The Sixth

~

To my Lady, Darlin Rayne,

If you are reading this you have encountered some sort of danger. I hope you were not too frightened and will take your time recovering, 

I initially meant for Collette to guard you from a distance, but in the event harm befalls you she is under orders to approach you so you might know you have an ally who worries for you.

Collette is one of my best and would lay her life down for you if she values hers. Though our correspondence is sudden and brief, please trust her as if she were my own sword.

Your letter and flowers were received with much gratitude, unfortunately a more personal thanks will have to be delayed while I prepare to return to the Capital. 

Until we meet, please care for yourself for my sake.

With much anticipation,

Ludovik Von Taivaria

~

Every day Darlin reads Ludovik’s letter, and every day a vase of fresh irises grace the round table by her window.

She knows it is Collette’s doing and has grown tired of being unnerved by the faux maid’s sneakiness, especially as it has made her three day confinement a tad more bearable.

Darlin often catches herself reaching towards the irises, then stopping right before her knuckles can brush a petal.

The flowers’ vibrant blue reflect in her blood colored irises, Ludovik’s letter pressed to her chest by her other hand.

Darlin sighs, confused? …Maybe frustrated?

All logic and wisdom suggests she burn the letter, but just as her hand never reaches the flowers, she is unable to touch the paper to a candle’s flames. 

She reads the letter again, her lips pursed. Darlin would love to blame starvation and dehydration for the suffocation in her chest, but the truth jeers at her… Ludovik’s words have moved her. 

She should be somberly scheming the words to be spoken when they do finally meet, but all Darlin has the strength to do is let her mind sink into nothing as she lazes about.

Ludovik’s words are so kind. They seep with genuinely good intent that poisons the well of her logic.

Darlin has no trust for feelings, hers or others’, but is inclined to give Ludovik the benefit of the doubt. 

Lifting the letter to eye level once more, she notes with a smirk, Bold too. 

Ludovik referred to her as “my Lady”, which is awfully comfortable for someone writing to a person they’ve never met. 

She didn’t hate it, however. Like her heart is the instrument, and Ludovik a skilled musician, any offense she ought to have resounds then quickly fades into nonexistence. 

Darlin’s ever working brain says he is only trying to secure her support in light of the information she provided in her letter.

Her traitorous heart cannot— will not bother and sways to the melody of the care and worry not even her family have afforded her. 

“…Don’t be silly…” She grumbles and locks the letter away in the desk’s drawer. 

Wander as far as her heart might, Darlin is not stupid enough to believe Ludovik really cares for her. 

In high society, propriety is a must, and, sometimes, propriety demands buttering people up, smiling, comforting them, offering a helping hand while keeping a dagger tucked behind you. 

The trick is getting as close as possible, while also being able to discard others with little or no consequence.

Darlin is no stranger to this.

She rests her palms over her eyes, advising herself, “Do not be fooled. Do not soften your heart.”

She reminds herself she is largely disadvantaged against Ludovik. In the first place, she’d bet solely on his chivalry and still relies on it now.

He did not dismiss her letter despite her, by all accounts, being a member of the aristocratic faction behind Prince Lionel. His letter also states an intent to meet with her— No matter what, I will make an ally of him.

That is enough for her. 

…It should be enough, still Darlin can’t help feeling as if she will be largely disappointed if Ludovik takes credit for her work— like how Heinrich took credit for her revolutionary discoveries in alchemy.

Did it matter if Ludovik takes the credit? At this point, she’d let a badger have the glory if it will gut the Fritzs another inch. 

Darlin’s goal is dealing the aristocratic faction a vicious blow, and Ludovik is merely the person most suitable to carry out the task as any harm to the aristocratic faction is an opportunity for the royalists. 

Right, it’s just business between us. That’s why he sent in Collette— the double-edged sword. She will keep Darlin from harm and any opportunity to backtab Ludovik. One wrong move and she might even be my executioner…

Again, Darlin yanks her disloyal hand away from the flowers. Best to stay away, “Irises are toxic, after all.”

*****

Flora’s stomach churns disagreeably. The only thing stopping her from vomiting all over the table is the fear that Gretchen might just make her eat that too.

Flora had more grit than Gretchen expected. Be as it may, every rope can only be pulled so taut before it snaps.

If another weight is what Flora needs to break, then another weight Gretchen shall add.

A butler lays down the fourth dish, a savory brisket with steamed asparagus, and a mild flavored sauce.

Flora gags and Gretchen turns away from the pink roses to glare at Flora for spoiling her mood.

The tutor curls her lips and plucks a rose. She snips the thorns as she lazily comments, “You must find this all senseless, yes?

“It’s just eating, why so many rules”, yes?”

Her analysis is spot on, but Flora now knows better than to think she has this ugsome woman’s empathy. 

“Your father’s brain and mother’s blood make for a poor combination within you.” The tutor gives a gloomy sigh. “Even if you miraculously learn, I doubt you’ll be able to do anything worthwhile.”

It takes Flora a moment to realize the mother Gretchen speaks of is not Isabelle. 

Her lips part, words of indignation upon her tongue that wisely refrain at the sight of Gretchen’s derisive, amber eyes.

They are a shade so similar to Narcisse’s, yet completely different in their venom.

Flora shuts herself by gritting her teeth. There’s no use getting upset because of this mad farce!

When her parents came to her room to offer comfort at night, they told Flora of Gretchen’s wicked plans—This woman is working for the Duchess to force me away from Heinrich and live in disgrace! The more time Flora spends around her, the more she questions Narcisse’s maternity.

“Poor Lady Darlin,” Flora starts at hearing Gretchen grieve, “what a bother to have a sister so dreadfully subpar.”

Flora frowns, offended, but also bothered by the inkling of a memory. Didn’t… Didn’t Narcisse say something similar…?

“Poor Flora. It must be such a bother to have a sister so annoyingly frigid.”

At that time, Flora banged her small fists on Narcisse’s muscular arm and scolded him. 

Darlin had smiled and sipped her tea, seeming not to take Narcisse’s mean joke seriously. 

Flora didn’t realize she was crying until a tear splattered on the back of her hand. 

“You…!” Gretchen recoils in disgust. When Flora continued to silently whimper, tears pouring down a ruddy face, the Countess let out a bark of laughter. Is she finally breaking? 

“My, my, are you crying over what I said? Don’t tell me you’ve only just recently become aware of the difference between you sisters?” The corners of her eyes curve up with malignant pity. “You silly thing. Even if you had a lifetime, you could never~ measure to even a quarter of your sister’s abilities. For your own good, do not entertain the idea of filling Lady Darlin’s shoes.”

“Lady”? Flora only just noticed. Gretchen refers to Darlin as “Lady”, but to Flora by her name and/or insults. 

She imagines if Darlin was in her position, she would smile, calmly, emptily. 

Flora could never gainsay when people called Darlin cold, frigid, or unfriendly. To her, one of the main reasons people treat Darlin the way they do is because she makes no effort to express herself.

For once, Flora agrees with Gretchen. She doesn’t want to fill Darlin’s shoes, and why should she? 

Smiling while someone hurts you, how can such a sick quality be admirable? This woman, the Duke and Duchess too, are they expecting me to be like Darlin?! 

Just a bit more… Gretchen takes her seat across Flora and motions to the untouched brisket. “Well? Eat.”

Flora’s tears were still falling. Emotionally, physically, and mentally, Flora is exhausted. “Please… Please, I can’t—! I-It’s just not fair…!”

Gretchen didn’t even try to hide the taint from her laugh and words. “You should be able to deal with this much as Duchess Apparent. Don’t you think you’re being ungrateful to someone trying to prepare you for the worst?”

How stupid does this woman think I am? As Flora’s anger flares, so does a desire to wrestle this cruelty. 

Flora did not want to be like Darlin, or Felicity! She is a lady totally different from the rest, she will not bully or regard others with a doll-like smile, but seek to understand them and make friends of them. 

Narcisse and Heinrich always said she is like a breath of fresh hair in the mucky world of high society. With the support of those she loves, she does not doubt she can make a change for the better! If only I get through this… If only I become Duchess Apparent! 

Gretchen clicks her tongue at the spark in Flora’s eyes. Her lips stretch into an unkind smile. “Flora, what did I say about slouching?”

Annie the maid was unwilling, but also not open to taking a lashing. She raises the three books over the young noblewoman’s head. 

“Countess Gretchen!” 

“Mother!” Flora exclaims, rushing out of her chair and into Isabelle’s open arms.

Gretchen’s scowl is harsh, but Isabelle’s determination to help Flora is greater on this day. “I believe it’s high time you and I had a conversation.”

“I’m afraid now is not a good time, I was just about to work on your daughter’s horrid posture again. Now Flora, get back here before you upset me more.” 

Flora buries her face in Isabelle’s shoulder and the latter’s becomes even more adamant, “Not until you’ve had a talk with me.”

Gretchen didn’t care for anything she had to say, but that Inspidly naive look is too similar to Flora’s. It’s a little aggravating. “Very well.” She says before heading deeper into the garden.

“Mother…” Flora trembles and weeps in relief, all she’s endured bearing down in a wave. “Mother, mother, mother…!” There was so much she wanted to say, but at the end she could only call out with a shaky voice.

“Oh my poor baby…” Isabelle hugs Flora tight, even more certain she is doing the right thing. Though begrudging, she separates from Flora. “Go have a rest while I settle things with the Countess.”

Flora nods, almost wishing she had the strength to witness Gretchen being disparaged. As for Isabelle, she clenches her trembling hands, squares her shoulders, then marches after Gretchen. 

Isabelle finds the woman staring distastefully at the roses. “This garden was designed with Flora in mind.” She states matter-of-factly.

“Yes…” Isabelle replies carefully, already disliking whatever point Gretchen is about to make. “Pink roses are her favorite.” 

Gretchen hums, then faces Isabelle with a smirk. “And which part was designed with Lady Darlin in mind?”

Isabelle knew what she was getting at but was not here to defend herself against thoughtless accusations. “I respect your role as Flora’s tutor, but as a mother, you must see your methods are unnecessarily harsh.”

“Are they?” Gretchen said, finding more interest in her nails than Isabelle. “It can’t be helped, I’m working with your daughter’s less than adequate intellect. Someone of her level has to work twice— no, thrice as hard as an average person if she’s going to make any progress.”

“Where we not friends not too long ago? Why are you treating my family and I this way? Did I offend you in some way? If so, I—!” 

Countess Rayne’s earnest words are met with boisterous laughter.

“Friends?” Gretchen flicks a tear off the corner of her eye. “Oh Countess, you really missed your calling as a jester.”

Isabelle’s jaw tightens in a heated mix of anger and embarrassment. “Why has your personality changed all of a sudden?”

“Am I the only one who’s changed? Did the others also seem different when you cried your heart out to them?” 

Gretchen’s grin tells Isabelle all she’s been trying to conceal has long been seen. “Did they…” Isabelle gulps, “Did they tell you?”

“Hmph! I am the Countess Gretchen Dalton, what do you think?” Haughtiness snaps into irritation as Gretchen asks, “Did you think your family would go unscathed after the stunt your daughter pulled at the graduation ceremony?”

“Flora doesn’t carry that guilt alone!” Isabelle argues for what feels like the millionth time! 

Worse still, none of her so-called friends will drop a word or two in Flora’s support. They just roll their eyes, snicker, or directly send Isabelle off. 

“Are you willing to say that in Felicity’s presence?”

Mention is Felicity is a weapon that causes Isabelle to physically retreat.

“That’s right, in comparison to a falling house’s bastard, who dares chastise the esteemed heir of Fritz?”

“Be as it may, Flora will marry into Fritz. What’s the use in antagonizing each other at this point?”

“What is the use of riding a boat destined to sink?” Gretchen hisses, growing increasingly annoyed by Isabelle’s idiocy.

“W-What… What are you trying to say?” Isabelle stumbles a few steps back. “Does the Duchess intend to—!”

“Gods you’re stupid!” Gretchen stomps forward, her finger almost poking the tip of Isabelle’s nose. “Listen here, the only reason I have ever bothered with you is because I mistook you for more than you really are!” 

Even though she is taller, Isabelle quivers under Gretchen’s hateful gaze. “I- I don’t underst—“

“Of course you don’t!” Gretchen throws her hands up. “When have you ever?” Since their first meeting, Gretchen’s instincts simply couldn’t identify Isabelle as who others said she was. 

Conversation further proved her suspicions. Isabelle was too dull, too naive. Yet, everyone felt certain it was an act, after all, one as magnificent as Lady Darlin can’t have a mother that mediocre.

“I only put up with you because I thought this” she motions at all of Isabelle, “was an act! You really did have most fooled, but I always knew something was off about you.”

“I don’t have a clue what you’re talking about… I’ve never deceived anyone!”

Gretchen’s eyes roll. “I’m well aware. Everyone thought Countess Rayne to be this shrewd woman pretending to be kind,” She narrates, “”She uses her husband’s bastard to seize Heinrich’s heart, while her own daughter rules the Duchy” they said.” 

It was Gretchen’s opinion that Felicity let others think whatever they wanted to set the Rayne’s up as potential scapegoats. The Raynes are also not capable of competing with them for power once Duchess Felicity takes the throne. Darlin would also be kept under heel as her powers as Empress would never be complete— not with Flora in the picture. 

“One’s skills are only admirable until they’re being used against you.” Taught Dame Jules.

Isabelle is left gawking, only able to muster dumb sounds of confusion in response to the ludicrous image of her she never knew existed. 

“Flora’s actions had others wondering if you really were as clever as they thought. A few words from the Duke, and now they know the truth.” 

Gretchen sputters a laugh at Isabelle’s pallid face. She repeatedly jabs a finger into the latter’s chest to annunciate her words, “You, Countess Rayne, are an empty headed fool. You doted a bastard into a person with no merit outside of her beauty, while the one raised outside of your care turned into the only good thing in your miserable life!” Gretchen cackles, “You’re like Midas if all he touched turned into coal. All around, you’re just a spectacular failure of a mother!”

A moment of silence passes between the two before Gretchen takes a few steps back and lets out a breath. What a good stress reliever~! 

She turns on her heel, dropping a playful warning for Isabelle to dwell on, “Go ahead and smother little Flora all you want. The love you’ve showered her with might just be her only comfort when she’s left all alone~!”

Isabelle wasn’t sure how long she remained in the garden— alone, motionless, speechless. Her mind is  blank, save for the endless echo of Gretchen’s words.

I… I am a… bad mother…? Isabelle’s heart began to race at a speed that left phantom pains on her ribs. She clutches her clammy hands over her chest and whispers in a tremor, “I… but no, I… I…” 

Flora saved Isabelle when she was at a point when she could not find the will to live anymore. 

She was only six years old, yet kinder than anyone Isabelle knew, leaving pink camellias at Isabelle’s bedroom door in hopes of coaxing her out of her persistent postpartum depression. 

Isabelle very much considers Flora her angel. Her smiles, her innocence,  all serve to brighten a heart once overtaken by darkness.

In caring for her, Isabelle’s once loveless marriage to Howard came alive. 

Flora made them a family. 

A sudden gust of wind blows the loosely tied bow from Isabelle’s hair and situates it in one of many rose bushes.

She moves to fetch it but freezes upon seeing where it lays. 

Isabelle could hear Gretchen as if the accuser were still here, “And which part was planted with Lady Darlin in mind?”