We have not yet been blessed with children,” she said. And you never will, Arabella mentally added. Eleanora’s face was flushed and she was still fanning herself. She stopped fanning herself abruptly, her hand seizing up as if with a cramp. She looked at Arabella in alarm.
“Don’t fret,” Arabella said, feeling the discomfort in her own body, too. Arabella relaxed back in her seat, closing her eyes.
“You feel it, too?” Eleanora said in a strained voice.
“Something close to it, anyways,” Arabella replied lazily. “Your body is seizing up and overexcited, mine is growing numb.”
“What is happening?” Eleanora asked, struggling to stand up. She was unable to make her body move at her command and panic was quickly overtaking her.
“You’re dying,” Arabella said. “But don’t worry, your body will live on.” Arabella lifted an arm to demonstrate her point. Arabella’s arm did not rise, but rather Eleanora’s.
Eleanora tried to say something but couldn’t choke any more words out. Her mouth had clamped shut, the seizure of her muscles making its way to her face and traveling upwards. Her eyes seized shut last plunging her into a world of darkness. Two thuds sounded in near unison as both women’s bodies fell onto the table, Eleanora’s body a cramped-up mess and Arabella’s slack and lank.
After a time the cramping passed and Eleanora sat up slowly. She rolled her shoulders and head experimentally feeling the fit of this new body. This body felt like an excellent fit. She couldn’t remember the last time one felt so perfectly suited for her. She opened her eyes, peering through Eleanora’s eyes for the first time.
Eleanora was a bit nearsighted it seemed but not by much. That was a minor thing, really. Her body lacked the random aches and pains Arabella’s had. She had known from the beginning she wouldn’t be able to stay in Arabella’s body for long. Every minute in that body she had to fight to keep control and keep herself grounded. Her soul hadn’t meshed well with that body for whatever reason and when she lost focus she could feel herself slipping away.
This body, however, was very different. She extended a hand and made a fist, experimenting with squeezing her hand with varying amounts of force. Movement came natural to her and after a few minutes of adjusting she mastered the natural flow of activity. She spared a glance at Arabella’s body which lay slumped over the table, still as death.
Eleanora stood up, walking over to Arabella. Grabbing her by her hair she roughly wrenched Arabella’s head back, exposing a golden, heart-shaped locket on her throat. She grabbed the chain and pulled it, ripping the locket from Arabella’s throat. Slipping the locket into the folds of her dress she released Arabella’s hair, allowing her face to roughly slam back down onto the table before her.
Eleanora screwed her face up in a look of terror before wailing.
“Help! Someone help! Lady Arabella is unwell!” Eleanora cried out.
Within moments servants came rushing into Arabella’s chambers, gasping and crying out in surprise seeing their mistress face down on the table, dead. Eleanora made a show of collapsing into the first servant’s arms in a faint.
“My lady wife, let me see her or so help me,” Lord Lysander’s voice rang out outside of the infirmary doors. Eleanora heard the metallic scrape of a sword being drawn and decided things had gone on long enough. She sat up on the cot and walked to the door, a bit unsteady at first as she reaccustomed her stride to Eleanora’s frame.
“My love, I am here,” she said, pushing open the heavy wooden doors separating her from her lord husband. Lord Lysander was a squat, slightly balding man who had gotten on in years.
He was standing over a servant who was clutching the severed stump of her arm, blood gushing from the new wound. Eleanora saw the missing appendage lying on the floor. Lord Lysander sheathed his bloodied sword, smiling when he saw Eleanora.
“Are you quite well? What befell Lady Arabella?” he asked urgently. The servant dropped to the ground sobbing at the doorway. Eleanora spared her a glance. “This thing was trying to prevent me from seeing you.”
“The physician threatened me with death if I let anyone disturb the lady!” the servant exclaimed through tears. Lord Lysander appeared disgusted at being addressed directly and moved to unsheathe his sword again but stopped when Eleanora put a hand on his arm.
“She’s not worth it,” Eleanora said. Lord Lysander appeared surprised at this.
“She must be taught,” Lord Lysander began, but Eleanora stopped him.
“My love, I must speak to you about Lady Arabella, it cannot wait.” This got Lord Lysander’s attention.
“Yes, please. Her lord husband has a right to know what happened.”
“It was the tea,” Eleanora said. “Lady Arabella made us a tea gifted to her from a northern lord. I had not yet drank from my cup, I was too busy telling her about our summer harvest celebration. She dropped dead right before my eyes, right there at the table.” Eleanora made a show of fanning herself, her eyes rolling back as if she were about to faint again.
“Bring the lady a drink for her nerves,” Lord Lysander snapped at the silently weeping servant who started before running back into the infirmary to fulfill his request.
“I’ll be fine, my love,” Eleanora said. “It’s more important we give this information to Lady Arabella’s lord husband as quickly as possible.”
“You’re right,” Lord Lysander said, taking Eleanora by the arm and leading her away from the infirmary.
Their footfalls echoed across the empty corridors as they hurried to the lord’s study. The heavy wooden doors creaked as Lord Lysander pushed them open. The room was filled with highborn people looking back at them as they entered. The tone was hushed and the occupants were visibly shaken. Nobody was more shaken than Lady Arabella’s lord husband who sat behind a polished desk with a face like a pale white mask.
“Lord Giles,” Lord Lysander addressed the man behind the desk.
Oh yes, that had been his name, Eleanora remembered. She had forgotten. Everything had been such a hazy blur when she was occupying Arabella’s ill-suited body.
“Lady Eleanora,” Lord Giles croaked, looking at her with desperation. “You were with my lady wife when… when it happened?” Eleanora bowed her head.
“Yes, my lord,” she said.
“Tell me what happened,” he demanded. She felt every set of eyes in the room on her. She glanced up quickly and looked around the room. Everyone who had been present at the dinner was in this room, lords and ladies alike. There appeared to be representation from almost every noble house in the land present.
“Lady Arabella appeared unwell at dinner,” she recounted. “I escorted her to her chambers and we had tea. It was a special blend gifted to her from a visiting lord from the north, as I recall she said.”
“Could a servant have poisoned her cup?” Lord Giles demanded. Several voices of agreement chimed in from around the room. “I’ll have every servant brought to me and I will behead them myself.”
“No,” Eleanora said quickly. “She prepared the tea herself. She drank until only the dregs remained and she dropped dead before my very eyes.”
“And yet here you are unscathed?” Lord Giles accused. Lord Lysander stepped forward, pushing Eleanora back with his arm.
“I will not have a lesser lord take that tone with my lady wife. Grieving or not, you will remember your place, Lord Giles.” Lord Giles appeared taken aback and took a moment to compose himself.
“Of course not, I beg your lady wife’s pardon. I never meant to accuse,” he said quickly. Eleanora cut him off.
“I had not yet drank from my own cup, my lord. I was telling your wife about Verity’s Garden and our summer harvest celebration. I truly believe it was the tea, my lord. A poison from the north.” A few murmurs sounded throughout the crowded study, small conversations breaking out amongst the listeners in varying tones of shock, outrage, disbelief, and sadness.
“This cannot be discounted,” Lord Giles admitted. “But I fear something far more evil than poison was at play.” Eleanora gasped, as did many of the listeners.
“Whatever could you mean?” a voice rang out from the crowded study. The crowd was murmuring louder now, building up an exceeding dangerous, nervous sort of energy.
“Foul play?” another vocalized. Eleanora took a slight step back.
“Perhaps she choked?” a hopeful voice sounded.
“She was unwell all of dinner, you all saw it! An illness overtook her!”
“Nonsense! Murder it was! A servant, or the Lady Eleanora herself!”
“I will hear nothing against my lady wife,” Lord Lysander roared, momentarily silencing the crowd.
“My beautiful Lady Arabella has not appeared well since we returned from the Seaside Estate,” Lord Giles said. “I fear she did contract an illness there, some sort of unknown virus. The same one that overtook the Lady Margot before her. There is something evil afoot that is killing our good, noble women. I have heard whisperings in the past of noble women dropping dead from no perceivable cause but never before did I think it could strike so close to home.”
Eleanora was impressed despite herself and had to fight to not smile. Lord Giles was smarter than he looked and not far off from the truth. It is true that a virus is killing your women, Eleanora thought savagely. The virus is me and I will continue to work my way through them until I reach the king himself. I am so close to my goal, the only thing that drives me. I can’t lose sight of that now.
“This warrants a call to my brother, the great King Noland,” Lord Lysander stated. “I agree with you that something evil is afoot. I shall call in the best physicians to study the good Lady Arabella’s remains for any sign of what happened to her.” You’re not going to find anything, Eleanora thought.
The room broke out into chaos again and Eleanora found herself whisked away by Lord Lysander.
“It’s not safe for you here, you heard Lord Giles. There is a virus about preying on noble women. I’ll have you board our carriage back to Verity’s Garden. I will call for my brother and his physicians. I will remain here to brief the king and oversee the autopsy.”
“Yes, my love,” Eleanora said, taking his large, clumsy hands in hers. “Be safe.”
“I have nothing to fear here, but you do, so be swift,” Lord Lysander said before returning to the study.
Eleanora turned away from the study with a sigh of relief. She had never seen nobles so worked up before that they shouted and raised their voices like commoners. It could have been dangerous for her, her marriage protected her this time but if the crowd had turned on her and ripped her to shreds she would have been done for.
She walked briskly through the manor, seeing many other noble women as she walked being led away by their husbands or servants from their own house. It was clear that the panic was setting in and no woman felt safe here anymore. Their fear was unfounded, however. Eleanora looked down at her hand and easily made a fist. This body was perfect for her, she wouldn’t change it anytime soon if she could help it.
Her carriage was waiting for her at Meadow Manor’s gates and she entered it alone. She supposed she probably should have a team of servants that came with her from Verity’s Garden to tend to her and her husband’s needs but she couldn’t waste time hunting them down now. A coachman started when she entered the carriage. He had been laid out, sleeping on the seats not expecting his charges for several more hours at the least.
“Prepare the horses, we leave immediately,” Eleanora commanded. The coachman nodded his understanding and exited the carriage, keeping his eyes averted.
“Back to Verity’s Garden alone, Lady Eleanora?” the coachman asked a few moments later after he had prepared the horses for departure. She gave him a hard look and he again averted his eyes, his face flushing.
She knew what she should do, of course. The real Eleanor would return to her extravagant palace in Verity’s Garden and await the return of her lord husband in comfort. The smart thing to do would be to wait for this all to blow over and bide her time until she can get closer to the king, closer to her long-awaited revenge. However the real Eleanora’s words haunted her mind. Three servants’ bodies were found, drained of blood, she had said.
“No, you will take me to the Seaside Estate, and you will breathe a word of it to no one.”
The coachman was a commoner. His status was above the servants, who were little more than slaves to the nobility, but not by much. She could still end his life with a word if she wished it, as he was well aware. She felt he wouldn’t question her request or go back on his word if she asked it of him.
“Of course, Lady Eleanora,” the coachman said, closing the door to the carriage with a bow.
The trip to the Seaside Estate was long and boring. Eleanora was alone with her thoughts, which were not great company. She wanted to know, no, she had to know what was happening at the Seaside Estate. It did not bode well. She was so close to her goal, she was now the wife of the brother of the king.
Her hatred for the king had driven her this far and now she was risking her position to investigate another blood magic practitioner? She had spent countless years climbing the rungs of society from servant to commoner to the many layers of nobility. Here she was, finally near the top, so close to royalty she could almost taste it and she found herself risking it all over a rumor about dead servants.
She had never heard even a whisper about another practitioner. She had no tutor, she learned everything she knew herself. The power of blood, how one can embed their very soul into the substance. How if ingested her blood could infect her victims like, well, like a virus. About that, Lord Giles had been correct. Once her blood was ingested it was just a matter of time before her soul expanded out, taking over and crushing out the soul of her victim, leaving nothing but a husk she could possess like a puppeteer.
She had to know. How had the other practitioner learned? What drove them? Why did they show their face now of all times when she was finally so close to her goal? Three servant’s bodies, drained of blood. In the same location she had just left days before. Did they want to get caught? Were they baiting her?
It was all too coincidental, none of it made sense. This new practitioner had to be here to thwart her in some way. They had probably been following her in the shadows for some time for all she knew. Were they willing to go to the same lengths she had to accomplish their goal? She would never get another moment’s peace without some answers.
As the Seaside Estate loomed before her in the window of the carriage she smiled to herself knowing one way or another her story would soon come to a close. Whether she found an ally in this new practitioner or a rival it didn’t really matter. Either they would be an ally and she could take them back to Meadow Manor to help her infect King Noland or they would be a rival and very well kill her.
Either way it would be an ending for her, but which one? Did it matter? She wasn’t sure it did. After years of being driven by hatred and anger and fear and death she found herself curiously empty now that she was so close to her goal. The carriage door opened and the coachman bowed her out, pulling her from her reverie.
She walked up the sand-strewn pathway of the Seaside Estate, the smell of salt in the air and the sound of the ocean all around her. It was soothing to her, she had, after all, left here only days before as Arabella. She approached the front door of the estate, nothing near as elaborate as anything in the Meadow Manor but ornate all the same. She pulled the cord to ring a servant who opened the door, bowing her inside with averted eyes.
“Shall I summon Lord Roderick?” the servant asked.
“Please,” Eleanora responded, waiting patiently in the foyer.
She waved off servants carrying plates of biscuits and trays of tea as she waited. Before long Lord Roderick came down the stairway, looking gaunter than she had ever seen him. She knew him pretty well as she had spent several years as his wife, the late Lady Margot.
“Lord Roderick, I presume?” she asked. Although she knew very well this was him, he had never to her knowledge met Lady Eleanora. Lord Roderick was on the low end of nobles; she found it highly unlikely he had ever attended coordinating events with a lady of Eleanora’s social standing.
“Yes, who do I have the pleasure of entertaining?” he asked politely. His grief was evident in his voice and she felt a momentary pang in her heart.
She knew he had truly loved Margot. Her death and the troubles that came after it couldn’t have been easy on him. Although she did not feel anything akin to love for him she hadn’t found their years together entirely unpleasant.
She hadn’t thought him kind to his servants during the years of their marriage but that was before she had spent time living with the higher tiers of nobility. They were constantly looking for any reason to cut down their servants almost as if it were a sport. They didn’t see them as human. In comparison Lord Roderick’s treatment of his servants was downright humane.
“Lady Eleanora of Verity’s Garden, wife of the great Lord Lysander, brother to King Noland.”
“I-I fear my estate is not comfortable enough for a lady of your standing,” Lord Roderick stammered. Eleanora cut him off.
“I will not be staying. I am here on orders of King Noland to investigate certain claims that have reached his ears,” Eleanora lied. Lord Roderick sighed.
“I was afraid of that. I’m just glad the king himself didn’t pay me a visit.”
“Three servants drained of their blood is hardly worth a personal visit.”
“You only heard about three?” This came as a shock to Eleanora.
“How many?” she asked, feeling her heart rate rise.
“We’ve pieced together about a dozen bodies, but it’s hard to say. They weren’t left in good condition.”
“A-a dozen?” she clarified, frozen in shock.
“All drained of blood,” Lord Roderick said. A dozen mutilated, drained bodies? What kind of blood magic was this? How in the world would she find the practitioner? “We’ve already apprehended the responsible person and have them confined to the dungeon.” Another wave of surprise racked her body.
“How?” she breathed.
“We found him, an unnamed youth who had been working in the kitchens. He had some sort of mental break or something, the boy isn’t right. He wasn’t that hard to find, to be honest. We found him in a bad state, wailing at the scene of the crime and dripping blood.”
“Have you executed him yet?” she asked.
“Not yet, Lady Eleanora. We were planning on transporting him to the king in chains if he hadn’t shown up himself in a few days. I felt as though the king’s physicians should have a look at him before his execution for research purposes.”
“Of course,” Eleanora agreed. “I will see this youth myself.” Lord Roderick looked taken aback.
“My lady, it isn’t safe, the boy isn’t right. I don’t think your heart could take it. There is something evil about him.”
“You’d be surprised at what my heart can take,” she said. “I was not sent here by the king himself because of my delicate disposition. I am unlike the ladies you are accustomed to.” Lord Roderick sighed.
“I apologize, Lady Eleanora. I’ll have you know I am grieving the loss of my lady wife, the sweet, beautiful, kind Lady Margot. I know her heart could not handle seeing a child in such distress.”
“I’m sorry for your loss,” Eleanora said. “I won’t tread on your hospitality any longer. Have a servant bring me to the dungeons, there’s no need for you to trouble yourself with personally showing me the way. You should be alone in your grief.”
Lord Roderick looked as though he was going to say something else but faltered. Instead of speaking he signaled for a servant and gave the requested demands. He bowed his goodbyes to Eleanora before trudging back up the steps, tears in his eyes. She knew he had loved Margot. She didn’t want him to get in the way of what she may have to do in the dungeons. After this new information she was wholeheartedly planning to kill or be killed.
The servant silently led her to the dungeons, rigid and visibly uncomfortable. Whether the servant was uncomfortable with their destination or with Eleanora’s nobility it was not clear. Perhaps a mixture of both. The servant clasped a knocker and rapped it against the heavy iron dungeon door. The servant voiced a request for permittance of Lady Eleanora for subject questioning under the authority of King Noland himself through a slat in the door.
The dungeon of the Seaside Estate was not large and had never been occupied before in Eleanora’s memory. She had never actually seen it herself before now. Two jailors, commoners, she noticed, stood guard with sheathed swords on either side of a lone cell. On the wall of the lone cell stood bound a pale, starved-appearing child of no more than eight.
The jailors immediately bowed to Eleanora.
“You’re dismissed,” Eleanora said to them with authority. They looked at each other nervously, silent for a moment after her command.
“My lady, allow us to stay for your protection. This evil, vile thing has killed-,” Eleanora cut the jailor off.
“You are dismissed,” she repeated. “By authority of the king himself I am to let no one hear my questioning or the accused answers. You may wait in the hall once the door is closed.”
“Y-Yes, Lady Eleanora,” one of the jailors finally said in a fearful tone after a moment of silence.
“One more thing,” she said before the jailors left the dungeon. They turned back curiously. “Unlock his cell door.”
“My lady,” the bolder of the two cried out in shock. “He is dangerous, he is. You wouldn’t go in that cell if you found him the way we did, covered in blood and bits of flesh and all that.”
“Is he not bound to the wall?” she asked. The bolder of the two jailers opened his mouth as if to protest further but the other elbowed him, bowing his head in respect and unlocking the cell door as she had requested. She held out a hand for the keys, and this time they did not argue, silently placing the keys in her outstretched hand.
The iron door shut with a dull thud behind the jailors and Eleanora ensured the flap was closed to discourage any listening ears. She turned to survey the boy chained to the wall before her. He was watching her with wide, curious eyes but had remained silent throughout her exchange with his captors.
He remained silent until she took a step inside his cell.
“No, miss, please,” he began, tears in his eyes. She expected him to beg her for the king’s mercy. Instead, his next words surprised her. “Don’t come too close, it isn’t safe. I can’t control it.”
“Control what, exactly?” she asked, stopping in her tracks. The boy looked frantic, whimpering slightly. “You can speak freely with me. You may find I understand more than you know.” His eyes grew wide at this.
“Are you the same as me, then?” he asked, his voice barely a whisper. “Do you feel the hunger like I do?”
“In a different way than you do,” she said. “We both feel hunger, believe me we do, but not, I think, the same hunger. I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours.”
“Blood,” he whispered. “I can hear it flowing under their skin. I can smell it on them a mile away. It drives me wild. I do things under the hunger’s influence. Things I never would have done before and didn’t think I was capable of. It gives me strength, the blood does.”
“And when did this hunger set in? I take it this is something new.”
“The hunger set in a few days ago, the day Lady Margot died. I woke up with it and it has been with me every second since.” She crossed her arms, examining him closely. “Do you know why I’m this way? Please, don’t come too close!” he pleaded, as she had taken a few more steps forward.
“I don’t think you’re a threat to me,” she said, growing closer to him with every step. He closed his eyes, struggling to get further away from her but he could not on account of his bindings.
“If you have blood I am a threat to you, I tore people apart, I did,” he cried out.
“My blood is no good to you,” she said, stopping just inches away from him. “My blood is different.”
She reached out to demonstrate her point, grabbing his face in her open hands and forcing him to look at her. He sucked in air in shaky gasps, his eyes shut tight for several moments. After a while he relaxed and melted into her touch, his brow unfurrowing.
“Your blood is different,” he agreed. “I don’t feel the hunger around you.” He opened his eyes, gazing up at her in amazement. “Why is that?”
“I think I created you,” she said, staring down at him in wonder, drinking in every feature of his dirty face. “My hunger is anger, and power. I was performing blood magic on the night Lady Margot died. I was Lady Margot. If I can get another person to ingest even a small amount of my blood I can transfer my soul and take over their body. I’ve swapped bodies countless times over the years. I’ve never had this happen before but I think that performing this magic so close to you awoke something in you by accident.”
“You created me,” he said, looking back up at her with eyes the size of saucers.
“I’m your mother,” she said, feeling a sense of purpose filling her body for the first time in countless years. She had been fueled by hatred and anger for so long the thought of any other drive to survive felt foreign to her. “You’re my responsibility. I’ll get you out of here and teach you to control your hunger.”
“Mother?” he questioned, looking up at her.
“Yes,” she said, her eyes brimming with tears. “What is your name? Is it true you are nameless?”
“I have no real name. They called me Asher in the kitchens because I shoveled the ash out of the stoves and the furnaces.”
“Asher,” she said, smiling down at him. “I promise you will never shovel ash again, but I think you should keep the name. It will do you well to remember where you came from.”
A pounding sounded on the iron door. She fumbled with the keys but before she had time to unlock the chains binding Asher to the wall the iron door flew open.
“Two monsters consorting with one another,” a voice sneered. Eleanora looked up, gasping in terror as the form of Lord Giles came into view. She dropped the keys in her shock and scrambled for them.
There was the sound of scraping metal and Eleanora saw the gleam of Lord Giles’ sword as he drew it. She spared a glance at her bound child before running across the dungeon, out of his cell and to the other side. She slammed the cell door shut as she ran, trying to add another layer of protection for her son.
“How did you know to find me here?” she asked, trying to buy more time.
Her mind was spinning trying to figure out exit plans that involved both she and her child making it out of this alive. Just an hour ago if she had been told she would meet her death in this dungeon she would have readily accepted it. Now, however, she had something to live for. Could this be punishment for all the lives she had taken along the way to get to where she was? To be given a real reason for life just for her to have it snatched out of her hands moments later?
“The moment I saw your carriage heading in the wrong direction from my study window I knew. Of course, I suspected you before that but I couldn’t tell your lord husband my suspicions. He would have struck me dead for claiming any wrongdoing on his lady wife’s part. I, however, know what you are. You’re the virus.” He was approaching her with his sword drawn, murder in his eyes. There was nowhere for her to go.
“Lady Arabella,” she wildly, trying to buy a few more fleeting seconds of life. “Your late wife, Lady Arabella.”
“What of her?” he asked, his face pained at the mention of his dead wife.
“I was her! And Lady Margot before that! And a hundred others before that. All me,” she declared.
“Before I kill you, tell me why you’ve preyed on our noble women,” Lord Giles demanded. He was right before her now, sword extended. “Admit to your crimes in the moment before your death.”
“The social system of this kingdom disgusts me. The hate has fueled me. Disposable servants on the bottom, then commoners, then the endless layers of nobility, all with the king on top. I have worked my way up the chain from body to body, from layer to layer, until finally I am here, so near the top.”
“Who were you originally?” he asked. She fumbled for the folds of her dress and he pressed the tip of his sword against her warningly, drawing blood from her shoulder. She held out the heart-shaped locket she had retrieved from Lady Arabella, the locket the only constant thing in her life for as long as she could remember.
“I keep a lock of hair from my original body in here. Take it back to the king with Eleanora’s head, if you will.
“Oh, I will,” Lord Giles said, reaching out for the locket.
Eleanora jerked the locket away, thrusting his outstretched sword arm away from her body while he was distracted. He hissed in pain as his own sword cut his forearm, dark blood blossoming under his fine, white tunic.
She heard Asher go into a sort of rage, letting out guttural noises as his chains clanked against the stone wall. She turned her head to get a last, fleeting glance at him but stopped, Lord Giles’ sword sinking deeply into her chest. The air was sliced out of her lungs and she couldn’t even let out a scream as she fell to the ground.
The smell of the lord’s blood was throwing him into one of his frenzies, but this time, for the first time, it was welcome. When his mother cut open the lord’s arm the flowing blood he could already sense and smell and nearly taste became airborne sending a jolt of electricity through every fiber of his being.
An otherworldly strength overcame Asher and he ripped out of the chains binding him to the wall with ease. His eyes honed in on the bloodstain growing under the lord’s sleeve, dripping to the stone dungeon floor in hot, fat drops. Each drop that hit the ground seemed to scream out to his very soul. His hunger was nearly unbearable, and yet…
He saw the sword plunge into his mother’s chest, he saw her fall to the ground. Her blood did not call out to him like the lord’s did. It filled him with grief and sadness, but still. He was so hungry. What had she said? It was hard to focus. He was SO hungry. If someone ingested her blood, she could live on in their body.
His eyes focused on the lord, fighting to keep his hunger at bay. He could hold off for a short while. The iron bars of his cell tore away easily at his touch and clattered to the floor haphazardly.
The lord had been standing over his mother’s bleeding form with a smile but stopped when he heard the clattering, a look of panic on his face. He grabbed for his sword, tried to pull it out of her body, but he wasn’t fast enough. He cried out as his sword arm was broken easily at Asher’s touch.
Asher tried to contain his strength, trying not to do too much damage to the body he wanted his mother to infect. Lord Giles was on his knees, clutching his broken arm and wailing. Asher kneeled down and scooped up a handful of his mother’s pooling blood, flinging it into Lord Giles’ open mouth.
The lord was shocked and gagged on it but Asher did not give him an opportunity to spit it out. He had another handful now and held it against Lord Giles’ mouth, holding him in place forcefully. He had one hand on the back of his head and the other blood-filled hand clasped against his mouth. The lord heaved and coughed but Asher did not release him, fighting to contain his strength to not break the lord’s neck. He might have knocked a few teeth out, but that couldn’t be helped.
Asher sobbed as he restrained Lord Giles, completely overwhelmed with the grief of losing his newly-found mother. The grief was so overwhelming it was the only thing keeping his hunger at bay. After a few moments he noticed Lord Giles wasn’t fighting him anymore and the only thing holding him up was Asher’s grip. Asher released him, letting him fall to the floor, his body overwhelmed with some sort of seizure.
He watched as the cramping fit passed and slowly Lord Giles opened his eyes. Asher dropped down, cradling the lord’s head in his lap. The lord rolled his shoulders a few times, turning his head from side to side experimentally.
“Mama?” Asher asked, but he knew it had worked. Eleanora’s pooling blood was calling to him now in a way it hadn’t before.
“Yes,” Lord Giles said. “You saved me, thank you.”
“Can I?” Asher asked, looking at Eleanora’s form on the ground. Lord Giles sat up, feeling how different this body was with a grimace.
“Go ahead, don’t let her blood go to waste if you’re hungry. I don’t need her anymore.”
Asher descended upon Eleanora in a flash, biting and drinking, scooping up handfuls of the clotting blood and sucking them down with relish. Lord Giles watched him with a fond smile. He would mourn the perfect fit that was Eleanora’s body, but he was glad it could serve them this one last purpose.
Lord Giles stood and practiced walking around. It was immensely uncomfortable. The proportions of his body were unlike anything he had ever used before. The broken arm was a constant sharp pain and there were various chronic pains in the knees and back that were a hindrance. He spit out a few teeth Asher had knocked loose and awkwardly walked over to a basin of water to try to clean some of the drying blood off his chin and neck.
“Are you done yet?” Lord Giles asked after cleaning himself up the best he could. “We have somewhere to be.”
“Coming mama,” Asher called, sitting up over the mutilated remains of Eleanora and stretching. Lord Giles regarded him for a moment and was pleased to see he wasn’t quite so pale and his cheeks were no longer quite as hollow.
The iron door of the dungeon swung open easily at their command and they saw the pathway out clear. The jailers and servants had wisely run for cover when they heard the commotion. The foyer of the Seaside Estate was similarly empty. Lord Giles found clean traveling cloaks in a closet by the door and used them to conceal the filth from the dungeon that he and Asher were coated in.
Lord Giles’ carriage was waiting for them outside the estate next to Eleanora’s. The coachman did not comment on the sorry state Lord Giles was in or that he had obtained a new traveling companion. He kept his eyes low and busied himself with readying the horses.
“Meadow Manor,” Lord Giles commanded when they were seated in the carriage, hating the deep tone of his new voice.
The trip to Meadow Manor was not quite as dull as his trip to the Seaside Estate had been with Asher for company. The first part of the voyage Asher kept sneaking hungry glances at the coachman and he began to worry for Asher’s self-control. However after he promised to Asher he would eat his fill soon enough he relaxed. By the time they arrived at Meadow Manor Asher was asleep with his head in Lord Giles’ lap.
The entrance of Meadow Manor was strewn with carriages. Lord Giles’ coachman had to park a distance away. Lord Giles and Asher exited the carriage and began their trek to the manor’s main entrance. They walked amongst the finest carriages and horses they had ever seen and knew without a doubt King Noland had arrived with his physicians.
The manor’s front door was thrown open at Lord Giles’ command and servants made themselves invisible as he led Asher through the corridors. “They fear you,” Asher commented as they walked.
“Of course they do,” Lord Giles replied. “I am the lord here. The other lords and perhaps the king himself will be in my study. Are you ready, Asher?”
“Yes, mama,” Asher said, sweating and visibly shaken.
“Are you okay, Asher?”
“Just hungry,” Asher whispered. Lord Giles nodded.
“Soon,” he promised warmly.
Before they knew it the familiar door of the study was before them. Lord Giles threw the door open with his uninjured arm, striding inside with Asher close behind. The room was as he had left it as Eleanora, filled with nobles and other highborn men. The only difference was the man seated at Lord Giles’ desk.
Although he had never before seen him in person it was obvious he could be no other than the king himself. It was more than the golden crown upon his head and the finery of his clothing. Underneath it all he wasn’t even particularly handsome. Under all the gold and the clothing he was just a man like any other. However, something about his very essence just screamed royalty.
“Lord Giles,” King Noland proclaimed in greeting. “I arrived while you were away. Your sudden absence has been one of the topics of our discussion here. Pray tell what business you were seeing to that could not wait until after my arrival.”
“King Noland,” Lord Giles said, bowing his head in respect. “I was acting on a suspicion, and I have returned to report that I have found the cause of the virus that has been infecting and killing our noble women. I am pleased to say the virus has been eradicated by my own hand.”
He unfastened the traveling cloak with his uninjured hand, dropping it to the ground to gasps of horror from the nobles standing in his study. His fine clothes were stained in layers of grime and blood, and his sword arm was visibly broken and bloodied. The assembled had never seen a noble in such a state, their servants and commoners had fought their battles for them for as long as any of them could remember.
“I will hear of this service you have done for our great land,” King Noland said.
“The virus was a blood magic practitioner the likes of which our land has not seen for hundreds of years. A remnant of our past, from the days in which collared witches were owned by kings to do their bidding before they were found untrustworthy and all burned.”
“What proof do you have of this?” King Noland asked. “I see you’ve brought back no severed head, just a sickly child who cowers in your shadow. How can we be sure you speak the truth?”
He held up the heart-shaped locket containing the lock of hair. “This locket contains the hair of the practitioner’s original body. It is more proof than the severed head of Lady Eleanora, the practitioner’s last victim.” Lord Lysander let out a roar.
“You killed my good Lady Eleanora?” he demanded, reaching for his sword.
“She was the last contact with Lady Arabella, my late lady wife. The virus passed from her to Eleanora.”
“How can we be sure this virus did not pass to you?” Lord Lysander asked, unsheathing his sword and taking a few steps toward Lord Giles.
“He is no noble woman,” King Noland boomed, standing up at the desk. “Lord Lysander, as your brother and your king I command you to lower your sword until Lord Giles finishes his tale.”
“Very well,” Lord Lysander spat. “If I am not satisfied with what you say I shall have your head as vengeance.”
“Finish your story so I can deliver my judgment for what you have done,” King Noland said. “Start from the beginning.”
“I was suspicious of my wife Lady Arabella since we returned from the Seaside Estate. She was not herself, she was infected from the virus that she caught from Lady Margot, who succumbed at the estate during our visit. Lady Arabella died, as you know, during tea with Lady Eleanora and I saw the pattern and knew Eleanora was infected. Her husband, Lord Lysander, commanded her to return to Verity’s Garden but I saw from my study window her carriage instead took the direction of the Seaside Estate. That is when I knew.
“I excused myself and followed her. I confronted her at the Seaside Estate and she admitted her crimes to me. She stated she was born as a servant and had worked her way up our social ladder to nobility by means of blood magic. Her end goal was you, King Noland. She planned to find a way into royalty to destroy our social classes. She had a vision of servants enjoying the same rights and liberties as the nobles.” Lord Giles’ voice broke here to sounds of shock and outrage from the crowd of nobles.
“A servant hiding among us?” one called out, venom in his voice.
“They all should be punished!”
“The actions of one reflect the whole class, they cannot be trusted!”
“They will be burned, as all the witches were who came before them” King Noland agreed, holding up a hand for silence from the crowd. “So she admitted her crimes to you and you then executed her?” the king asked Lord Giles as clarification.
“I plunged my sword through her chest,” Lord Giles confirmed. Cheers and clapping sounded across the study as the assembled nobles praised him.
“And what of the child?” King Noland asked. Lord Giles turned to survey Asher, who was crouched down on the ground, a pained expression on his face. “Did you bring him back as your witness?”
“Oh, yes, the child. My child, Asher. Asher here did more than witness the execution, didn’t you, Asher?” Lord Giles asked. Asher looked too pained to respond, so he went on. “Asher was quite brave. After I plunged my sword through Lady Eleanora’s chest Asher here held me down and force-fed Eleanora’s blood to me.” The room was silent for a few moments after this proclamation.
“He… he force-fed you blood?” King Noland clarified, a sickened expression on his face.
“Yes, so the virus can live on in me. I, Lord Giles, am Lady Eleanora, as I was Lady Arabella before that, and Lady Margot before that, and a hundred others before that. I will be you, too, King Noland, by the time I leave this manor. Just because I prefer to live in the body of a woman does not mean I am unable to infect men.”
“Does this mean it’s time to eat now, mama?” Asher asked, standing up, saliva dripping from his mouth freely as he looked around the room of assembled nobles.
“Yes son, it’s finally time to eat. Just leave the one with the crown for me.”
“Yes mama,” Asher said, jumping on the nearest noble with his otherworldly strength, ripping his throat out with his teeth.
The room was a chaotic mess of screaming and blood splatters as the assembled nobles trampled each other in an attempt to flee. They screamed for their servants to come die in their place but none came. It was a massacre unlike any Lord Giles had ever seen and he sat himself down in a plush velvet armchair to watch the chaos unfold.
Some time later King Noland and Asher left the study, barring the door behind them. A few servants were huddled at the end of the corridor, having come when they heard the screaming but too afraid to enter the study themselves to see the cause. King Noland smiled when he saw them.
“Inside the study you will see a gruesome scene and I will give you only this one command. Summon all the servants who live here and start a pyre in the meadow this manor was named for. Burn the bodies you find in the study and the manor is yours. It will forever belong to all the servants who reside here from now on.”
The servants blinked in silent shock but he was sure they had heard him.
“Come now, Asher, we’re going home,” King Noland said, taking Asher by the hand and leading him back toward their carriage.
“I love you, mama.”
“I love you too, Asher.”
Under the Wisteria Tree 