Chapter 3: A Gift for Althea

Prince Rurik was in Ashford Village. Being that he was not surrounded by an impressive entourage, nor anyone at all besides a single companion, and his armor was the crimson of his Vanguard rather than the gilded steel that denoted his rank, it could safely be assumed that he intended to go unrecognized. Lilith knew his face, though. She had seen him at royal balls and festivals, and though the de Magi family had declined to introduce their black sheep to him (and thank Thorn for that, for if they had she might be recognized by him now and die of shame), she had practically worshiped him. The blood of Thorn, who would restore the proud line of the Lunatic Kings. Perhaps, she thought with a smile, he would see her true nature past the ignoble facade forced upon her by Adelbern’s supporters, and struck by her regal demeanor and and beauty would take her at once to be his queen.

“Lovely, isn’t she?” Rurik said, and Lilith squeaked and jumped half a foot off the ground.

“As lovely as the day is long, m’lord,” his companion said, and Lilith quietly thanked whatever Lunatic Courtier happened to be watching that the Prince paid no attention to her reaction. They weren’t talking about her, because of course they were talking about the Prince’s actual fiancee, the duchess Althea de Barradin. From the lofty perspective of the Prince, Lilith’s former position in the nobility was hardly more than common. Her return to the nobility and revenge on those who wronged her was destiny, but Rurik sweeping her off her feet was just a fantasy. “Have you set a date for the wedding?” Rurik’s companion continued.

“Not yet,” Rurik said, “but I’ve got a more pressing problem, believe it or not,” and Lilith managed to shake herself free of the spell that had fallen on her, stop staring, and get moving again. She and Rurik had never spoken, but she had seen him, and perhaps he had seen her, and she turned her head to the side for fear of being recognized. In any case, averting their gaze from lords was what slaves did, and there was no point in abandoning the act now. The time was hardly opportune to make her move.

“More pressing than your wedding? What could that possibly be?” Rurik’s companion asked.

“Her birthday,” Rurik said, “it’s coming up even sooner than the wedding, and I haven’t got a gift for her.”
“What about that scepter from your treasuries?” his companion asked, “the one with that ghastly curse. She is so fond of those things. I thought you had settled on giving her that weeks ago.”

“As cursed items go, it is excellent,” Rurik said, “but not perfect. And did you see what she got me for mine?”

“I did,” his companion said, nodding his head. Lilith could remember as well, the three dancing girls all melded together. That would be hard to top.

“Then you realize that some cursed scepter won’t be enough,” Rurik said, “it must be something more exceptional than that, more…More gruesome. And with everything else going on up north I hardly have the time to think about it.”

“I understand your predicament, m’lord,” his companion said, “leave it to me.”

Rurik smiled. “Truly I could not ask for a better friend.  I wish you well in your search.”

“Thank you, m’lord, I shall not disappoint. Nor shall I waste anymore time!” He gave a slight bow and he and Rurik parted ways. “You, there!” the man called out. Lilith froze, turned about, looked behind her hoping he might be talking to someone other than her. He wasn’t about to ask her to find a gift that could match up to three dancing girls stitched together, was he? Or…He wasn’t going to make her into such a gift? “Yes, you, come here, hurry up,” he demanded. Lilith swallowed and walked to him. He pulled her head back, examining the mark behind her ear, the house arms of the de Roblis family. He released her with a shove, and said “whatever errand you’re on for Sir Roblis, I am Lord Osric and mine takes precedence.” He displayed his signet ring, an emblem of his higher station. “Find me a gift suitable for a noble lady, something macabre. If you can’t find a present, you’ll be part of it. Understood?”

“Yes, sir,” Lilith responded.

“Then get going,” he said, and left at a brisk pace, probably to seek out other slaves to pressgang into his search. If one of the others found a suitable gift, would they all be spared being made into something more suitable? Or would all those who failed be punished regardless? How could Lilith find a gift better than what a lord might make out of her?

Lilith took a deep breath and stopped to think. She wasn’t some slave raised in a gutter with mud for blood. Her understanding of the macabre wasn’t just “something spooky,” she was a noble and she understood the artistry behind this sort of thing. If Osric thought a random slave could find something suitable rather than just making a coat out of her on the spot, surely she could exceed his expectations by a wide margin. She’d find him something truly grotesque, yet also beautiful. All she had to do is take stock of what she had at her disposal and how to twist it into something unique. She could spare a good deal of blood from her own body for starters, and there were plenty of living things about. Skale were hardly an appropriate sacrifice to someone as powerful as Althea, but perhaps some medley of carnage? She could find some grawl, and a bandit wouldn’t be missed. If she could find a way to snag something valuable before it came to market it probably wouldn’t be reported as-

And someone was grabbing her by the arm, turning her to face them. The owner of the hand that had grabbed her was a blonde woman with a hammer slung over her shoulder, whom Lilith distantly recalled was the new captain of the Ashford Guard, the old one having been summoned to hunt down the pack of Charr that had broken through the frontlines and were pillaging towards the Wall. Lilith winced as the captain yanked her head to one side by the hair so that the captain could examine Roblis’ arms, and wished that these people would just ask her to tilt her head to one side. She knew where the brand was. “I need a message delivered,” the captain said, “take this to Meerak the Scribe in Ashford Abbey.” She handed Lilith a sealed envelope. “The message instructs him to send a response to me immediately. Carry that message back to me. Understood?”

“Please, miss, I’m already on an errand for Lord-” Lilith began.

“I don’t care,” the captain said, “this is an urgent mission for the King’s own guard of Ashford, we take precedence over any noble. If you don’t have the message delivered I’ll cave your skull in as an example to the next messenger I find!”

Lilith swallowed. “Yes, miss, I’ll deliver it right away,” she said.

“Then get going!” the captain said, and Lilith broke into a run towards Ashford Abbey, hoping that if she moved fast enough no one else would waylay her and pile on even more errands on her. She was nearly to the Abbey when she stopped again, this time not by any nosy nobles or officers, but by a moa bird. Lilith was no rancher, but she had studied the crafting of quills briefly, so that she could make her own from raven’s feathers instead of using the atrociously gaudy abominations her parents bought, made from distant paradise birds. Even from only scant study, though, she knew the feathers on this beast would make for a fine quill indeed. Its feathers were golden and tinged with various hues of red. Some of them a gorgeous blood red. But it was the gold ones that would suit Althea, Lilith thought as she stroked the magnificent creature’s feathery coat, seeing as how the gold accents on her wardrobe were near ubiquitous. Maybe if she could find some proper, deep purple parchment to go with it…Were there any animals whose skin would fit?

This rancher almost certainly had an agreement with quillmakers to sell any feathers it shed to them. Looking at the floor of the pen, Lilith found most of the feathers were already trampled and useless. Probably the good ones had already been snatched by the farmer. But there was more than one way to skin a moa.

Lilith fled from the pen, the furious moa screeching and chasing after her. She hopped the fence and continued sprinting at full tilt, feather clutched by its point in her hands, trying not to ruin the plume as she ran from both the moa and its owner. Had she been seen? She did not plan to stick around long enough to find out. Not until she reached Ashford Abbey did she stop to catch her breath.