Violet Shadows

57

The wait felt carnivorous. Christine knew it was the beginning of What Wish So Haunted that currently floored the princes, stunning them into a silence that drew baleful feelings. She doubted her explanation could conceal the bigger scheme of things. Clara's arrival at sea, the fake proposal—it was all for them. More specifically, the incentive of which the book began.

Though the king of Valltore could hold permission to free the Margrita princes from their capture, it was up to House Ducal to discard their chains. After the war, the steady streams of responsibilities for House Ducal burst into a flood as time, and neglect, ebbed on. An uneven balance between High Houses did not permit equal decision on the political hostages, so freedom would have to be negotiated individually. That was Clara's task—the entire plot of the book—defeating the trials Roma put up for her dear brothers.

Christine's skin turned fervent. There was never a part of the story that filled her with warmth, albeit at the end. Still, Clara tried. She saw for herself the impossibility of bargaining back her brothers with a just cause, even with Nicol's aid, but nothing guaranteed freedom.

Weeks of failed attempts built up the stories at court. How the lovely Margritan princess once compared to a fair songbird now better suited a dying ibis plucked until its skin shimmered raw. Most courtesans had noticed the change, and that notice was not peculiar but attentive. It drew the sort of eyes one wished they had never caught—until Clara found herself canine-deep in the whorls of a game with the devil.

Over the weeks, Roma saw the naked helpless in Clara's eyes while her own twinkled with intrigue. Roma wasn't understanding, choosing to laugh at the pitiful display and indulge in gossip, but she was fickle and did not go back on her word. Garnering her own amusement, she challenged Clara to a game. Three. Should Clara win, she would be merry to send free Issac and Lexiard and send them off to Margrita. Should Clara lose, well, that was up for Roma to decide.

Christine's memory of the innate details had withered over the months, but the important parts locked into her like a set of keys. Each trial surfaced the development of Nicol and Clara's relationship. The games were rigged against Clara, but she found comfort in the hidden holes until it was brimming over in the third half. If Roma was a woman who sought victory with dishonorable methods... then it wouldn't come as a surprise that her first victim would not be Clara, but someone else. A brother.

The third trial did just that. Proving impossible, Nicol and Clara found no loophole in what Roma asked: to choose a brother to kill, the other to live.

Clara tried to argue, but Roma merely shrugged. She didn't dictate how the princes would return, only that they would return. An urn would prove valuable in transportation, but if there was some Margritan custom, Roma would welcome the foreign tradition. Both boys would be leaving, nonetheless. The choice of which one was stuffed into a box was up to Clara.

In reply, Clara's howl barreled against her brothers. She could hardly stand, flooded with the ugly choice of choosing between Lexiard or Issac. Was this how they felt, back then? A facade of empty pride as they gave over their lives to the Holy Empire of Margrita? Roma expected an answer, and if she could not provide one, then none of them would be able to leave Valltore free. This wasn't the freedom Clara imagined, nor the means to fulfill her vows. She was supposed to save them. Return that burden her brothers beheld, but how?

She couldn't. Clara couldn't pick.

And when she lost, Roma took her life instead.

Roma cared little for others, finding it best when to play with those pallid feelings. Deeming them weak, a marvel of amusement. However, love won over in the end.