The Bell Tolls for Me

As Isabella walked through the gardens of the Royal Palace alongside Bernadetta, the memories of old naturally bubbled to the surface. They had walked every route through this place. There was no section that Isabella could go to avoid memories both of her childhood and her past life. Both her highest points and her lowest had come here, alongside Bernadetta.

"I was rather curious about why you were going to speak in the royal diet," Isabella brought up. "And even more curious about why you dropped out."

Bernadetta stared ahead. "I was intending to extort you with the knowledge that you were the translator and author of those Veymontist pamphlets." She turned her stoic purple eyes toward Isabella. "It became rather toothless as blackmail when the diet proceeded as it did."

Once more, Isabella couldn't help but be floored by the knowledge that Bernadetta casually possessed. As far as she knew even Archduke Felix, who had perhaps the best information network in the capital, didn't know about that. The fact that she was so readily offering that information also disturbed her. Did Bernadetta know that Valerio had stolen away Alistair?

"How did you realize I was working for Duke Albert?" Bernadetta asked. "Even if it was just a simple deduction, I'm curious about the inciting incident. What did I do to draw suspicion?"

You killed me.

Isabella wished so badly to have a candid discussion about that even now, pathetic as it was. But the truth was, the person that she wanted to talk to didn't exist. Bernadetta had succeeded only in killing the image of her that Isabella had built. What kind of person could lie to someone for well over a decade? But then, maybe it hadn't always been a lie.

Why am I dwelling on this? Isabella reflected. In truth… what happened back then was perhaps the best thing I could have asked for. I came back here, where I met so many wonderful people. I have a true friend in Abigail. I have reliable people in Alice and Randolph. I'm exploring uncharted territory with Valerio. Why should I think about this person as anything more than another heartless player in this game?

"It doesn't matter anymore. We can't go back to that time." Isabella's words were as much directed toward herself as they were to Bernadetta.

"True enough," Bernadetta conceded with a polite nod. "Shall we discuss the matter at hand? Duke Albert is definitely going to throw everything that he has in a last-ditch effort to reclaim all that he lost. His wealth, his prestige, even you. But as you amply demonstrated with Cesare, it's when an opponent is most aggressive that they are most vulnerable."

"Why do you believe that? He's been incredibly cautious up until now," Isabella pointed out.

"Because he believes that the same principle is true for you. You have become incredibly aggressive." Bernadetta paused and smelled a flower. "Thus, you are at your most vulnerable. If you were to falter and stumble here, you could suffer disastrous consequences. You could be framed and maligned as the scheming witch that attempted to subvert the authority of the kingdom."

Isabella saw the reason in that, but she was confident that Valerio would be capable of protecting her if worse came to worse. The only reason that she was still here was to prevent the kingdom from spiraling out of control. Despite everything, Isabella believed that she had an obligation to the people that afforded her this life.

"Do you have anything besides speculation?" Isabella inquired.

"The simple fact that he is here in the capital even after the death of the mercenaries that he paid for should be sufficient evidence that his caution has been thrown to the wind." Bernadetta plucked the petals from the flower one by one and let them drift away with the faint breeze passing through. "He viewed this as an opportunity too important to pass up."

Isabella watched the petals drift away. "Then how do you intend us to punish this overextension?"

"Albert is still only human. He has very human flaws. Did you know that he commissions paintings depicting scenes of brutality?" Bernadetta dropped the stem of the flower to the ground. "After your fiancé troubled him by refusing to negotiate, he had a piece commissioned depicting a pirate being stabbed to death. I'm told that he often looks upon it in his chambers at night."

"Human flaws? That sounds rather inhuman, actually."

"It's certainly not my taste. I'm told that it was an acquired one. It manifested shortly after the death of your mother," Bernadetta declared.

Isabella had been wondering when this subject would be brought up.

"Duke Albert did the most for your mother of just about anyone." Bernadetta stepped closer. "And she did the most of anyone for him. Yet she became King Edgar's wife—a fate all knew generally ended in death. It's curious, don't you think?"

"What do you mean?"

"If you won't indulge my curiosity, why should I do otherwise for you?" Bernadetta pointed out.

"Consider it an apology, perhaps."

"Why would I apologize when you'll never forgive me?" Bernadetta pointed out, perhaps rightfully so. "You're on a need-to-know basis. And what you need to know is that Albert was obsessed with you because of Camilla. After her death, he went so far as to build a church in her honor. He interred her body just beneath it. To this day, he keeps paintings of her in his prayer room."

"Albert has paintings of my mother?" Isabella couldn't help but ask.

"Not many, but yes," Bernadetta confirmed. "I've seen them."

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Isabella felt her frustration grow. "Is there a point to mentioning my mother beyond inciting my curiosity?"

Bernadetta smiled, but it was far different than the sweet smile that Isabella remembered. "Camilla is the spearhead capable of piercing Albert once and for all."

"A woman dead over eighteen years ago? She's somehow a vulnerability to a duke that built himself up to be one of the most powerful people in the kingdom?" Isabella said skeptically.

Bernadetta smiled. "I've given you all the pieces. Need I solve the puzzle as well?"

***

"…tradition would dictate that the crown should pass to Sylvain. That would be the case in an ordinary succession, at least. But this is highly unorthodox." Duke Brett looked around.

"The last interregnum held seventy years ago dictated that the position as the eldest son was not the sole determining factor for the heir. Phillip III was passed over in favor of his cousin," Duke Bernard, Anselm's proponent, argued.

"That situation arose because Philip III was comatose. Even later, when he emerged from the coma, his brain had been significantly impacted by the period of stagnation. He had the wits of a nine-year-old. He was unsuited for the role." Prince Sylvain leaned on the table with obvious frustration leaking through his every gesture.

"But you're supporting my point. The last interregnum merely dictated that the most capable candidate should rise to the occasion," Bernard countered. "It was a merit-based appointment."

Sylvain slammed one of his heavy fists on the table. Silence followed. Isabella took advantage of the lull in conversation to finally strike.

"While we're here, I believe I should inform Duke Albert on a formal basis of a royal decree currently being sent to your residence," Isabella said, as if it was merely an offhand matter. Albert looked at her with a look of calm typical to his face. "It has come to the attention of the crown that bones belonging to the royal household have been secreted away, and improperly buried outside of the royal mausoleum. A decree will soon come demanding the return of this body, that it might be interred in a place of honor."

"A royal?" Roland asked. "Who?"

"My mother, Camilla."

For the first time that Isabella could ever recall, she saw Duke Albert's eyes widen in shock.

"Duke Albert interred her in a tomb below a church, without my father's knowledge," Isabella continued. "As her daughter, I believe it long overdue to correct that grave injustice."

***

"No one will have any ground to complain about royal overreach. You are merely requesting the bones of your parent be treated with sufficient respect. Quite frankly, it's beyond reproach," Bernadetta explained as they stared out at lake in the gardens.

Isabella remembered skipping rocks on this lake with Bernadetta, and then being scolded by servants later the same day.

"Surely that alone won't make him crumble." Isabella watched the water ripple.

"No. But without a doubt, the first crack in the mask that he wears will show," Bernadetta promised. "He'll likely react like so… but you'll be ready."

***

"If the crown can give me ample time, I can handle this matter on my own. The bones can be brought here whole and intact within the week," Albert spoke quickly.

"I've already sent agents of the crown to handle the matter," Isabella said, reflecting on Bernadetta's insight. It felt deeper than her own—and she was a time traveler. Surely Bernadetta couldn't be the same…

Duke Albert stood up and the chair scraped the floor loudly. "You can't do this."

Isabella looked into his eyes, savoring the unadulterated panic on his face. Evidently she wasn't alone in this. The majority of the Royal Council assembled stared at Duke Albert for what was probably the closest thing to an outburst he had ever shown. She didn't even need to speak next.

"Are you disputing royal authority, Duke Albert?" Prince Edouard, the only prominent claimant she hadn't yet spoken to, began. "Would you genuinely stoop so low as to deprive the only daughter of a queen the right to bury her bones when they belong?"

***

"He'll have no choice but to agree. Everyone around him will immediately put pressure on him. Even Prince Roland, the claimant that he's supporting, won't be willing to stand by him for such an obviously indefensible position," Bernadetta posited.

The two of them walked across the wooden bridge spanning the lake. Isabella was only willing to walk in such a place because Randolph was following just behind her, his eyes watching them like a hawk.

"Do you believe that he'll try to interfere with the transfer of the remains?" Isabella asked.

"He has no avenue to do so. If he resists militarily, you have pretext to declare him a traitor, and all will scramble to enforce that. Even though the body is within his territory, you have a firm grasp on the church, which has control over where Camilla's bones are interred. Albert has effectively severed all ties with the clergy after consorting with Archbishop Pius."

"And how will I finish him?" Isabella asked, stopping in the middle of the bridge.

Bernadetta stopped after walking a fair bit away. The wind sent her long black hair billowing through the air. Isabella recalled a memory where something similar had happened, and she had brushed her cousin's hair behind her ear with one hand.

"I can't give you all that I have all at once. Even if this is a mutually beneficial arrangement, I still need to support Prince Anselm as best I can." Bernadetta fixed her hair on her lonesome. "But this should be a sufficient downpayment to purchase some confidence."

Isabella stared at this woman that had replaced her friend. Even though it was foolish, she couldn't help but ask.

"Why do you hate me?"

Bernadetta didn't rush to deny it. She looked out at the lake for a few moments, then looked back. "I don't, anymore." Another few moments of silence followed, then her purple eyes locked on Isabella's. "I hated… your naivete. I hated that you were so easy to fool, so trusting. I hated what you were allowing me to do to you."

Isabella felt that it was circular logic.

"I had to hate you," Bernadetta said. "It was the only way I could do what needed to be done."

"Needed?" Isabella repeated.

"You heard correctly." Bernadetta dipped her head. "If there's nothing else…?"

With Isabella's nod, Bernadetta left. Her own guards soon moved to join her, and she walked across the bridge without a word. Isabella watched her for a bit, and then looked out to the lake. As she stood there, Randolph walked up. He offered her a handkerchief. She studied it for a moment.

"No need," she finally said.