Quilla stumbled into Garet’s apartments sometime later. She had taken a circuitous route in order to find out the kind of wine Sinitïa had—it only occurred to her after she left Sinitïa’s that she should have just asked Sinitïa’s handmaids. Luckily, most locations in the Palace had servants with wine trays on hand at all hours, so she was able to find out the name of the wine. None of them had that particular kind with them, but she could send Marna to fetch it.
She had drunk another goblet of what they had on her way back though. Or maybe it was two. Very unlike her, but comforting.
“Marna, I’d like you—”
“Apologies for interrupting, my Lady,” Marna said, “but his Grace, the Patriarch is here to see you.” Marna nodded to the seats in the centre of the room.
Ardon lounged in a chair, holding a wine goblet. A small stack of papers sat on the low table in front of him. He didn’t look over, though it seemed clear he was listening. He took a sip of his wine.
Quilla handed her empty goblet to Marna and hurriedly adjusted her kirtle. “Thank you, Marna.” She did her best to stand tall and straight, then strode towards the Patriarch. “Your Grace, what a pleasant surprise. Sorry if I kept you waiting.”
He didn’t turn to look at her. “That’s quite all right. I gave no notice.”
Quilla sat in the chaise longue across from him. “I hope you haven’t been waiting too long.”
He gave her a smile and held up his wine goblet. “Your handmaid has kept me comfortable.” He took another sip, then motioned to Marna. “Some for your Lady as well.”
“Oh that’s…” Quilla hesitated. What the hell. One more cup. “Yes, wine please, Marna.”
Marna curtsied and hurried to the wine table, where she filled the goblet Quilla had handed her, then brought it over.
“Sorry to disturb you,” Ardon said, “but there are a few time-sensitive things we should discuss.”
“Of course, your Grace. What do you wish to discuss?”
He took a sip of wine, then placed the goblet on the table and picked up some of the papers. “First, there’s the matter of the funeral. I wanted to know if you have any specific desires or requests, or if Garet made any requests himself before his death. It would be good to know these things before the Queen plans the whole thing.” He motioned to Marna, who brought him a pen and ink jar.
Quilla hadn’t thought about the funeral. She’d been so focused on getting here so there could be a funeral that she hadn’t stopped to think about what the funeral would be like. She thought a moment. “Since we don’t have his body, there should be some sort of physical memorial there. I’m not sure what exactly. It doesn’t have to be fancy. I’d actually prefer it wasn’t fancy. He wasn’t a fancy person.”
Ardon jotted down a couple notes. “Very well. Anything else?”
“Not really. Do whatever you’d normally do for a dead prince.”
Ardon half-shrugged and jotted down another note. “A dead prince is hardly a normal event, but I take your meaning. Now then, as regards the circumstances of Prince Garet’s death, I get the impression you didn’t tell his family everything. I’d like to know what you left out.”
Quilla forced a smile, then took a sip of wine. She had left things out, choosing to focus on only the most pertinent details. Garet’s parents and sibling didn’t need to know about Felitïa’s Will-Breaker stuff or Corvinian’s unusual powers. She’d just said the Volgs had kidnapped her son and Garet went to Ninifin with Felitïa to rescue him.
The Queen had not been happy to learn of Felitïa’s involvement, although she claimed to have suspected it. Quilla had let her declare Garet’s death Felitïa’s fault just like Felitïa had said to do. Quilla even embellished on it a little.
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“Was this Felitïa’s idea?” the Queen had asked.
“Mostly,” Quilla replied. “Felitïa came to Garet asking for his help, but Garet was eager to help. It was my son they were looking for, after all. He didn’t need any convincing. He would have done anything to get my son back for me.”
“Stop trying to diminish Felitïa’s role,” the Queen snapped. “She was always a master of manipulating people as a child, and she seems no different now. What was it the Volgs called her? Will-Wrecker? Something like that.”
“I don’t know anything about that, your Majesty. However, Felitïa was always very secretive, and she liked to be in control and make all the decisions. She and Garet clashed a few times. Now I think about it, she might have used magic to win those battles.”
It shocked Quilla now just how easily she had made up parts of the story to make Felitïa look bad and how readily the Queen had believed it. She would have to tell Ardon the truth now, though.
“This could take awhile,” she said.
Ardon dipped his pen in the ink jar. “I have time.”
Quilla stared at her wine. How many cups had she had now? This was the first one here, right? She sighed and motioned Marna over to her. If she was going to go through all this again, she was going to go full Garet. She downed the remaining contents of the goblet and held it out for Marna to refill. “Stay with me.” Marna curtsied and stood beside her as she began to tell the tale in full.
* * * * *
Sometime later, Ardon was gone and Quilla was stretched out on the chaise longue. She wasn’t sure how much time had passed or when Ardon had left. It was all a little hazy.
She remembered sending Marna to acquire some of that wine Sinitïa had, the name of which had slipped her mind. She was fairly sure she had remembered it when sending Marna though, and that was the main thing. Even if she hadn’t, Marna was a smart girl and could probably find the right one.
She was also reasonably certain she hadn’t left anything out of her story for Ardon, though she couldn’t quite remember telling all of it. She did remember...oh dear. She’d said some nasty things about Felitïa.
Ardon had started it. Well, not really, but he had asked questions about Felitïa. Quilla couldn’t quite remember the specifics right now, but at one point, she had gotten fed up of all the attention to Felitïa. “You know what? Fuck Felitïa. I’m sick and tired of talking about her. It’s always Felitïa this or Felitïa that. Some people love her and others hate her, but everybody always wants to talk about her. Zandrue always talks about her. The Queen always talks about her. Hell, even Garet spent a lot of time talking about her towards the end. So did I. And my son chose to go with her instead of his mother. He specifically requested it. So fuck her. Fuck the Will-Breaker. Fuck everything about her.”
She couldn’t remember Ardon’s reaction, but he liked Felitïa, didn’t he? He used to be her teacher once, didn’t he? What if he told Felitïa what she’d said. Quilla didn’t hate Felitïa. Not really. Not deep down. She just hated her for the moment. It would pass eventually. Probably. Maybe.
She placed her feet on the floor and sat up. The room spun around her, so she lay back down again. This was probably Felitïa’s fault, too. Even if it wasn’t, she was sure she could spin it as Felitïa’s fault. The Queen would believe it. Quilla snickered.
The doors opened, but Quilla paid little mind. It would be Marna returning with the wine.
“Why yes, your Majesty, didn’t you know that Felitïa invented wine? She put the fucking alcohol in it specifically to get me and other people drunk. What a horrible person she is. You should have her arrested on charges of...of...what should the charges be? Treason?” She giggled.
Gods, she complained about Ardon focusing too much on Felitïa, and here she was, thinking about Felitïa. She thought about Felitïa a lot.
“Marna, bring me some of that wine.”
She looked over towards the door, but it wasn’t Marna there.
The man who stood there was a short Eloorin with tawny brown skin and dark blonde hair, the bangs combed over his forehead to just above his eyebrows. A long scar ran down the right side of his face from the corner of his cold blue eye to his chin. He hadn’t had that the last time she’d seen him, but everything else about him was exactly as she remembered. He didn’t even look any older.
“No. Please no.” This was the last thing she needed. A reminder of another life now gone, but one she never wanted to return to.
Why did Garet have to die?
“Hello, Quilla,” Dyle said. “It’s been a long time.”