Chapter 3

Date: 10/16/1852 Town: Thornwell In which Letha argues with the Elders.

Long rides with a corpse were more boring that strenuous. A crick in her neck and a bit of lethargy in her bones were nothing compared to the maddening silence Gerard left her in while he was under her control. A few times she'd tried to make him speak for the fun of it, but without any lips or throat his conversation was glum at best. It mostly considered of chattering teeth and Letha's own ventriloquism, and it very quickly became boring.

When they finally reached the Hall of Elders the sun had properly risen, and Letha had to guess it was nearly seven. She disanimated Gerard quickly and left him with the carriage, adjusting her bonnet in a rush as she carefully climbed the steps to the door. It was a miserable affair to walk up all of the stairs with a hoop skirt in the way, but it was at least easier once she gave up and held the front out of her way.

The Hall of Elders was a tall building of black stone, and if Letha had to guess she would say it was made in the Dark Ages. Like a small cathedral it was made of arches and fenced windows, and when she pulled the huge wooden doors open she saw a stained glass window depicting the souls of the dead being welcomed into the Netherworld at the back of the inner courtyard. It wasn't properly lit, but she was sure it was lovely. Not that she saw it very often.

The rooms were lit with brassieres full of burning coals, leaving many shadows in the corners. This building was used for hearings with the elders, trials and executions, but she didn't know of anyone who needed any of those at the moment. They would have no choice but to listen to her. And surely, with her eldest brother being a record-keeper for them, she would have a low chance of being sent away before she could get a fair ear.

At least, this was what she hoped.

The halls were dead silent as she walked past the inner courtyard and continued toward the court of the elders. The heels of her boots clicked loudly on the stones, and the noise echoed through the corridors loudly enough that she was sure they could hear her coming by the time she left the front door. She was sure that was done on purpose; as far as she could tell, the elders were an awfully paranoid sort. But more importantly, her ears were ringing from the sound of her steps by the time she got to the court of the elders. She could only imagine how loud it would be for a man to step through here.

As she reached the doors of the court, she heard footsteps behind her, heavy and quick. She turned to see a figure behind her, and once he was close enough she saw it as her brother Nicholas. He seemed rather tired, but she supposed it was a rather ungodly hour. Subconsciously she brushed some invisible dust from her skirt and tried to make herself a bit more neat as he approached.. but it didn't stop the look of disappointment when he saw her.

"Nicholas." She greeted quietly, stepping aside so that he could choose to ignore her and walk into the court as he'd intended.

He didn't. He stopped, and looked her over critically before speaking, "What are you doing here?"

"Stretching my legs. I couldn't sleep."

"You chose an odd place to stretch your legs."

"Where I stretch my legs is hardly your concern, Nicholas."

Nicholas looked her over critically. While Nathaniel and Julian had always been close to her, Nicholas had never managed. She didn't particularly see a good reason not to be close to her... but she supposed he did.

"Unless you have any business with the elders, I suggest you go home and rest. And put your skeleton back where he belongs."

"He's not hurting anyone." She paused, "But someone's risen is. And I want to get to the bottom of it. I was going to speak to the elders concerning that."

"I doubt they will tell you much."

"And why is that?"

"Because you are a gossip, Letha. You could barely keep it to yourself for more than an hour."

"I keep plenty of secrets." She objected, "I didn't tell anyone that didn't know already about Nathaniel being killed by a risen, did I?"

Nicholas frowned, and she realized belatedly that she had just done exactly that.

Without another word to him, she hurriedly shoved the wooden doors open and escaped into the court of the elders.

Inside this room was cold and large and empty, and she was rather happy to have kept her coat on all this time. The walls were lined with tapestries depicting some sort of risen war with no defining features, but she had seen plenty of depictions of risen impaling humans with spears not to feel much emotion toward them. A marble table stood along one wall, marking the seats of the elders as they heard the pleas of whichever sad noble came before them. Without the elders being called to council, no one was there this early. But she knew they stayed in the court during the day

in case of emergencies. And surely, after four years of some mysterious necromancer killing their best warriors, they would have all the more reason to hide in the stone building more often than not.

Stepping briskly through the court, she slipped behind the table and past a tapestry depicting several human heads on spikes, pressing on through the wooden doors behind the table with barely a glance at the room around her. Immediately she was hit with the warmth of a room lit by a fireplace, and spotted her grandmother among the seven elders eating their breakfast together. The servant girl - Letha believed her name to be Jane - dropped her tray as Letha entered and hurried to pick it back up as the elders looked up at her.

Laurentia Regis was the first to glare at her. Elizabetha, Remilia, Alberic, Darcius, Callias and Florian followed suit, each head of black and gray hair turning and each pair of blue, green or brown eyes resting sharply on Letha's face. Her gaze never left Laurentia's eyes; she was the leader, her opinion meant most.

"What in blazes are you doing here." The old woman grumbled scornfully.

"I know how Nathaniel died." Letha could hear a threat in her voice, but for the life of her she wasn't exactly sure why. "I want to know why you were hiding that rogue warrior from the clan."

Laurentia rose to her feet slowly, her eyes piercing into Letha's very core. "And why do you presume we had a choice?"

"Nathaniel told me-"

"Nathaniel was a warrior. You are a spinster. Neither know the toils of this council."

As the old woman walked toward her, Letha suddenly found herself feeling very small; she wasn't quite accustomed to feeling nervous, but she knew immediately that she was nervous now. Laurentia's bony fingers rose up and her sharp nails scraped Letha's jaw as she tipped her head up, forcing her to stare into those cold, barren eyes.

"It's time we found you a suitor, Letha." her grandmother sneered, "You have far too much free time on your hands."

Letha wanted to argue, but her tongue was stuck in her throat. She felt too hot and too cold all at once, and she wanted to flee the room. She had no use for a husband. And she had no intention of settling down and letting the elders coerce her into keeping what she knew to herself.

"I can tell-" She hesitated, forcing the words out through her frozen throat, "I can tell the family myself what I know. Whatever suitor you choose can't keep me occupied forever."

"Can't he?" Laurentia released her, but she felt no better, "I am doing you a kindness, Letha. It would be a shame if you spoke at the wrong time.. I do so hate to see women taken to the sick homes."

Letha could feel her face flushing with indignation, but before she could speak Laurentia continued.

"I seem to recall you wanted to be seen as loyal. The clan depends on loyalty, and your loyalty demands that you not speak of the troubles at the barracks. Do you understand?"

Letha stalled, her mind racing. She had worked so hard to be perfect, to be worthy of reconsideration. For four years she had had no thought other than to prove herself to the elders. Even in the face of such danger... she knew she had no leverage. She bowed her head, her skin crawling.

"I understand, Laurentia." She said quietly.

"Good. Now go home to your mother, we will call you in a month to introduce you to your suitor."

Letha managed a stunted curtsy before she fled the room.

As she left the hall she passed Nicholas, and he tried to stop and speak to her. But she could only manage a pained little squeak as she dodged away from him and fled to her carriage. By the time she had left the building her corset was pressing in painfully on her chest and stomach, and she could hardly breathe, but she didn't have the strength to figure out which of her skirt's hidden pockets contained her fan, nor did she have the will to fan herself. She simply sat there, shaking, with her vision blurring from dizziness, until she could calm herself enough to leave.

The elders had no right to assign her a husband. She was doing perfectly well without one, and she knew they would only choose one who would keep her too preoccupied to meddle in their affairs. It was simply outrageous. Whoever it was, he could be any age at all and they surely wouldn't even care if it was her own uncle as long as he kept her quiet. And on that note her mind raced with all of the worst suitors she could think of, but she realized quickly that she didn't speak to enough people to truly have a good sense of who was the worst. And even when her breathing fell into a normal pace, her corset was much too tight for proper thinking.

Once she thought herself able, she awoke Gerard the skeleton and began the slow horseride of shame back to her house. Her mother would be worried sick about her, it would be nearly nine by the time she returned home and finished accommodating the horse. And as much as she wanted to go out and investigate the barracks, she knew anything she did now would only affect who the elders chose to tame her. She had no intention of giving them fodder.

But as soon as she began relaxing, she began daydreaming. Perhaps her suitor would be a mistake on the part of the elders. Perhaps they would share views, and she would have an accomplice with which to investigate the killings at the barracks... she doubted this was realistic, but she also didn't know all of the clan. There had to be someone relatively near her age who would want to know more about the renegade necromancer... even if relatively meant ten years older.

Her mother was the first to greet her upon her arrival, but she cringed at Letha's heartbroken demeanor.

"Crying is not befitting of a lady, no matter where you've been all night." Vincentia chided her, "Go and change your dress, you've gotten mud on the hem of this one."

Letha brushed past her, hurrying up the stairs to her room and pulling off her coat as she did. She was suffocating in her petticoats and corset, and she wanted to do nothing but curl up in her bed and mourn. None of her brothers were there to talk to her, and neither of her parents would understand. They had been married for nearly 24 years, they would simply tell her she would get used to her husband and she didn't want to. She wanted to be free.

Her mother was calling for her, but she chose not to answer. She simply lay in her bed wearing only her chemise, fussing with the intricate lacework along the collar that always itched against her skin. It itched all the worse when she was upset. For a while she considered finding a pair of scissors and snipping the collar off so it would stop bothering her, but her mother always managed to know when she had cut off annoying pieces of her dresses. She was barely in the mood to be scolded for that, of all things.

After a while her moping was interrupted by hunger, and she came downstairs to coerce some poor servant into making her a meal despite it being the wrong time of day. She could never remember the girl's name, but she assumed she would once she had been dead for a while. Dead people were, in Letha's opinion, so much easier to remember the names of; they gained so much more personality once there were no consequences in speaking.

She hid in her room and ate alone, and thought perhaps this too would go away once she had a husband. He would expect her to be a lady, and she tried so hard to be one... she simply didn't want to be. She had never wanted to be. She had always wanted to be like Nathaniel, to be an unwed warrior and die with a sword in her hand. But she knew the elders would never allow her, for whatever grudge Laurentia had against her.

Perhaps she could still be that... as she thought this, she heard a quiet caw from her dresser. The crow's skull hairpin that Nathaniel had given her still lay in there. Perhaps, if she worked it out with her new suitor, whoever he was...

She could make this work. She was going to make this work. She had to.