“Right, I need to think some things through,” Artemisia said to
herself when she was in the privacy of her room. She had seen Elise
off for the night, and now she plopped herself down at her circular
table with a quill and paper.
She eyed the ink bottle.
Cautiously, she dipped the quill
into the bottle, swilled it around a bit, and then tried scratching a
few lines across
the paper.
Large ink blots spread across the paper as Artemisia pressed too
hard, ruining the once clear sheet.
Artemisia slowly began to write out
a few things, taking extra care to not drip
ink everywhere. She was already desperately missing her trusty
ballpoint pens.
“Okay, number one on my list of things to think about: magic is
real.” She tapped the end of the quill against her cheek, enjoying
the soft feeling of the feather. “Magic is real, and seemingly very
rare… or out of fashion? The duke mentioned something about young
people calling it nonsense.”
She rolled her eyes.
“How can magic be out of fashion? Why couldn’t this story take
place, like, a hundred years earlier.”
Although, I don’t think I would have such a comfortable life
then. This setting seems to be Regency inspired, looking at the
fashion and the level of technology. I wonder if there are guns…
some stories don’t include them, even if it’s accurate to the
time period they’re going for. Ah well, it’s fantasy. It doesn’t
have to be accurate.
“Right, moving on. Number two:
nobody knows why Artemisia collapsed, or died, or whatever. There’s
not a lot I can do about that right now, but I’ve got two leads to
look into. Her argument with Christopher, and maybe…” Artemisia
frowned. “The meteor shower? It’s definitely not a usual thing.”
And if magic’s a thing, maybe it was a magical meteor shower…
okay, you might be getting a bit carried away there, me. Let’s not
make assumptions yet.
“One, two, three… haaah.”
Artemisia pushed the paper and quill
away from her, burying her head in her hands. She really didn’t
want to write this last one down, but
the evidence was stacking up.
I’ve got a bad feeling… that Artemisia might be the villainess
character! Rich, powerful, innocent looking but with a horrible
temper… those traits scream villainess.
“Damn… Am I destined to meet a sticky end?”
If only I could remember what story I’m in, and then I might
have a chance. At the moment, all I can do is cross my fingers and
hope for the best.
She took a deep breath.
The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
Calm down. I can do this. I know the tropes, I know what to look
out for. I’ve just got to be careful, and I’m sure I’ll be
okay. And the longer I survive, and the more I learn about this
world, the more likely I am to recognise the characters and story.
Alright, let’s do the sensible thing and get rid of this paper,
and then go to bed. Tomorrow, I’d like to speak to Christopher
about this argument. It’s probably nothing, but I need all the
information I can get.
?
“What a lovely day to have afternoon tea outside, don’t you
think?”
“Ah, yes, I agree.”
Indeed, it was a warm day, one of the last hurrahs before autumn
truly set in. There was not a cloud to be seen in the sky, and the
temperature was perfect. Not so cool that the shade was unpleasant,
but not so warm as to build up a sweat as one ventured across the
lawn to the pavilion.
Emile sat across from Artemisia, sipping daintily from her china
teacup, looking out over the lawn as Elspeth examined something in
the grass. Her nanny stood beside her, making sure she didn’t stick
her hands in the dirt again. It seemed to be some sort of compromise
between Elspeth not feeling left out, and also not being a bother.
I can’t believe how nonchalant she was about wiping her hands on
my dress earlier. Haah, the audacity of small children.
“As I was saying, I wanted to make
sure you were up to date with current affairs. We have no idea when –
or if – your memory will return, and I would rather make
sure that…”
Emile trailed off as Artemisia took a bite of one of the soft
biscuity things that had been laid out on the table, a piece of it
falling off and landing on her lap.
Emile coughed slightly. “Anyway, it would be best that I just
update you, instead of us waiting around for you to get better.”
“I agree with that. To begin, maybe you could remind me who the der
Waals are? Father mentioned them.”
“Ah, the der Waals.” Something
flickered over Emile’s face that was hard to detect. “They say if
you want something to become common news, make sure a der Waal hears
of it. They’re the type of
family to be cordial
with, but not too close, lest your private secrets end up not so
private.”
Artemisia nodded, half focusing on the conversation and half on
mimicking Emile’s way of holding her teacup. “Are there any other
families I should take note of?”
“Don’t raise your elbow so
high,” Emile commented offhandedly, before continuing on. “Apart
from the der Waals, you should also be wary of the Gloriosa house.
They’ve been our competitors in trade with the Sargassians for
nearly a decade
now.”
“The Sargassians?”
“Ah, the island nation to the
north. They usually conduct trade at our ports, but
some of the newer merchants have started using Pennicua, in the
Gloriosa lands.
However, Topher has been making progress coaxing them back to us
recently.” Emile smiled self-satisfactorily.
“Right, right. Avoid the Gloriosas and the der Waals. What about
the other ducal families? The von Jarlliards, the von Loambarns, and
the von Rustruchts?” Artemisia tried to recall what Elise had told
her. “You’re… originally from a branch family of the von
Rustruchts, correct?”
“Yes, the current duke is my uncle.”
“So, the von Rustruchts are friends?”
Emile chuckled. “I’d certainly hope so. The dukes all get along
decently well, with each other and the imperial family. However, the
von Loambarns… they’re only a ducal family in name now, if I dare
put it so harshly.”
“The von Loambarns?”
“Indeed.” Emile put down her teacup and sighed. “About fifteen
years ago there was a terrible accident, and both the duke and
duchess were killed.”
“Neither of them had any immediate family able to steward the
family, so the crown appointed one of the duchess’ advisors as an
interim duke. He did a terrible job though, and although the eldest
son has now succeeded him, he’s still trying to repair the mess
that imbecile made.”
“This eldest son? Who is he?”
“Duke von Loambarn? I believe you’ve met him a couple of times,
he’s only a year older. Handsome enough, but he’s a quiet soul,
and attends the minimum of social events."