The Second Suicide (7/7)

From inside the departing carriage, Diana looked back at Giscard. He was watching the carriage that held her, and there was something strangely hollow in the way he looked — as though nothing at all remained behind those eyes. The boy with jet-black hair seemed as if he might simply stop living at any moment, his pair of violet eyes sunken deep and still, like the mire of a venomous dragon. And then, all at once, she felt their gazes meet.

Is he... waiting for me?

She had done no more than dress a single wound — and she was the abuser's daughter, at that. Diana shook her head and forced the thought away. Her father wanted only one thing from today: proof that she could be presented to the royal house as a daughter-in-law. For that, she would have to win the friendship of the Princess, a member of the royal family, and of the princes besides.

She looked at her father seated across from her. He wore the smile of a man in rare good humor, as though something wonderful had already happened.

"Diana. Don't disappoint your father."

"Of course not."

Smiling, she slipped the pearl necklace from her neck and drew an opal one from her bag.

"Why change your necklace now, of all times?"

"Because this one's prettier, that's all."

Her father had never shown much interest in how she adorned herself. He seemed to accept it as a child's passing whim and thought nothing more of it.

Diana turned once more toward Giscard. When she came home, she would protect him. Once her father's trust was hers, she would set him free — sooner than she had in her past life.

The carriage reached the royal palace, and she stepped down. It had been a long time since she had last seen the palace at night.

Walking with her hand in her father's, she exchanged nods with the guests they passed. She had been treated as a discarded queen, yet she had been the queen of an entire nation all the same. Even when she recognized a face, she knew the etiquette: unless the acquaintance was an intimate one, one offered only the courtesies due across a ballroom. Watching his daughter stride through it all without a trace of nerves, Duke Brien's eyes went wide.

The great hall of the palace was packed to bursting when they arrived.

"The Duke of Brien has arrived!"

At the herald's cry, every head turned toward the Duke in unison. Eyes fixed on Diana as well, but she wore an expression long since practiced. Whispers rippled through the crowd at Diana Brien's entrance. A poor girl who lost her mother so recently — that was what these people had imagined. But there was no fragile, motherless child walking past them. There was a young lady.

"The daughter of House Brien really is a cut above, isn't she?"

"Isn't she just."

"She must take after her father."

They clucked their tongues at her composure — so composed it bordered on unnatural. Among the nobles puzzling over it stood a boy with radiant golden hair.

"Why, Your Highness — what brings you here of all places!"

The sudden appearance of Second Prince Philip startled them all.

"Ionia asked for me."

Princess Ionia and Philip were half-siblings. Even so, the two were closer to each other than either was to Crown Prince Ferdinand.

"Is that the famous Lady Brien everyone talks of?"

At the question, the others nodded. Philip lifted the corner of his mouth.

"She suits this palace better than anyone."

Everyone was desperate to forge a connection with her father. He acknowledged each who approached with measured greetings and smoothly moved the conversation along.

So those determined to attach themselves to him by any means turned their sights on Diana instead, showering her with the sort of excessive praise and doting favor a child might be won over by. Diana parried them with practiced grace, careful that none of it should reflect poorly on her father. A few were rudely persistent on the assumption that she was only a child, but on the whole, the difficulty was low.

Then again — when everyone in the Kingdom of Lodbrok had been aching to condemn her, how hard could this possibly be? Every soul around her back then had seen her as a monkey put on display to perform tricks. They had delighted in parading her about and laughing at her.

Hahahaha!

The friendly laughter was beginning to fray into jeering, tearing mockery. Diana's breath hitched. She fought it down. It was one of those seizures that took her, on the rarest of occasions, in the middle of a crowd. This isn't that place. It isn't that hell. Father is right beside me, and these people don't hate me.

She smiled brightly and received them all.

Some time later, she made her way to the Queen. Her Majesty had been wearing an expression of lofty boredom and, upon the Duke of Brien's approach, offered a grudging greeting. Then the Queen's gaze fell on Diana — and a crack ran through her composure. This, of all moments, was when Diana tensed. Princess Ionia feared men and kept to rooms where only women gathered, which meant that only with the Queen's permission did one earn the right to present a gift at all.

In other words, anyone might attend the grand birthday celebration, but the true party began only after passing the Queen's judgment. Displease her, and one did not get in.

"A child, brought into a gathering of her elders — and toiling away at it, no less."

It was a soft rebuke: why on earth had he brought so young a girl. Duke Brien only laughed heartily in reply. Diana's heart clenched, just a little.

"My daughter strives so diligently to fill the place her mother left empty."

"She isn't hoping to catch the eye of the princes, is she?"

"How could she possibly?"

Diana studied the Queen's face. She clearly thought ill of Duke Brien. Well — that was why the match he had fought tooth and nail to arrange had only finally come to pass once Diana was grown.

"Your Majesty the Queen — late though I am, I offer my greetings as a girl."

The Queen's gaze turned to Diana. It drifted elsewhere for a moment, then came to rest on her necklace. The opal glittered. The Queen studied it with care.

"A rather pretty necklace, this."

With a beckoning gesture, the Queen called Diana closer to admire it. She was fond of collecting jewels, and opals above all — there were so many varieties, she liked to say, that a collection of them never reached its end. As she gazed at the shimmering stones, the Queen's stiff expression eased.

"It's my favorite necklace."

"And why is that?"

"At one glance it seems to hold the heavens, at another the sea — and every time I look, it is strange and unknowable all over again. That is what makes it such a delight to behold."

At Diana's words, the corners of the Queen's mouth lifted.

"You have a discerning eye, my lady. I, too, prefer opal to diamond — it seems to hold the whole world within it. Then a necklace that holds all that must be a truly precious thing indeed."

"Yes. It is a necklace my mother treasured very dearly."

"Is that so?"

Sorrow clouded Diana's face. Watching her, the Queen's own expression began to shift. For all her grown-up poise, the girl had lost her mother barely half a year ago. Recalling how small the gap in years was between the Princess and the Lady of Brien, the Queen looked anew at the child wearing her mother's necklace.

Gatherings like this must frighten her, so she brought her mother's keepsake along for comfort. The Princess would have done the same.

The Queen's rigid face softened into sympathy. At the sight, Duke Brien's countenance eased as well.

"The Princess keeps a separate chamber. Go to her yourself, my lady, and present your gift."

Without another word, the Queen magnanimously granted her leave to attend the Princess. Diana curtsied to her father and followed the Queen's maid toward the Princess's chambers.

On the way, she glanced back. Behind her father, a married couple of another house was advancing to pay their respects to the Queen. The noblewoman wore a blue dress and, around her neck, no fewer than two long strands of pearls.

Oh dear. A pearl necklace.

Diana knew at once that the couple would not be welcomed. Pearls were, quite simply, the jewel the Queen detested above all others. It was a fact passed quietly, woman to woman, among those who wore pearl ornaments: the Queen's elder brother, Prince Livien Drassel, had set out to sea to obtain pearls for his beloved sister, and died in a shipwreck.

That was precisely the sort of intelligence a lady's maid was meant to pass along to young noblewomen. And Diana remembered the pearl necklace she had worn here today.

Every ornament on her had been chosen by Mirva. The head maid had personally, graciously, fastened a strand of pearls around her neck. Diana thought of Mirva now. The same thing had happened in her past life. She had gone before the Queen wearing pearls, and the Queen had driven her from the room.

She had raged at Mirva for it then — and the woman had answered with an air of perfect innocence:

"You wanted to wear it, my lady. Why blame me only now?"

Her father, though he had raised a storm over it, had believed Mirva in the end. The maids had all nodded along with her. And Mirva had been the one gravely wronged — or so the whole household agreed.

Just then she saw the noble couple with the pearl necklace hurrying away, faces flushed scarlet, like thieves fleeing the scene. Young Diana had suffered exactly such a humiliation once. She sighed, thinking of Mirva. Even if she made an issue of it, the woman would only pin the crime on some hapless maid — or on Diana herself.

You're cutting your own lifeline needlessly short, you know.

You — who died with your limbs hacked off because of me — I pitied you. I had meant to put off deciding your fate until later, and yet here you are already.

Clicking her tongue, Diana stepped into the chamber the maid had shown her to.

At Lady Brien's entrance, every woman in the room turned to look. They were of all ages — white-haired dowagers and girls as young as fourteen. Princess Ionia, the very image of her mother the Queen, sat at their center, conversing with her guests.

"I pay my respects to Your Highness the Princess."

She greeted them with a bright smile, yet the Princess's expression was sour in a way she could not quite hide.

"More guests?"

At the Princess's razor-edged reply, the assembled ladies began to murmur. But Lady Brien grasped the situation in an instant. The Princess bore Lady Brien no ill will. And Diana knew exactly what she had to do.

Though the Princess's open disdain might well have cowed anyone else, Diana Brien gathered her skirts, curtsied to the seated guests with an elegance that bordered on infuriating, and took the seat prepared for her. Her bearing set the whispers going again. The Princess, for her part, still frowned. She was trying not to show it, but she was plainly anxious.

Piss-pants Ionia.

Diana knew the reason. In her past life, the rumor had circulated through high society quite openly; Diana had heard it herself. From what she'd heard, the Princess had made a terrible mistake at a birthday party when she was very young — and today, it seemed, was that very day.

"Can't even piss properly — filthy, really. What kind of princess is a piss-pants?"

Ferdinand was ashamed of the Princess, his only sister. Ionia had suffered a disorder of the bladder ever since the trauma of nearly being murdered by an assassin. Whenever nerves took hold, the need to reach a privy seized her at once.

"Please don't blame Her Highness too much."

"They say it started when an assassin came for her before she turned ten — but she's terrified of men, and she can't even do her business like a dog when she needs to. If you were me, could you understand my shame?"

"Your Highness."

"She's come to this because she couldn't even say she needed the privy. Not every child is that stupid."

In any case, whether out of consciousness of that rumor or not, Princess Ionia hardly ever appeared in society at all — and when she did, she could count on hearing that word. To be terrified of men was humiliation enough; but the ten-year-old girl, afraid that even her frequent trips to the privy would draw laughter, had lived under the jeer of piss-pants right up until the day Farnborough fell.

Wasn't that simply too cruel?

Diana, too, had been carried off as a war trophy of Lodbrok and lived a life of ceaseless mockery. She knew better than anyone how unbearable that bottomless contempt could be.

While fielding the questions raining down on her with practiced ease, Diana kept a quiet eye on the Princess. She did not force a conversation on her. Whatever she said, the girl would only grumble and wave her off — that much was certain.

Watching how desperately urgent the Princess's need appeared, Diana's smile bloomed wide.

"Your Highness. My gift is rather large, you see — it's been left outside. Would you do me the honor of coming out to see it?"

In truth, the Princess's birthday present was an opal headband set with the very jewels the Queen was known to love. There was no enormous gift at all. The Princess's eyes lit up. Here was a girl too timid to say she needed the privy in front of a crowd.

"My, whatever could the House of Brien have brought?"

"I'm dying to know!"

"If Her Highness wishes it, we could all—"

If Ionia had invited them along just now, Diana's words would have become a bluff. Cold sweat slid down her back — but fortunately, the Princess spoke first.

"Something the Duke of Brien sent with his own hands. I will be the first to see it."

The noblewomen were openly crestfallen. A few shot Diana dark looks for spiriting the Princess away — coming in after the fact and carting off the Princess all to herself would hardly endear her to anyone.

But Diana was twelve. She beamed at them all.

"I have a gift of my own prepared too, so we'll all look at that together later, everyone!"

The great advantage of living as a child was that people forgave you your shortcomings. Had she seemed too grown, they would surely have bristled — but no one can work up real anger at a smiling little girl. Still less at one who had lost her mother not half a year ago. The noblewomen with daughters of their own could only smile helplessly, as if there were nothing to be done.

"She's still just a child, after all."

"Isn't she though. So composed when she entered the hall, too."

"It must be so hard on her, all alone. Keeping up the whole household of that estate by herself."

Princess Ionia could not bring herself to go straight to the privy, and kept glancing at Diana instead. Diana decided not to make her wait another moment.

"Your Highness, where is the privy?"

"Hm?"

"I need to go."

"I'll show you the way!"

The Princess's face brightened like a lamp, and she quickened her steps. But before they had gone far, those steps stopped short.

"Uh... a-ah. Huh?"

What was wrong? Diana's eyes went wide — Ionia had frozen in place and was trembling from head to toe. Before Diana could make sense of it, the Princess, her face drained white, looked down at her own skirt. Diana realized that something had gone very wrong.

"Wh-what do I do?"

...

"A-ahk!"

Moisture was already seeping into the floor where the Princess stood. Too late, then. Diana sighed quietly. The Princess, having disgraced herself in the corridor, promptly began to sob — and the moment those sobs threatened to swell beyond all control, Diana cried out:

"Don't cry!"

"S-so now I'm..."

"Gather your skirt up before it soaks through! It's all right — you only need to change your underthings."

Fortunately no one else was passing through the corridor, and something like this could still be handled without a single soul the wiser. Diana turned to look behind them.

"Someone, please come here."

A guard knight would surely have been trailing the Princess. Diana looked back, searching — and a knight who had been waiting concealed behind a pillar emerged. Fortunately, it was a woman.

"What's happened? Why is Her Highness cry— ah."

The knight, too, understood at once.

"It's... a delicate matter. Forgive my presumption, but you'll need to bring fresh underclothes. Ah — and a rag, since this will need cleaning as well."

Fortunately, she seemed a veteran of such things. Between sobs, Ionia watched Diana issuing calm, precise instructions.

"Shall I fetch maids to help her change?"

At the knight's question, Diana shook her head.

"No. The number of people who know of this must be kept to the barest minimum. There's too much risk of the story spreading. I'll attend to the clothes myself, so please don't worry. I'll be in the privy — and please, as quickly as you can manage."

The knight nodded. Taking Ionia's hand as the girl wept, Diana led her toward the privy. Ionia thought this was the worst day of her life. It was over. She had hidden it so desperately, and now everything had come to light.

"Wh-what do I do... now I've become a p-piss-pants, hic—!"

"Take those off. If the wetness spreads, we'll have a real problem on our hands."

"M-Mother. Mother..."

When the Princess threatened to break down entirely, Diana took her by the shoulders and gave her a small shake.

"Your Highness, pull yourself together. If you keep crying, it will show on your face!"

"But I..."

"I promise you. I won't breathe a word of this to anyone. It can all be mended, truly."

"...Hnk!"

"Hush, now. I had accidents in bed when I was little, too. One mistake is something a person can simply move past. Your Highness — hush, stop crying, hush."

When Diana put real force beneath her voice, Ionia nodded at last. Just then, the knight returned with the fresh underclothes.

"My lady. The corridor has already been seen to."

"Thank you."

Now only Ionia herself remained to be dealt with. Diana murmured a brief pardon and undressed her. Ionia watched without so much as a blink.

She was practiced at this — undressing another — and every motion was gentle, careful not to make the Princess uncomfortable. For all her professed hurry, the unhurried tenderness of it steadied Ionia's nerves.

Awkward as the situation might have been, the aftermath was handled flawlessly, and Diana dressed her back into her gown, fussing over the fabric for wrinkles. Watching her, Ionia spoke.

"Thank you."

"If you ever need to slip away often, just pretend to be drinking tea. Or make a show of eating salty pastries."

"...Okay."

"Above all, when it's urgent, lean on the servants. Say Her Majesty the Queen has summoned you, or that some urgent business has come up. Truthfully, you may simply say you need the privy now and then, and no one will think anything of it. There is nothing shameful in that."

"...Okay."

The Princess answered in a voice no louder than a mosquito's and dropped her head. At the sight of her reddened cheeks, Diana raised her handkerchief and dabbed the tears away.

"Unni..."

"Yes?"

"You're like... an unni..."

For a moment, Diana could not find a single word to answer. Ionia had flushed crimson — she had just realized she had been behaving like a little girl, not a Princess.

"Lady Brien. I owe you a great debt."

"Yes?"

"I am someone who repays her debts."

Diana considered for a moment, then spoke with an awkward look.

"There is something I'd like to ask of you."

"What is it?"

Ionia answered with wide, sparkling eyes. Diana put on her most sheepish expression.

"W-well, the gift my father supposedly sent... never actually existed. Could you perhaps find it in you to... put that nicely for me?"

Only then did Ionia come back to herself. Of course. They were here, at this very moment, to view the enormous gift the Duke of Brien had supposedly sent.

"So you knew from the very beginning that I was in trouble — and you brought me out here because of it?"

"I told you, didn't I? I find myself in such predicaments often enough to recognize one at a glance."

"I see..."

Ionia nodded, her eyes shining. When Diana reached out and straightened her slightly loosened ribbon, the Princess ducked her head, abashed. She looked shy — but lighter, as though a weight had lifted.

Thank goodness.

Diana smiled. The poor Princess who had spent her whole life mocked and shut away behind closed doors — that girl was gone from the world.

The day after they returned to the estate, Diana was summoned by Duke Brien. The Duke had been pressing his fingers to the bridge of his nose; he lifted his head.

"Just what have you done, Anne?"

"Yes?"

"What enormous gift does Her Highness imagine our family gave her?"

...

"Word is going around that the House of Brien presented something extraordinarily rare. The Queen isn't denying it, either."

...

"On the contrary — saying you gave so lavishly, she has sent you a gift in return. Through me."

The Duke held out a box. Diana opened it. Nestled among pretty lavender blooms lay a blue diamond brooch. The language of the lavender is silence. So the flowers and the brooch together were a gift with a message: keep silent.

"You'll have to tell me what this means."

"I'm afraid I can't give you the details."

Even if her father chose to punish her for it, Diana meant to keep silent to the very end. But when he met her eyes, Duke Brien let out a sigh — and then, before long, the corners of his mouth curled upward in evident satisfaction.

"Well done."

...

"Truly well done, Anne!"

...

"I don't know the reason, but word has spread that our house gave a gift of great rarity. Let them all imagine the most precious things in the world. Such misunderstanding is more than welcome."

"That's a relief."

"And the Queen, who despised us, has deigned to send a gift with her own hand. It seems you resolved some predicament of the Princess's."

Duke Brien rose from his seat and stroked Diana's hair.

"You little rascal. I told you to do well — I never imagined you'd do this well. Even I am surprised."

...

"Truly your father's blood, after all."

...

"Very well. I'll give you that slave as your gift."

Diana fought down the shriek that wanted to tear out of her. Giscard is mine now. No whips. None of that — not ever again.

"That said, a slave living at your side will set tongues wagging. So I can't leave him with no duties about the estate at all — he must help to some degree. And should I have need of him, I may make use of him whenever I please."

"Yes!"

Diana nodded with all her might. At the sight, the Duke's lips curved into a smile.

"Oh — right. Will you be giving me the key to his restraint collar?"

"Hm?"

"The restraint collar."

"Diana. What I gave you was not ownership of that slave, but the right to make use of him. That, I will not do."

She had hoped that in gaining Giscard she might also gain the key to his collar, but that, too, would not come easily. Diana sighed.