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Chapter Text

In retrospect, she knew she shouldn’t have done anything; that she was at fault for everything that would follow.

After all, acknowledging the youngest and most delusional of Lady Dimitrescu’s daughters was the equivalent of signing one’s own death sentence. Hell, she’d even given that warning once or twice herself — ‘keep your eyes downcast, keep your words polite, and keep a distance’ was the motto for survival for the seasonal staff.

Yet, despite knowing this, however, she still wound up ignoring that sage advice. Later, she’ll justify it as an accident; everything lining up to meet in an unfortunate chain of events that culminated in utter foolishness. But now… it was the brightest option in a sea of misery.

The first mistake was that she’d taken her evening respite in the grand, circular library. She’d been determined to shed the day’s dreary, dismal, and dark mood, and there’s no better spot thanks to the belief that Lady Daniela’s use of it as her hunting ground, particularly when the mood to stalk and harass the working women overtook her, as if she were a haughty house cat moreso than a spoiled, lonely heiress.

The evening was humid, despite the lateness of autumn, and promised an ugly storm on the horizon as the last hurrah for weather above freezing temperatures. Already, the staff had been hard at work through the day, battening down the castle so the weather couldn’t just tear straight through the drafty stonework and ancient, leaking windows.

Isolde’s own temper matched the weather. Sour note for sour note. The letter from her childhood sweetheart — no … she supposed they actually hadn’t ever been that. Sure, Tissa’d been happy to write Isolde flowery promises of love and sweet nothings, so as long as the money from Isolde’s work had flowed true. Without a constant stream of revenue, though, the allure of a local boy had quickly taken over.

‘Please be happy for me,’ Tissa’s words looped together in a casual, loose cursive. ‘I can’t bear the thought of you being mad at me.’

So, really, when Lady Daniela swept into the library, Isolde wasn’t quite thinking about survival, focusing so much more on the letter than the sudden shift in danger.

At first, the two of them relatively ignored the other. Lady Daniela’s reputation among the staff aside, there were often … warning signs allowing innocent (and aware) bystanders to clear the area before trouble started.

But something about the listless way that Lady Daniela roamed the outer circle of shelves drew Isolde in. She sympathized with the lady’s despondence, knowing that it was likely she had read through the available fictional escapes through countless times.

And, well, all right, Isolde may have also been in the mood to spite Tissa, even just in spirit.

She wanted to write back. Assure Tissa that she’s ‘not mad’, but grateful — I’ve found a partner here who wants me for me. Not for my money, you horrible, lying —

It was understandable that she stood up and approached Lady Daniela before the warning signs and survival senses kicked in, wasn't it? Really, anyone would have after reading that sort of letter. It wasn't her fault she wasn’t thinking properly.

It also didn’t help that Lady Daniela looked like she’d just stepped out of a portrait of a nymph frolicking in a grove. Much like her two older sisters, she was pale from a familial aversion to sunlight, lithe and graceful on her feet like a ballerina. Gorgeous as well, a mirror to the beauty of her sisters; but was very much unapproachable without a risk of limb or dignity.

Lady Daniela acknowledged her presence with a soft tilt of her head; one lone glowing eye tracking her movement while she tapped her nails along the row of books that she’d already devoured a thousand times over already. “Soarece mic, there’s something very wrong if you’re approaching the cat willingly.”

She turned about, her black-stained lips peeling into a vicious grin. Whatever she was going to do for entertainment now involved Isolde. Isolde, who realized she was the mouse ensnared by the cat’s paw. Lady Daniela’s stalking stopped, her brows shooting up in surprise, and — was that a growl — fades into a curious ‘mrr’ as Isolde thrusted a book into her hands. “What …?”

She peered down at the unexpected gift, then up at Isolde.

“Most of your books are at least twenty years old and mostly local. This is one of my favorites that I brought from home. It’s something … different. I think you might like it.”

Lady Daniela fluttered her eyes, as if rousing herself from a dream. She glanced back up at Isolde, brow furrowing as she tried to place her. “You’re one of the Winery Staff, aren’t you?” She leaned around to get a look at the crimson ribbon that wound through Isolde’s plait. “Yes, that’s Bela’s signifier.”

Isolde nodded. “Yes, my Lady.”

Lady Daniela huffed and rocked back on her heels before she looked at the book in her hands. “…What’s it about?”

“A love story between an immortal man who doesn’t understand how to love, and a woman who begs for death and cannot help but love him, regardless.”

A bell chimed, signifying the end of the afternoon shift. Isolde didn’t need to heed it, but it worked as an excuse to extract herself before something worrisome happened. She grinned, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes as she absentmindedly caressed Lady Daniela’s hand in parting — tensing when she realized what she’d done, but it was too late to pull away without it being even more awkward. “I … figured you’d might like something new while The Duke’s delayed.”

She felt the weight of that golden gaze on her back as she retreated through the door.

It’s early — during that dreamlike haze right before dawn, when there’s a knock on her door. Isolde’s already awake — the winery staff meant off-season hours tending to the grounds and the kitchens; both requiring strange hours.

She wrestled the heavy pleated shirt over her head, immersed in an ocean of ivory, when the knock came again. She adjusted the fit, waiting for a third knock.

It didn’t come.

Isolde frowned but brushed it aside. It was likely another staff member. They looked after one another, after all. She continued along her morning routine and didn’t feel like anything’s out of place until she opened the door to find —

A little black bird. Worked and carved from what looked like charred bone. The eyes were bright and glinting, pale as the snow that drifted high along the castle itself.

Isolde knelt to pick up the offering and admired the work. She glanced around and down through the dark hallways to see if there’d been any other clues left behind. Nothing, save for the gentle buzzing of insects curiously active in this cold.

Huh. Odd. Isolde tucked the little creature into her pocket, continuing towards her assigned section for the day. She’s about halfway down the servant corridor that led to the back gardens, almost properly in line with the other women on-task when the supervisor, Miss Charish, clicked her tongue to gain her attention. “Miss Ardenlane.”

“Yes?”

“I’m afraid you’ve been reassigned, my dear.” Something about her tone didn’t feel right. Ticks that warning box in the back of Isolde’s mind.

Isolde tilted her head. “Is there something wrong?”

“Personal request, I’m afraid.” This grabbed the attention of the women around her, who measure their stepped to eavesdrop without being so blatant about it. Gossip-mongers.

“By …?”

“Lady Daniela herself. You’re to be reassigned to the greenhouses over the winter.”

“Shit.”

“Mmm,” Miss Charish didn’t chastise her for the outburst. “You’ll have your new colors tomorrow.” Miss Charish patted her shoulder sympathetically, as if that helped ease the fact of the matter when one’s facing down a sudden death sentence.

The Greenhouse occupied roughly two-thirds of the southern expansions of the main castle foundation. Staff who had stayed long enough to gain knowledge of the rumor and history had mentioned that the addition occurred approximately one hundred and fifty years ago — inspired by the revival of Neo-Brâncovenesc architecture around that time. Though the style clashed with the dark, oppressive nature of the rest of the castle, Isolde thought there’s no better stage to display the gardens as she entered Lady Daniela’s domain.

It’s a new world; a paradise of exotic flowers and flora overwhelming her with sights, scents, sounds that she couldn’t ever hope to learn even if she renewed her contract through the new year and beyond.

Isolde knew enough of the history within this place — that Lady Daniela’s love of nature and beautiful things encouraged her mother, the Countess, to bring back seeds and transplants from her travels abroad. The resulting gardens, guided by an eye for the whimsical and romantic, bloom around Isolde now.

She walked underneath wild, flowering vines that created a bower overhead and cast rippling shadows down across her body. She understood how Lady Daniela could favor this place over even the library; how she'd want to hide away in this garden of otherworldly delights.

She followed a wordless melody drifting through the flowers like a lure. She chased it past an artificial fountain mimicking the appearance and noise of a babbling brook, tracing the water upstream until she reached the center of the greenhouse.

And there, beneath what must be a descendant of the Tree of Life, was the serpent herself; swaying to a song that only she knew the lyrics to. The serpent must have heard her, for the humming stopped in favor of a delightful airy laugh.

Lady Daniela clasped her hands together as if they were two girls out for a spring picnic and rushed forward. “There you are!”

Isolde stuck with the very safe: “Yes, here I am, My Lady.”

Lady Daniela’s joy tempered her mercurial moods with a sweetness that put Isolde’s mind at ease. She glided forward as if floating, and swept up Isolde into a crushing hug, laughing fondly all the while. “Oh, silly mouse, we’re far too close to bother with titles anymore — don’t you think so?”

What?

Isolde must have said that aloud.

She had to have, because Lady Daniela pulled back and scoured Isolde’s eyes for an answer to the question. As she did, her joy twisted to petulant anger. “What do you mean, what? Obviously, you’ve been pining away as I have — now that we’re together — why would we think about letting formality keep us divided from what we’ve longed for?”

As she spoke, her honey-gold eyes narrowed to slits as she considered the genuine possibility that Isolde had, in fact, not pined away as Daniela herself had; and that this might easily be a one-sided infatuation. “You have been dreaming of me, haven’t you?”

Isolde opened her mouth, but all that came out is a squeak as Lady Daniela’s nails bit into her shoulders. She’s going to die. Right here. She hadn’t even got to work a second harvest in the field — oh.

Oh, that might just work!

“My apologies, my Lad — Daniela,” Isolde tempered her voice to a whisper. “It’s just that Lady Bela’s domain requires so much attention to detail that I couldn’t think of anything but the daily grind lest she find fault in me.”

Isolde lowered her gaze as she’s seen others do and waits a beat before glancing up shyly through her lashes, awaiting Lady Daniela’s response. Her heart thundered enough that it drowned out the internal monologue that she was going to die. She’s going to die and be fertilizer for the lovely flowers.

Lady Daniela watched her like a cat, considering what to do with a cornered mouse before she made a soft ‘oh’ of understanding. Following it is a soft, sympathetic noise and another hug that crushed Isolde against her chest.

“Ugh. Of course. Bela’s always so jealous. She probably discovered our affair — and she hates when she can’t control something. That’s why I went straight to Mother. She switched your assignment and there’s nothing Bela can do about that. Bela’s not allowed to meddle with what Mother said isn’t hers — that’s the one rule Mother will not abide being broken.”

Lady Daniela’s voice brightened and quickened as she spoke. She ended with a breathless, pleased laugh, and squeezed Isolde as if they’d shared a secret. She’s so proud of herself, and when she tucked Isolde’s chin up to let the maiden share in that same mischievous joy, Isolde barely remembered to smile in time.

She saved herself the effort of trying to keep a straight face by burying her head back against Lady Daniela’s chest. Her heart rate now clipped at a rate that couldn’t be healthy as she struggled to keep her breathing steady.

Dread grew like a coiled snake in her belly.

What fucking affair was Daniela talking about?!

Chapter Text

Once the risk of imminent death wasn’t all-encompassing, Isolde could admit that spending time with Lady Daniela wasn’t as terrible as the other staff made it out to be. Sure, Lady Daniela fluttered from topic to tangential topic like a butterfly sampling various nectar, but when she spoke – there was a depth of knowledge hidden somewhere underneath that dazzling charm and bright smile that made Isolde want to listen.

She couldn’t deny that distracting Lady Daniela from her flirtations wasn’t enjoyable, either. Not without being able to stare at herself in the mirror every morning. The more that she diverted Lady Daniela from the ludicrous idea that they were star-crossed lovers, the more she realized that the young heiress was hiding an incredible store of knowledge about botany; practically falling apart with eagerness when Isolde asked even the simplest of questions. Hadn’t anyone asked her before? 

Isolde’s basic understanding of plants had suited her well enough. The simple facts: they needed nutritional soil, and enough sunlight and water to thrive … but the more Lady Daniela shared, the more Isolde found that she’s enjoying listening and learning about the nuances that came with tending the greenery — or about whatever other subject that came up.

And it wasn’t all academic theory either.

They spent the late afternoons hauling in soil and decorations. Lady Daniela’s investment encompassed the space from the maintenance on the windows and trellises to individual tending of each plant and the pollinators for them. 

And as the evenings pass, Isolde learned the name that Lady Daniela gave each of her favorite flowers, and — honestly that was pretty adorable — though sometimes it led to having to spend an hour on rearranging several young transplants because ‘they’ve never liked one another and it’s really starting to affect everyone else. Hannah’s always been strong-willed, and I didn’t think she’d bother anyone but …’ Lady Daniela shrugged, and wiped her cheek with the back of her hand, “Some girls surprise you, y’know?”

She spoke as if the plants have hoped and dreams — living out dramatic and engaging lives. It felt like Isolde was beginning a book from the middle and struggling to catch-up on the arcs and plots via conjecture and context. It was made easier that Lady’s Daniela’s stories were captivating, filled to the brim with daring romance and dangerous escapades, however heartbreak and betrayal wove a common thread throughout them all …

Isolde wasn’t sure how to broach that, or even if she should. 

That night, the evening bell chimed late, disrupting their designing of a beautiful clockwork-spiral pattern along the eastern walking path. They both glanced up at the intrusive noise before looking at one another. 

Lady Daniela pouted as she set aside one of the potted blooms.

Isolde didn’t know what had gotten ahold of her when she asked, “We’re almost done … maybe we could stay and finish?”

“Unfortunately, Soricelule , even I must stick to Mother’s schedule. She generously permitted us to be together, after all.” She fondly squeezed Isolde’s hands before stepping back a proper amount of distance. “So, off you go! I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Isolde wasn’t going to question the gentle if firm dismissal. She ducked her head in a nod, remained a second longer, then left. 

That wasn’t so terrible , Isolde thought, as she reflected on the last few days. If anything, she was learning the bare minimum of what it took to create and cultivate a healthy biodiversity within the enclosed paradise.

With that in mind, she was a little less frantic about her future; even found herself thinking fondly how Lady Daniela’s nose scrunched when she tried to avoid laughing at Isolde’s jokes. 

After a day spent in the dirt, Isolde made her way to the communal staff baths, hoping to avoid the usual throng before dinner. She hustled into the space and disrobed, noting the discarded outfits already in the hamper. Not to be helped, she supposed. 

She was just about to enter the bathing room, eager to soak in the warm water and take the rest of the evening to herself, when a conversation stalled her in her tracks. 

“It’s polite if we wait until she’s dead before we start calling dibs on her room, right?”

“Uh, and risk losing it to one of the scullery girls?”

“She’s lasted longer than Eliza, or Terese, so maybe — “

“Please. It’s Lady Daniela. It’s like trying to argue that the sun’s not going to rise tomorrow. I mean, it’s not like I want her to die, but … there’s a reason Lady Daniela isn’t able to keep any staff for herself.”

“Well,” Isolde said, delighting in the way the women scattered apart like a crowd of startled cats. She stepped in, taking one of the new vacancies in the pool and used the time to set her toiletries up to steady her hands. It was a bluff, sure, but weakness was exploitable here. “I guess I know who not to suggest when Miss Charish asks who I prefer to inherit my room should she require a will.”

“Isolde, we’re so sorry …” Yelena said, stammering past her initial shock. 

“No, you’re not.” Isolde answered, her smile as fake as the sympathy oozing around her. “I don’t care, though.”

“You’ve managed one week.” One woman butted in, voice gruff and eyes dark as she stared down her nose. Isolde’s cockiness must’ve bothered her.

“That’s longer than any of the other girls you’ve mentioned, right?” Isolde scrubbed at her arms, using the action to cover the shakiness of her voice. She loathed these sorts of confrontation, forcing eye-contact regardless. She noted the golden sash in the dark tresses — one of Lady Cassandra’s retainers. “Longer than you might, even?”

“Oh, I see. You don’t get it, do you?” The other woman, Rowena, tilted her head as if Isolde was a child who wasn’t listening. “I’ll be nice, and let you in on the secret: no one wants to last that long, Isolde. You’re a dead woman walking — whether it takes one day, one week, one month…? Doesn’t matter. Sooner or later, Lady Daniela is going to snap and you’ll die. So, strut your attitude as much as you’d like.”

She smirked before standing up and gestured for the other women to do the same. She kept eye contact as she stepped past Isolde up and out of the communal bathing pool, heading towards the pile of towels. “Come on, let’s leave before whatever she has rubs off on us. I really don’t need the attention that a psycho-attractant might bring.”

“Rowena’s right,” another woman said, with a kinder tone. “Being assigned to Lady Daniela is a death sentence; and there’s nothing you can do to change that.”

With that parting note, the women left. Sure, some of them gave Isolde apologetic side-glances, and others lopsided frowns as they looked her way. Isolde was proud that she managed until they were out of range before she broke down.

Weeks slipped by as Isolde tried her best to push aside the underlying truth that she was working side-by-side with a woman rumored to be likely responsible for a few murders. 

Sure, it was difficult to connect the woman with dirt on her knees while animatedly describing how wasps were the ‘rudest neighbors of the entire animal kingdom’ with the image that most castle staff painted her with — that was until the day Isolde knelt underneath a three-foot tall plant known as a ‘blood flower’ (which - after Isolde accused Lady Daniela of making up and Lady Daniela dragged out her botany books to prove Isolde wrong with a smug ‘HAH’ ). 

That day, as she resod the plant, she discovered that Lady Daniela’s reasons for calling the plant ‘Eliza’ weren’t just because she was quirky; but because of the desiccated hand sticking out of the soil.

“Ah!” Isolde backpedaled. She slammed her shoulder hard against the wheelbarrow behind her—yelping in pain. 

“What?” Lady Daniela’s head popped up over the side of a large Calico lead, eyes wide, and a sickle in one hand. “What’s wrong?!”

Isolde didn’t answer right away. She didn’t even know where to—or how to—start. 

Her silence drew Lady Daniela closer; the heiress approachesing her carefully like she was a wounded creature and checked her over. Then, she stepped around her, in front of her even, to look for whatever scared her. 

By the time Lady Daniela stepped in front of her, Isolde recovered her breath, and had removed her heart from her throat. 

Feeling a little silly, she tried to explain herself. “I think… I’m sorry… but I think I found something I shouldn’t have.”

“Huh?”

Lady Daniela knelt and lifted one of ‘Eliza’s’ leaves. Her gaze dropped to the hand half-out of the dirt, sighed, and then dropped her sickle against her side. “Guess I should have set her just a little deeper. I haven’t gotten around to adjusting the soil depth in this section yet. Well, as long as you’re not hurt.”

Lady Daniels dropped the leaf and turned around to offer a hand to help Isolde stand up. When Isolde didn’t take it right away, Lady Daniela’s smile disappeared. “What is the matter now?”

Isolde risked a look up at the heiress. “What … what did she do?”

“Who?”

Isolde pointed to Eliza’s grave.

“Eliza? Why do you care—oooooh—” Lady Daniela’s smile returned, as bright as sunshine. “You’re jealous! That makes well—” she reached down and hauled Isolde up to her feet as she continued; “You don’t have to worry one bit. One, she’s like dead-dead, not like Moroaica-dead—”

Say what now?

Lady Daniela barreled past Isolde’s confusion, “—And two—obviously it’s because she and I weren’t meant to be.” She smiled, and her bright, honey-gold eyes glinted maliciously in the light. “Not like we are.”

“What made you realize that?” This close, Isolde swore that Lady Daniela’s skin shimmered underneath the sunlight.

Lady Daniela blinked. “Realize what? That we weren’t right for one another?” She hummed in thought, tapping a finger against her lips. “You know, it’s been so long that I can’t really remember—that and now that we’ve found each other—why would I waste a single moment on her o-or anyone else?”

Isolde said it before she could stop herself. “Daniela, what makes you think we’re right for one another?”

Lady Daniela’s face froze at the question. She stared at Isolde, almost as if she couldn’t understand why Isolde would say something so foolish. Her hand tightened on Isolde’s shoulder, and her sickle swayed at the corner of Isolde’s vision, somehow back in Lady Daniela’s hand. “Because we are , silly mouse -”

“You’re not listening - I -”

“Because you’re being silly, little mouse, and we’re not going to fight.” That dangerous glint in Lady Daniela’s eyes grew stronger, enhancing the terrorizing sing-song lilt to her voice.

“Now,” she adjusted the collar of Isolde’s shirt, “Josephine needs to be adjusted for the winter so she can get the appropriate amount of sunlight and…” Lady Daniela moved towards the section that really did need to be redone, but stopped when Isolde didn’t trot after her. “Now what?” She turned, exasperated.

“What’s my name?” Isolde asked, folding her arms, and feeling far less brave than she was presenting.

Lady Daniela rolled her eyes and returned to standing in front of Isolde. “ Soricelul , I really don’t think –”

“Isolde.” Isolde cut Lady Daniela off. “If we’re so familiar with one another, then you should know my name, right?”

“Why are you being so mean about this?”

Isolde scoffed. “Mean? I’m not being mean! I just want to know what makes you think we’re right f—” The words died on her tongue as Lady Daniela surged forward too fast for Isolde to see.

A hand clasped her throat, silk over steel, and she was backed into one of the iron-wrought support columns. Lady Daniela was right there, pressing against her, a snarl transforming her from the sweet heiress Isolde thought she was growing close to into something more feral.

Rowena’s mocking voice rang in Isolde’s mind. ‘Sooner or later Lady Daniela’s going to snap and you’re going to be dead.’

“Because I say so!” Lady Daniela roared. “But if you refuse to see it, then maybe you’d rather feel what I felt when Eliza broke my heart? How you’re breaking my heart now! Maybe that will finally make you happy!”

Isolde wasn’t a heroine in an epic tale. There wasn’t a magic spell to break whatever curse was collapsing on them.

All she could do was close her eyes and brace for the killing blow. She grasped at her necklace, the little blackbird she’d turned into a pendant. It was the only thing that was really hers in this castle and by the Black Goddess, she wasn’t going to let the other maids divvy it out after she was gone.

The strike never came.

The blade left her throat. Something warm and wet dripped down over her collar.

“You’re dismissed.” Lady Daniela’s words were a low rumble.

Isolde didn’t move right away. She was frozen to the support.

“I said you’re dismissed!”

Isolde ran. And didn’t look back.

Chapter Text

Isolde didn’t have a destination in mind as she bolted down the hallways away from the greenhouse. When the blind, rabbit-panic burned out, she found herself in a part of the castle she’d never been before. Looking around, she frowned. She must still be on the ground floor, right? She didn’t think she’d traversed any stairs in her panic, but as she gathered her bearings, she found she didn’t have a clue where she’d ended up. 

Here, the stonework was crumbling and ruddy-rust in hue. It looked older and far more worn than the dark masonry she was familiar with. As she hurried along, the rancid tang of peat moss smacked hard enough to drive her to cover her nose—this place had seen little maintenance for a long while. Or any at that. At least, that’s how it appeared.

She took a moment to herself to rest underneath one of the extinguished torch sconces and found the wall grittier than she expected. Pulling her hand away, she found her palm covered in fresh soot. It still smelled—it’s only just gone out.

With the pressure to save her skin no longer pounding at her mind, Isolde took the chance to consider her options—like the rational option to turn back around and return to life and status quo as she knew it. To ignore the curious case of the torch soot and head back towards the familiar and comfortable.

But that way lied people—staff and Ladies alike who would spy the cut on her throat and recognize what happened. Or, worse, assume they knew. And, hell, if she was already counting down the last moments to her demise—and here came the second option… 

Why not spend it exploring the creepy forgotten foundations of the castle? 

She pushed off the wall and headed on down the dark corridor, though she was a little more mindful that there might be someone (or something) else down here with her. 

The further she went, the more she saw the difference between this place and the castle proper. Here, there was no evidence that any renovations had occurred. She’d seen some of the older Roman forts and outputs; ruins on the mountainsides—and all constructed with the same sort of stone she found here. If they were made from the same material … was the castle older than she first thought? And if it was—how deep into the earth did those roots run?

The hallway’s incline was subtle, but the drop in temperature was not. Goosebumps prickled along Isolde’s arms as she descended, though there was no wind here to explain the chill. Save for the earthen scent of crumbling clay, the air here was stale and musty. 

The ruddy stone, clay, and concrete disappeared when the path leveled out again, leaving only a passage of smooth natural rock. Isolde oriented herself with a hand on the wall as she descended deeper into what might have once been a prison complex. She passed by, peeking into several smaller alcoves—holding cells as pitch as the abyss—before her wandering took her underneath the husks of wooden support beams and rotted barricades. 

Carved bowls filled with the remnants of pitch and oil lined the wall in measured distances; likely lit to allow a constant stream of light for whoever once worked here. There was a turn to the passage—not just as if looping around a central chamber—but to the entire space, like the rock veered continuously to the left; leaving her with a sense of vertigo, like she couldn’t quite keep her bearings.

Further along, the flicker of a lit lamp-bowl set Isolde back on her heels; a shadow swayed on the distant wall. She stared and something in her gut told her to avoid that rhythmic movement at all costs. Somewhere in the distance, water dripped onto stone. 

It was time to turn back.

She turned to retrace her step and halted as bright, artificial light bounced off the walls, chased by a gaggle of voices that trip and blend into themselves. She was going to be caught between whomever was approaching her and whatever lurked in the gloom if she didn’t figure something out soon.

She sided with the artificial light. That suggested people like her, and that was marginally better than … whatever other option she has at the moment. 

She hustled forward, and her eagerness died as soon as she recognized the nearest face.

“Well, you’re a little outside your Lady’s territory, aren’t you?” Rowena’s voice was thick with faux-sympathy as she broke away from the pack of women behind her. 

Good news , Isolde thought. They’re at least castle-staff . And then she glanced over at the similarity in their attire. The uniform shirts, trousers and skirts might all have slight differences, but the light glinted off the gold sashes wound into the various hairstyles. These were Lady Cassandra’s women, and worse than that...

They were the ones that weren’t particularly fond of her .

“Rowena,” Isolde greeted . Keep this civil , she reasoned. The last thing she needed was to roll an ankle in a skirmish down here. “What is this place?” She aimed for a genuine question, appealing to the other woman’s ego.

Rowena shrugged as she took another step forward. “Here? Probably a prison, I think. Ottoman, or Roman. I don’t really care.”

“What is it now?” Isolde pressed for time and space. She snuck along the outer curve. If she could just get past them…

“Hunting grounds,” Rowena answered with a slight smirk. “Lycan, in particular.”

“Lycan?” Isolde glanced over her shoulder, as if that swaying shadow might’ve crawled closer with the invocation.

“Yeah. You’ve had to have seen them, working the Vineyard over the summer, right?”

Rowena wasn’t not wrong, Isolde had encountered the strange, almost-feral mountain-men over the summer. After all, the large grape-fields stretch far from the shelter and security of the castle to ensure enough sunlight reached the vines and out there, opportunistic predators, both usual and unusual, tried to steal quick, easy meals off the women. Or, as rumor had it, of the women. “Once or twice this summer.”

Rowena nodded, and her gaze leapt to the small gash in Isolde’s throat, then away. The gesture twisted in Isolde’s stomach as a warning. “Well, as a token of apology, I would like to offer you the chance to assist us in snagging one of them. The Lycans, I mean. After all, Lady Cassandra requires them for her research, and the more girls we have involved, the safer everyone is.”

Her smile appeared apologetic, and there was a sheen to her eyes that could be empathy, but Isolde didn’t look at either of those. She watched the way the other women fanned out around her, shoulder-to-shoulder, a wall between her and safety. 

Guess they decided the matter for me , Isolde thought, grimly. She wanted to say, ‘do I have a choice?’ What she said is:

“Sure, Rowena. That sounds like the sort of job you’ll want all hands on-deck for.”

“Really?” Rowena stepped forward a third time and Isolde’s danger-sense rose to a crescendo in her blood. Fuck being polite. Run. Run now. Lady Daniela was safer than—

The circle of women started to collapse around her. For all intents and purposes, she was trapped. 

“Your part’s going to be simple enough. Have you ever heard of ‘live bait’?”

Run .

She couldn’t go forward—only back. Back down into the unknown dark and damp. Rowena’s laughter, high and cruel, echoed as it chased her down the hall. The staccato sway of torchlight gave her bursts of clarity where she could go. 

Her pursuers didn’t hurry after her. 

“Keep the line together, move as one,” Rowena’s command reverberated as if she were speaking directly against Isolde’s ear. “Isolde, I promise that we’ll try to keep you relatively alive! Just avoid the teeth and the claws!”

Isolde’s breath scratched at her throat. She ran through an endless spiral—chambers cut into the sides as fools trapped. There was only one way forward, and Isolde hoped it didn’t translate to running headlong into a lycan’s claws.

She would not risk turning back and being caught by the women taunting her. She ran at a measured pace; trying to keep her reserves for if—when a lycan might catch her scent. 

Up ahead there’s a chance for relief as the endless walls gave away to the impression of edges and a corner. There’s still that swaying shadow, always just out of sight, but fuck it, Isolde rushed towards whatever asylum it provided. 

The corner was sharp, and she scraped her shoulder. Scattered detritus blurred around her as she laid eyes on her landmark. A strung up elk corpse, its belly flayed open and with innards spilling over the ground. There was a terrible reek, forcing her to gag. The creature’s eyes stared, wide and milky—she met them and the beast seemed to ask as if she might know what happened to it and why. 

Her stomach lurched again, and she stumbled while clasping a hand to her mouth to prevent its contents from splattering over the scene. 

She lifted her head despite the roiling acid in her throat and tried to make sense of the way the cave split beyond the hanging beast into three equally damned paths. She lunged to the left first, but stopped herself and returned to the elk as an idea—insane and ludicrous as it might be—came to her. 

Something slaughtered the elk here after stringing it up. That meant there had to be another way into and out of this place; large enough to drag a grown bull-elk through it. She just needed to find it. 

She looked for scuff marks in the dust. They’d have to do as a starting point.

She found what she needed thanks to signs of an enormous struggle at the mouth of the central tunnel, and that was all she needed to take off into the dark. 

“—cut her—easier to—.”

“—lax—follow—.” The commentary disappeared and left her her heartbeat for company, along with her breathing, and her footsteps. 

Isolde guessed at the context. Someone was berating Rowena for not opening the cut on Isolde’s neck. The bleeding would have made her easier to follow.

Something growled in the dark. It sounded territorial and forced her to slow into a jog. She’d lost the little light there had been and her sight was struggling to make sense of the surrounding dimensions. Everything was shadows upon shadows and she’d break something if she wasn’t careful. Or die. She might die too. 

Think, Isolde, think!

She groped for the left wall again to follow it for a crevice, a bend—anything. Just—something to wedge herself into as that growl sounded off, closer. The time to run was over. She needed to hide. Now.

The rock face gave way, and she chased the opportunity because she had nothing else to go on. This had to work. It had to. 

She squeezed herself into the crevice and tried to ignore the shift of the surrounding rock. No, she told herself, it wasn’t moving. It was just … settling. No, the cavern was not breathing about her. It was not sighing like a living creature. That was just … wind. A draft. That sense of being watched was just in her head. She took a breath, felt the pressure of the wall against her chest—no, she would not run out of air. Not in here. She had wriggled in with a lungful, she’d be able to wriggle out the same too. 

Just breathe, Isolde, she told herself with her eyes closed; as if that’d hide the weight of the mountain falling in on her.

Footsteps.

Approaching her position. 

Why did she hide here? She was trapped now! Stupid!

Stop, focus. ...for the love of heaven just—just focus.

Was that her breathing? Loud, guttural rasps that stank of fermented meat? No. It couldn’t be.

Could they smell her?

Her eyes squeezed tighter. Her heartbeat was so, so loud. How could they not know where she was?

A strange, crawling sensation erupted at her neck. It wasn’t sweat—not that she could do anything about that. If she reached to wipe it away, she’d get stuck and leave her belly exposed to claws and—the feeling crept up toward her hair. Fuck, there were insects down here?! In this cold?!

It was a spider. It had to be. It was a spider, and it was huge and she was going to be bit and then she’d die and … and—something buzzed next to her ear.

Spiders didn’t buzz.

She barely restrained her whimpering as tiny legs and a too-big-for-her-to-be-alright-with weight, made a steady path along her neck and up along her jawline and cheek. Her eye rolled down, and she felt the edge of gossamer wings more so than saw it.

She wanted to scream. She was going to scream and—

It bit her cheek; hard enough to steal her breath. Her scream strangled into a choking gasp.

Something scratched at the wall just beyond her hiding spot. That foul stench from earlier poured into her throat, almost closing her airway.  

The insect moved onto her nose, and Isolde kept her eyes shut because if she opened them she’d have its legs in her eyes and absolutely not —another buzz. Then—

BANG!

Even with her eyes shut, the world turned white. Something howled in pain, snarling and slamming right next to her.

“There!”

There was a mad scramble as the huntresses swarmed forward on light footstepped. She hadn’t heard them approach. 

Wings fluttered against her eyelashes. Isolde got the message. Keep your eyes closed.

She wasn’t going to question the insect commanding her, or the battle next to her. She didn’t risk turning her head, sneaking a peek, or even breathing. She had become a statue—an extension of the rock around her. 

There was the crunch of bone breaking against stone, and then someone—a woman—screamed. Then came an uneasy quiet, and the heavy pant of exhaustion, and of relief.

“How are they still getting in?” Isolde didn’t recognize the voice of whoever was complaining. “We’ve sealed every entrance to the tunnels, haven’t we?”

“I told the Lady we need to collapse this entire section,” someone else muttered. She sounded the closest, as if she’d taken her rest directly over the nook Isolde was hiding in. It was then that Isolde risked a peek for herself. Torchlight bent around the shadow of a woman leaning her head back as she steadied her breathing. “We should treat this hive like the termites they are.”

A murmur of agreement rippled through the pack.

One that Rowena shut down. “Lady Bela believes these ruins are important and so our Mistress thought these ruins are important and therefore…?” She trailed off into a grunt of effort. There was a clinking, clattering noise of chains, and something metal scraped against the ground as if to highlight whatever she was exerting herself over. 

“It’s important to us,” the rest said in a single monotone chant of chastised repetition.

“Precisely.” Rowena’s voice was matter of fact. The woman blocking her line-of-sight moved, and Isolde could just make out the leader through the scattering torchlight beams that crisscrossed the tunnel. 

Rowena brushed her hands off on her trousers, staring further into the cave. “Now, did anyone see where Isolde scampered off to?”

A chorus of ‘no’ answered her. 

Rowena’s frustration bubbled up through her sigh as a series of swearing. “Well… I didn’t hear anyone scream and the hive’s not shaking itself open…” She strode through the space with a confidence Isolde envied. It was clear that she held no fear for this terrible place.

Though, she didn’t go too far beyond the light. 

“So, what do we do then?” The woman who used her crevice as a rest stop asked, setting her hands on her hips. “We can’t just let her stay down here … can we?”

Rowena shrugged. 

“Why not? We found her here first. She managed to find her way here on her own accord so she can return on her own merit just as well. Besides,” she hefted a hulking mass over her shoulder. “Our Mistress sent us after a lycan, not a frightened girl.”

With that said, she started back the way they had come. If there were any protests in Isolde’s defense, it wasn’t voiced as the pack disappeared into the dark once more.

Isolde stayed quiet, not moving until—

“ Ow !” She slapped a hand over her jaw but she was too slow, the insect was no longer there. It’s returned to the space between the collar of her shirt and her neck. “Did you just bite me?”

An affirming buzz answered her. Then a second one, more insistent than the first. 

Well, she didn’t need to be told twice. She stumbled out, earning a few more scrapes, then looked around her. Even with her eyesight adjusted… “I—shit, I can’t see anything.”

There was a fluttering of wings right before her, and so, with a lot of trial and error— some ending in a bruise, and more than a couple of mishaps where she walked directly into the walls—some of those she accused the insect of deliberately ran her into … she backtracked to the elk, then passed the cells, then the incline back to sanity and familiar surroundings. 

By then, she was exhausted. She wanted to tumble to her room, to her bed, and sleep for a year at the very least. But her dreams of rest shattered when a tall, imposing figured stepped in front of the light. Isolde reared back, practically giving herself a concussion.

Lady Cassandra might have been the shortest of the three Dimitrescu heiresses but that meant nothing when ‘short’ still reached a good head and shoulder’s worth of height above Isolde herself. The middle daughter of the countess strode forward, wearing a dark hunting outfit that resembled the lurking crows outside the castle, leering from their high branches. 

Like Isolde, she wore a fitted shirt—though hers was a gorgeous bronze, and over it, a waistcoat of rich chocolate brown. Completing the ensemble were a pair of long, tapered black trousers tucked into similarly dark mid-calf boots. Her chestnut hair was loose and wild about her shoulders, giving her a windswept appearance— and like the Lady Daniela, Lady Cassandra’s eyes were an eerie bright gold. Amber, almost, in this light. 

“Hmm. So you’re the girl that’s got Dani in a twisted mess.” Lady Cassandra folded her arms and took in the sorry excuse of Isolde’s current state of affairs. 

“L-Lady Cassandra!” Isolde remembered enough of her manners to bow low. The insect at her neck took flight, and she glanced up in time to see a very large flying insect trailing over to the heiress. It settled on the woman’s shoulder, then disappeared underneath the curled of her hair. 

Lady Cassandra didn’t flinch. 

“What are you—? No, get up, c’mon,” Lady Cassandra sighed, looking as if she wanted to be doing anything else besides … whatever … it was she’d been doing at the moment; which seemed to be checking up on Isolde. “Are you hurt?”

“N-no?”

“Are you asking me or telling me?”

“No, Lady Cassandra.” Not beyond the several bruises, scraped palms, and sore ego…

“Good. I don’t need Daniela chasing down my maidens for a little prank.” Lady Cassandra stepped to the side, and gestured for Isolde to walk with her.

Isolde opened her mouth—fully ready to protest that that was not a prank. 

Lady Cassandra’s shadow fell over her at the same time as her hand settled as both guide and anchor on her shoulder—and so Isolde’s complaints withered on the vine. Neither of them spoke as they headed towards the staff quarters.

When they reached her door, though, Lady Cassandra stopped her from just stepping through and entered herself. She stood at the threshold, hands loose at her side with only her fingers flexing. 

Finally, she moved to the side and allowed Isolde back into her own space, returning to the other side of the door. Her nails drummed along the wooden frame as she watched Isolde with an unreadable expression.

 “Well, uh, thank you La—.”

“—I’ll speak with Daniela; try to get you off death row.”

Well, that threw Isolde off. 

She turned, mouth slightly agape, question just on the tip of her tongue. 

Lady Cassandra shrugged, looking askance at her fingernails. “You listen to Daniela without requiring a blade to your throat,” she started without even needing to be asked. “I haven’t seen someone who makes her this happy outside of Bela or … well … me—and Dani’s happiness is worth everything so…”  

She cleared her throat, her glare daring Isolde to even think of acknowledging that she was doing something kind for one of the staff.  

“I ... well ... her passion for botany is infectious.”

“There, see? You like listening to her talk about plants, therefore I don’t have to pretend like I do and that works out perfectly for the three of us.” Lady Cassandra jabbed a finger in Isolde’s direction. “So if you die then I’ll have to remember their names and what they like to be read and, ugh, no thank you.” She finished her thought with a shudder.

Isolde hid her smile by bowing her head. 

Lady Cassandra scoffed, but Isolde spied a smirk hidden at the corner of her mouth. 

“I suppose I’ll be seeing her bright and early tomorrow afternoon, then?”

“Ugh, you would be a ‘morning’ person, wouldn’t you?” Lady Cassandra grumbled, and with that said, she tugged at the door so it could swing shut behind her. 

It closed with a click.

Isolde stared at it for a while, then found that she had the energy to complete her routine for the night. 

As she finally settled into the safety of her own bed, she’d stopped fretting about the morrow, and with that stress off of her mind, sleep quickly claimed her.

Chapter Text

Isolde woke up the next day to find that she was still alive. The good news was that her execution was postponed, however the reason was because both the Ladies Cassandra and Daniela were called away to assist Lady Bela who hadn’t returned to the Castle for quite some time.

That meant, however, that Isolde found herself without an heiress to dictate daily duties or provide a modicum of protection from the other staff’s petty rivalries and pranks. She stuck to the habits of the routine she’d already fallen into working underneath Lady Daniela’s — granted — lackadaisical schedule. This turned into a daily retreat into the Greenhouse which didn’t bother Isolde much, rather — she came to quickly enjoy it as if it were a bounty of free time.

The staff of Castle Dimitrescu hoarded free time like water in the desert — that the young, fresh-faced maids and servants could only dream of while the older staff treated it as the precious escape it was from the intense demands of the Countess and her heiresses.

Unsurprisingly, Lady Daniela seemed to have no duties of her own — not like Lady Bela, whose staff attend to the kitchens, the upper wine cellars, the vineyard, and most of the external-facing properties of the estate. Isolde was used to that harsh pace, set in motion to ensure the burdens of Heiress Apparent didn’t prevent Lady Bela from her duties to the Coven. This slow trickle of boredom made her look longingly at her old counterparts — hells, even Lady Cassandra’s staff were constantly in motion without their mistress.

Like their crimson counterparts, Lady Cassandra’s staff were assigned to the areas of Castle Dimitrescu that their heiress favored. The infirmary was under their domain, as were most of the hunting endeavors, almost all internal and external disputes, and it’s rumored that a few were even granted special access to the dungeons. Lady Cassandra’s staff were the women who went out to the villages for supplies, as well, and drifted in and out of the castle with a freedom that the others only dreamed of.

After the first day or two of relaxation, Isolde found herself in dire need of things to do; so, she took over maintaining the daily chores of Lady Daniela’s Greenhouse. That entailed refilling the feeders, moving piles of discarded supplies out, making sure that the pollinators were doing well with the oncoming chill.

There was lot of minor projects to deal with too but those were going to require permissions from sources above Isolde and the regular staff; like the iron-soldered windows in the back. They’re old and leaking cold drafts as night came around. Isolde did touch-ups here and there but it’s obvious that the patch-ups are not going to last. Still, she wasn’t willing to make any lasting changes to the Greenhouse unless Lady Daniela approved.

Though, by the fifth day without any sign of any of the Dimitrescu heiresses, Isolde took the initiative to finalize the transfer of several cuttings. She knew roughly where Lady Daniela wanted them and figured that salvaging the lovely flowers would be worth more to the heiress on her return.

An entire evening was spent going through the botany books and various work-journals Lady Daniela had scattered over her work space to try and shore up as much of her theoretical knowledge as possible before she attempted transplanting the cuttings out of their cramped pots and into soil.

After that, Isolde’s afternoons and evenings were spent in the depths of the Greenhouse while her nights and mid-mornings became impromptu self-study lessons over various aspects of gardening. She spent her time picking up what little she could through Lady Daniela’s botany notes and the few books in the castle that were in English — after all, she knew enough Romanian to hold a mostly fluent conversation but nowhere near what she needed to pick up 18th century botanical theory.

Another hobby she found to pass the time between cramming in as much reading and impromptu language lessons as she could in a day was sketching the flowers around her, and the ones described by Lady Daniela (in the little English she did write). It helped to keep Isolde’s mind from wandering to concerning thoughts — like if Lady Daniela would still be in a murderous mood whenever she returned.

One of the afternoons, Isolde arrived at the Greenhouse to.a blast of frigid air. Honest, teeth-chattering cold. Shit. None of these plants were meant to tolerate anything below 15*C. “Shit. Shit, shit shit...” She knew those windows had been one ill-timed breeze from cracking.

Sure enough, as she headed to the windows she’d noted, she saw the plants already showing damage by their exposure to the Romanian mountain air. “Shit!” She rushed to grab tarp and heavy burlap and spent a good hour shoring up the area. It’s... another patch job, but it would hold. For the moment. She’ll need to talk to someone about getting repair materials, and as none of the daughters were around that meant the Lady herself.

Well. Perhaps it might be for the best. If she showed interest in Lady Daniela’s hobbies, that had to endear her well enough to the Countess to ensure she was not meant for the chopping block?

She turned about, ready to head into the castle to start the process of repairing the windows before the daughters’ return when movement drew her eye to an abandoned orbweaver web. Trapped in the sticky strands are three rather large flies — twitching weakly, their exoskeletons pale and dusty like they’ve been there for some time.

They reminded her of the strange fly in the catacomb, though the coloration was vastly different. If asked, she’d not have a reason why she stepped closer and gently freed them from the web — but if they were going to pass — she’d rather it not be a long, tortuous starvation. She hated being confined — so who’s to say they didn’t like it either?

“All right... just... uh... don’t bite me.” The three flies easily took up both palms as she hustled back to a warmer section of the Greenhouse. There, she set them close to the hurricane lamp, made sure they’re still twitching, and twitching should mean alive, right?

She sure hoped so. Regardless, Isolde busied herself with gathering a few supplies. A small shallow feeder dish, a container of sugar water, and a wood-scrap and burlap hidey-hole Lady Daniela wanted to set out later because “sometimes, you just need a place to keep away from the bigger bugs, y’know?” and as Lady Daniela was fond of all of the insects in here — more than she seemed to care about the human life in the castle — Isolde might as well mimic her heiresses’ habits.

It’s not like Isolde had anything better to do than to nurse these three... massive flies back to health.

“What are you?” She wondered as she watched the largest of the three flies coax the smallest towards the shallow water dish. It’s almost as if the fly was aware that its fellow was hurt enough to require assistance.

She opened a book of insects that she’d grabbed previously to make sure she was caring for the flower flies properly and searched for this species as the three slowly regained their strength. She noticed damage from the spider’s web and likely opportunistic wasps. Their wings were chipped and torn, and when the middle fly fluttered them out — only one wing fully extended with the gesture.

The trio of flies relocated to the warm, dark wood scraps when they’ve drunk their fill, and Isolde’s moved on to sketching them out because, quite honestly; “You know, none of you look like the pollinating flies I’ve seen around here,” Isolde commented as she worked on detailing the thorax and the joint where the wing connected.

The entomology book was open to the pages dedicated to the order Diptera. “That means ‘two-wings,” Isolde helpfully points out to the lethargic trio. “Pollinators — the flower flies? They’re a little fuzzier, like bees or wasps. Lady Daniela said it’s to make sure they carry the pollen from one flower to another and it is rather adorable seeing their back legs all fluffy with pollen.”

The largest of the trio fluttered their wings as if commentating on Isolde’s pointing out their differences.

“Hey, now, that doesn’t mean you’re not interesting specimens in your own rights! You three almost look like the flies that showed up during the summer season — but you’re... bigger. Way, way bigger.” Isolde noted that, marking down that the flies are easily four inches in length from head to butt.

“Actually, that green color reminds me — are you carrion flies?” Isolde flipped through the pages. “I mean, there’s a lot of food down here for you — which would make sense, I suppose.”

Another glance at the flies’ size made Isolde hesitate on calling them common bottle flies. Not to mention that bringing up the fact that there were plenty of food for carrion flies to feast on brought on a sudden image of Eliza’s hand sticking out of the soil.

That — yes, there were rumors about the Countess and her daughters but Isolde had thought them just that— rumors. Stories made up to scare newer staff into behaving or to spook them as a fun prank. After all, folk had told scary stories around the hearth since time immemorial and a gaggle of women cooped up in a mysterious, isolated castle estate? Perfect population to spin up grisly tales to pass the time.

Sure — the three daughters weren’t quite what Isolde expected from minor nobility but the rich and highborn were always said to be a little more eccentric thanks to her brief history lessons.

And sure — it was a little strange that Lady Cassandra took such a personal investment in the capturing, vivisection, and cataloging of the Lycan degenerative disorder but everyone needed a hobby to pass the time, right?

Though, Isolde granted that’s a far cry from finding bodies of women buried underneath the rose bushes. Isolde’s read enough gothic horror to know what happened to the protagonist in those sorts of stories.

They wound up there themselves.

Isolde glanced down to her sketching. She swapped from the anatomical detailing of the three flies and moved onto Eliza’s hand clawing up through the dirt.

Isolde set her pencil down when she realized what she’s drawn. It’s not just the discovery of Eliza’s body — it’s the fight with Lady Daniela right afterward, the cold metal cutting into her neck. She brushed a hand along the healed scab.

Then, the blind panic that got her lost in an ancient prison of Lycans, at the mercy of maidens who were — honestly — worse than the Lycans. At least the Lycans would have been honest about killing her.

Isolde recalled wedging herself into that crevice — her hand starts to shake, just a small tremor. Her breathing kicks up a notch. Her heartbeat taps up into a quicker rhythm. She’s right there again, compressed and crushed by the damp earth around her and —

BZZZZZZTTTT!!!!

A loud, harsh buzz snapped her back. She was in the Greenhouse — not the cave. There was a soft, warm light — not the pitch black of the tunnels.

Isolde glanced at the source of the buzzing. The largest of the flies made its way forward — wings pulled high and outward from its’ body to establish itself as much larger than it really is. It oriented on something near her and charged forward in a quick burst, accompanied by another sharp buzz. After a few short steps, it then reoriented itself, never turning its’ back on its’ opponent, and charged again.

Isolde tried to find whatever had roused the exhausted creature into such an energetic threat display. The fly charged again, striking its little front feet onto her papers.

“I... what are you doing?” Isolde asked, even though she knows quite well there’s no way she could get an answer.

The fly brrrzzts! at her words, backing up with a shimmy of its abdomen before charging again. Now it’s on the paper and the noise stirred the other two flies from their repose. They crawled out from their little hideaway to see what the fuss is about — their little feet tasting the air.

Isolde looked — there’s the sketch of the flies themselves? “That’s you, you silly creature.”

The large jade-eyed fly ignores her, striking forward on its’ determined course of action to defend against the troublemaker.

Isolde laughed. Leaning her balance back into the chair, she decided to watch the antics — letting the show slow her heart rate and settle her nerves. Isolde’s assurance that the sketch was harmless was not enough to convince the large fly, nor the two others who perk up at the constant threat-hum that the first one hadn’t stopped making; that there wasn’t anything to fight.

Not that she thought the flies could understand her, just - the principle of the situation.

“That — I was drawing you — that — huh?”

The large fly charged and struck its opponent directly in center mass. A victorious brrt! reverberating as it did a little conquest-dance over the fallen — its battle won.

Isolde leaned forward.

The sketch of Eliza’s clawed hand was in the process of being touch-tasted as the other two flies joined their bigger friend in exploring the threat now that it’s passed on. They circled over the palm and tapped their feet curiously against the ragged bite of nails threatening to scratch through the page itself.

“Why... are you attacking Eliza’s hand?” Isolde asked — again not expecting an answer but rather the flies have been the only creatures in the castle that haven’t decided to ignore, tease, or attempt to kill her in the past month — and a girl gets a little lonely. People talk to dogs all the time, why not flies?

The three flies halt their little dance to Isolde’s voice. There’s a conference between the three then the largest one padded over to where Isolde’s hand rested. Isolde didn’t pull away. While the flies were rather large and a bit uncomfortable to look at, she’d already had one of them crawling over her neck and face. These weren’t in her personal space and were polite about approaching her.

The fly reached out and grasped her index finger between its two front legs and just held it. Its wings had settled back over its body and the buzzing grew softer now, almost...

“Did you...?” This is crazy. This is crazy and it was because she’d been cooped up here for too long. “Did you think the sketch frightened me?”

The fly’s wings quivered as if saying didn’t it?

“I...” Isolde trailed off. She was not talking to a fly. She wasn’t. That’s crazy and impossible. “I was thinking about what happened that day, that’s all. I don’t like being trapped.”

One of the smaller ones, the one with the torn wing, made a little brrttz? It circled the sketch twice then stops and flickered its wings.

“No, well, I mean — yes, yes thinking about being turned into mulch and plant food is very scary but that is not what bothered me.”

This was so crazy. It’s crazy. If it were a dog, sure, ok, she’d think that maybe it could at least pick up the distress in her voice. Flies though? Even really big, weird flies like these?

So why was she still talking? Again, likely loneliness — even Lady Daniela prefered to be the one listened to when they spent time together.

“I got lost, then I got trapped. I — ok — I wasn’t trapped-trapped but I really don’t like being enclosed like that. Never have been — it’s one of the reasons why I stopped working in the winery’s storage. They like us to get between the shelves and — can’t do it.”

The other two flies came up to her hand, also reaching out to touch her fingers. They were very still with only their wings flickering every so often. “... this is so crazy,” Isolde whispered. She didn’t know why she was whispering. It just felt appropriate to do so.

She let the quiet linger there as she held... hands with the three flies before she noticed her hands ached from the long exposure to the chilly air even with the windows sealed. She frowned towards the broken section of glass; they’re going to need to be repaired — however she didn’t have the authority to accept purchases from The Duke, her village off-weekend wasn’t for another two weeks or so, and she’s pretty sure she’s not allowed to make renovations on the castle without prior authorization.

And said best access to authorization is currently somewhere outside of the castle — and the Countess herself is terrifying to approach; and also it’s almost impossible to request an audience within the timespan Isolde figures she’d need to save the majority of the perimeter plants.

So, that left her with a rarely used third and final avenue of approach which she’d heard of but had never seen one of the staff use — if ever. The Lady of Thorns, as was her proper title, was by all accounts in charge of the household staff herself — however, approaching her is as risky as approaching any of the family. She was by reputation more approachable and tolerant than the three heiresses or the Countess herself but still, one survived their tenure at Castle Dimitrescu by not bothering the Mistresses themselves.

Now, Isolde had dealt with the woman before — if only a handful of times at the very start of her tenure: When she was first assigned to the kennels, and when she’d been reassigned from there to the winery when her calm demeanor and knack for quick learning endeared her to how Lady Bela preferred retainers.

Isolde carefully maneuvered the three flies from her hand closer to their little hideaway. She tucked her sketchbook in her pack and readied herself to leave when there’s a soft brrzt! from the trio.

They weren’t in the hideaway like she’d ushered them. They were outside of it, fluttering their wings and lifting their feet towards her before they rubbed them together.

“I have to go. If I want to catch one of the upper staff I should do so before the midnight meal starts.”

The smallest jade-eyed fly did a full-body tremble then stepped forward before trembling again. It rubbed its feet together, trying to lift on its back legs as best as it could manage.

“What, do you want to come along or something?” Isolde laughed.

The three flies shivered at her question. The smallest made a wide circle and tried to hop from foot to foot before stopping and looking back up at her.

Isolde had no reason not to bring them along. She lowered her hand and watched them scurry over and up. They started their procession up along her sleeve towards the warm dark crook between her jacket and her uniform.

“This is officially the strangest thing that I’ve had happen here and I’m counting the weird fly-guide in the prison and the fact that Lady Daniela is a walking, talking Gothic Horror cliche — yeowch! Hey! Do not bite!”

She scowled at the largest fly who twitched its wings as if arguing back at her. It fluttered them once, twice, then tucked them properly against its thorax and continued its march upward.

“If Lady Daniela isn’t back tomorrow you three understand that I will have enough free time on my hands to somehow figure out how to muzzle you? You’re large enough— should be like, susceptible to wax molds or something over those ...mandibles? Fangs? What do flies have?”

A protesting buzz against her ear. No bite though, which was a start.

Isolde shook her head while she finished packing up. “You heard me. Not only that, but I’ll make the wax clash with that really pretty red gleam you’ve got on your wings. Make it bright purple or something — then every other fly will — ack, ok, ok, I’m kidding, stop!” She squirms as the three flies start to shiver and tap their feet against her skin.

The three do, after another round of grumpy, demanding little noises.

Isolde headed out into the castle and sought out the appropriate staff to find where the Lady of Thorns would be.

The hierarchy of the staff was rigid, a structure designed to silence squabbles among the staff as well as maintain a level of autonomy without bothering the Mistresses, or the Grand Chambermaids themselves – none who were keen to settle disputes that shouldn’t have escalated to them in the first place.

The lowest tier were the newcomers: the cleaning women, the scullery maids, and the seasonal workers. Outside or inside, they managed the constant demands of the daily maintenance keeping the castle and grounds in respectable form.

Just above them were Lady Cassandra’s retainers; woman who wore the topaz and gold. It symbolized those who are more suitable to the bold, expressive personality and interests of the middle heiress. Isolde didn’t know too much about their duties, only that they mostly spent them patrolling the grounds, and settling the few troubles that occurred intra-staff.

Lady Bela’s staff were second in command, reflecting her status as the eldest, and heir-apparent to her mother. They wore scarlet, the crimson and garnet-clad women flowed through the winery. If Isolde’d been a petty woman, she might have thought Rowena and her pack were probably exercising some frustration over the simple fact that not even a month or so prior - Isolde essentially had outranked them.

However, now that she served Lady Daniela, well, as the youngest, it went that her retainers would rank above the common cleaners but still answerable to the rest of the household. Including Rowena.

Finally, at the pinnacle were the Rose Staff; women serving the Countess and her family. They bore cream and ivory uniforms with detailed stitching that showcased the House Crest over their left lapel. They dedicated their lives to the House and in return were awarded status and prestige that even gave Lady Bela pause when they spoke.

And they were exactly who Isolde wanted to find as she wandered the upper corridors. Without the daughters at home, there wouldn’t be a midnight meal, but the hour itself was still acknowledged, and certain traditions were kept.

She found one of the ivory-clad maidens in the ground floor study with her head bent over documents that probably detailed the expected influx of staff for the coming year.

“Ma’am?” She knocked lightly on the doorframe to announce herself.

Ms. Chambers finished her sentence before she looked up. “Yes?”

“There’s a situation with the windowpanes in Lady Daniela’s Greenhouse. They broke and I feel it’s urgent enough to require her Ladyship’s approval?”

Ms. Chambers set her pen down as an indication that she was listening attentively now. “You’ll be speaking with the Lady of Thorns then — as the Countess has been called away to attend to matters.”

Isolde was more than a little relieved. She’d wanted to speak with the Lady rather than the Countess anyways. “Of course. Where might I find her?”

Ms. Chambers held a finger up. “I’ll escort you myself. This way.”

Isolde tipped her head and followed; up through the first floor and then second floor to the personal wing for the Countess and her Lady. Ms. Chambers continued towards a dark, enclosed room with one singular light angled so it couldn’t affect the sight of the people further within.

The Lady’s Observatory was the personal project of the Lady of Thorns. When she wasn’t in her private gardens, or down in the Music Hall, her free time was here, mapping out the heavens and enjoying an insight into the universe that only an isolated, high mountain could provide an astronomer.

“My Lady?”

“Yes, Ms. Chambers?” The Lady’s voice was a musical lilt even half-drowsy as she sounds.

“Lady Daniela’s retainer to see you. She has a concern about the Greenhouse?”

“The iron-soldered windows have cracked My Lady— they’re going to need to be repaired before Lady Daniela’s gardens are irrevocably damaged. I know how to repair them myself, and I can — I just need the supplies and the permission.”

“Hmm.” The Lady’s silhouette pulled away from the telescope. She stepped towards the part of the room that is far more welcoming to light. “Very well, you’ve got my ear. Thank you, Ms. Chambers.”

“Of course, My Lady.” Ms. Chambers bowed and stepped back, leaving Isolde alone at the threshold.

The Lady of Thorns beckoned her further into the room. “It’s cold enough that I’d like some warm cider before I go back to observing the meteor shower. Have you ever seen one before?”

Isolde shook her head as she entered. “No, Madame. Or, well, yes. Not through a telescope like that one, though.”

“Well, you will tonight. These are better experienced with others. Please, sit.”

Isolde took the smallest, least opulent of the five chairs in the outer room. Not that it’s much of a difference compared to the others but she felt like she sullied the material just by looking at it.

The Lady noticed her hesitance and laughed, “Cassa has, on far too many occasions, forgotten that she’s covered in blood when she sits. I promise you — those chairs won’t crumble from a little garden dirt.”

“Oh.” That didn’t remove Isolde’s worry, but she tried not to make it so obvious. She watched the Lady arrive, noticing that her rich chestnut hair loose about broad shoulders that came from a lifetime of physical work and labor. The Lady of Thorns was tall and was certainly no waif or delicate flower. She was a powerful presence in her own right.

Proven when her smile alone disarmed Isolde’s nerves with just one, gentle quirk of her lips.

She was startled when the Lady poured, remembering her manners (and training).

“Uh, I can— “

“You can — yet you won’t. I am not my spouse. I am very capable of pouring my drinks.” The Lady hands over the cup and froze at something on Isolde’s shoulder.

Isolde blinked, wondering how she’d offended when she felt the soft patter of tiny feet making their way out to be noticed. “Oh, uh — I’m sorry — I’m— “

“Well, now. You’re a little far away from home aren’t you?” The Lady extended her hand and the three flies crawled from their nook onto her palm. “You’re livelier than I’d expect.” The Lady’s dark gaze lifted to Isolde’s. “Where did you find them?”

Isolde recounted her rescue of the flies from the web and feeding them sugar water. “They’re still pretty sluggish though— I think it’s the cold?”

“The cold and the distance,” The Lady agreed. She stepped towards another one of the chairs and sat. The three flies settled themselves over her shoulders and fluttered their wings. “Every single one of these is more precious than you can imagine. I’d daresay you’ve earned your permission to renovate whatever you’d like but now you’ve also sparked my curiosity.”

“I’m not that interesting.” Isolde demurred, stopping when The Lady clucked her tongue.

“Nonsense. You managed a spot in Bela’s staff barely three months into working for us and not only did you proceed to capture Daniela’s eye — you’ve also thrived beneath it long enough to be cause for an anniversary occasion.”

“To be fair, Madame? A good fortnight or so of that survival is because Lady Daniela’s out of the Castle.”

The Lady chuckled and tipped her head. “You’ll learn to take the victories where you find them. Now, remind me — what exactly do you need and how much of the windows should be redone?”

“Well, Madame— “

“Please, call me Cammi for now. If I don’t have to put on the airs, I’d rather not; and as you’ve rescued my youngest from an unpleasant experience — well, I think I’d like to get to know you a little better.”

“Yes Mad— erm, Lady Cammi.”

Chapter Text

It took roughly a week to supply, plan, tear down, and then repair the Greenhouse and the time spiraled by in a flurry of new names, faces, hands, and skills. With Lady Camellia’s introductions, Isolde quickly became acquainted with the handywomen of the castle. Boisterous and bold, they were a gathering of friendly faces that Isolde looked forward to working with daily.

Rose staff, these women had long earned their trust and placements, and had no need for the hierarchical bickering that came with the lesser rosters. These women knew and cared for the castle as intimately as the castle’s mistresses— and when Isolde mentioned that she wanted to refurbish the Greenhouse, well— she’d been brought into the fold with little fanfare and more appreciation that she’d ever expected to receive.

Isolde spent three days merely learning the intricacies of late 18th through 19ths century construction and architectural themes and afterwards — stories about the Countesses and their daughters.

And every day was spent with the very odd trio of grounded flies who had returned to her without any prompting once her impromptu astronomy visit with Lady Camellia had finished. They’d yet to leave her side — following her like three helpless kittens. Kittens with wings and six legs and an insatiable craving for food.

Food like the fasole cu cârnați Isolde had been looking forward to ever since she overheard the kitchen staff making it the weekend’s treat. Apparently, even though Isolde kept the trio well-fed with sugar water, they were just as keen on her dinner as she was— and after the third bite at her thumb, she caved and dished out a second, smaller portion for them to share.

“You three should be strong enough to go back to the Greenhouse now, you know? We’ve set up the heater stoves so it’s very toasty in there.” Isolde rested her head in hand— the physical labor of the past few days finally catching up with her. She watched the three flies tucking into their portion with gluttonous abandon and chuckled without fear of being overheard. She was alone here— the kitchen staff had long turned in for the night and there were a few hours before the morning shift would filter in.

A brrrtz and dismissive toss of the largest fly’s wings as it rubbed its front feet together, tasting and savoring the meal as if it were capable of such a thing.

“We sealed all the windows so there’s no more risk of cold snaps driving you into spider webs.”

The smallest fly flitted from one side of their dish to the other. Their chipped wing prevented them from anything but the smallest of hops. It hadn’t slowed them down at all— especially when it came to food.

“ Seriously , it’s much more comfortable there than my room. There are the new feeding stations, there are a ton of hide-aways— because you know Lady Daniela is insistent on making sure every insect has a place to retreat to... and I think the wasps are still leery of the east side so you can have all the territory you want without them pestering you.”

Nothing. Not even a flick of a foot in her direction. Time to try a new tactic.

“I like cold nights. I would like to spend one of them with my window cracked —” The largest fly oriented for a halfhearted charge towards her, complete with a harsh warning noise. Isolde laughed. “Oh you didn’t like that, did you?”

The smallest fly accompanied the largest in threat-displaying— their wings widespread as they buzzed what could only be the worst of insults in fly speech.

Isolde leaned forward to meet the challenge. “You know what else?” She lowered her voice and the fly crept in close, crawling off the serving platter and along the table. “My favorite sort of showers are the freezing kind.”

Brrrrtz !

That meant war! The smallest fly charged straight at her elbow and reached its front legs up to grapple her.

“Trying to knock my elbow over?”

Brrrtz and a single shake of the abdomen. Isolde translated that as ‘yes’. It backed up and charged forth again— nearly toppling off the table when Isolde lifted her elbow at the last moment.

“Woah, all right, all right! I wasn’t planning on taking you three into the showers with me anyways.”

Another series of very indignant buzzing as she set the little creature back with its friends. She could understand why Lady Camellia called them precious— they were nothing like any insects she’d seen before. She wasn’t an expert, but she was fairly certain that flies— even strange ones, were not personable like this trio.

The access door leading to the small service yard swung open without fanfare— sucking in a rush of cold night air that Isolde shielded the flies from.

“—serious, Bela. There’s something not adding up about the whole thing. They just accidentally happened to stumble into the cave system that the lycans just happened to have abandoned for the winter?”

Isolde stiffened. Lady Cassandra.

“I know, Cassandra. I’m already planning to speak with Mother about it once she returns from her errands—”

Isolde winced. Lady Bela.

“It’s not Mother who is sending us off on clean-up duty with shitty fucking intel, though. You know that, right?”

She hadn’t expected the daughters to be back. Of course they were back, they’d had to have come back sometime but did it have to be right now? In the dead of night? With absolutely no witnesses to witness… whatever they might do to her?

Not that they would… right? She hadn’t done anything wrong. She’d minded the greenhouse, kept up with the basic maintenance of Lady Daniela’s space so why did her heart pick up into a pounding alarm?

And then there came Lady Daniela’s voice, drifting in behind her sisters and that unlocked everything. 

“Bela, there’s more to it than the lycan issue— no, lemme finish Cassa— the mycelium didn’t react to intruders. I didn’t see any spores or signs of distress or alarm in the caverns.”

Muscles unseizing, Isolde pushed out of her chair, wincing as it scraped against the floor, and made for the servant exit. If she was quick, she could dart out before there’d be any trouble.

“Again— both of you— I’ll mention it to Mother when she’s back. There’s little to do right now.”

Isolde gathered the flies into her cupped palms, minding her grip as delicate feet and wings fluttered and buzzed against her hold. They nudged and wriggled in a frenzy, pushing against her fingers to free themselves like eager, impatient puppies. She darted a nervous glance to the door, then at the table; the half-eaten meal she was loath to abandon. 

“We’ll eat later ,” she whispered urgently. “ Later , I promise —ouch!”

She winced; tried not to flick her hand instinctively against the pain. She wasn’t sure if it was a bite or a pinch or a sting, but she released them all the same. They scrambled along her sleeves, buzzing loud enough to wake the dead.

A sleek figure froze in the doorway, slate black hair whipping in the frosting winds. Golden eyes snapped to her in the next instant, and Isolde saw the rapid swallow of dark pupils like the shift of a predator’s gaze on fresh prey. Dark brows furrowed, lips curling back into a snarl of irritation before that terrible gaze dropped down to the very loud, very active flies that crawled over her wrists and hands.

Then that terrible gaze snapped back to her.

Until Lady Bela unceremoniously slammed into her sister’s back. “What the hell Cassandra?”

Isolde winced as that ire quickly shifted from the middle daughter toward her instead; toward the trio of flies still blaring away, they were practically singing Isolde’s funeral dirge.

Movement sent Isolde’s gaze to Lady Cassandra’s hip, where a well-polished sickle blade glinted malevolently from underneath the woman’s heavy, snow-dusted cloak. 

She kept her gaze focused on the heiresses’ faces, tried her best to come across as unassuming and unthreatening as possible. It gave her the time to study the sisters as Lady Bela took position directly next to her sister. There were some similarities between the three: Lady Cassandra was shorter than Lady Bela by an inch, but the ferocious intensity of her expression more than made up for any lack of height. Where Lady Daniela’s features were soft and feminine, Lady Cassandra’s angles were lupine— feral and sharp at her jaw and cheekbones, with the angular jut of her body speaking to her dedication to the hunt.

Lady Bela, on the other hand, had wide, doe-like eyes and a youthful, cherubic face that softened the sharp, aristocratic line of her nose and the high arch of her cheeks. However, that angelic exterior served as the perfect mask for a temperament that could only come from someplace demonic and cruel.

Choosing one or the other as her potential tormenter was not something Isolde looked forward to. 

Then a third option jostled between her sisters, complaining about the cold and how she’d like to actually remember what it was like to be warm, and all of Isolde’s thoughts shift to survival, and panic.

“Soarece mic !” Lady Daniela stuttered to a stop between her sisters, her manic gaze roaming over Isolde like she’d not seen her for years. Her expression twisted from surprise to—what was that, concern? Uncertainty? Frustration? It didn’t look like the fury Isolde had last seen her with but with Lady Daniela, it was so hard to tell…

“Welcome home, Lady Daniela.”

Lady Daniela swallowed, again with that inscrutable look. “What are you doing?”

Isolde hesitated. The question was open-ended enough that she worried about her answer choice. She settled for the truth. “I was having a late dinner, Lady Daniela.”

“ That’s the question you want to lead with?” Lady Cassandra asked. She kept her eyes on Isolde, but directed her exasperation to the youngest Dimitrescu. “ Seriously ? How about: ‘where did you get those flies’? That’s an excellent starting point, don’t you agree Bela?”

Time was ticking down. That sickle would be in play in seconds, so Isolde went with the truth. Again. What else did she have left?

 “Uh— the panes in the back section of the greenhouse broke a week ago, Lady Cassandra. It must have happened during that early frost — we lost a few of the plants.” She added that with a careful, apologetic look toward Lady Daniela. “I relocated the ones I could and noticed these three were caught up in a spider’s web.” She didn’t know what really prompted her to rescue them. “They didn’t look like our usual insects so I—”

“So you…?” Lady Cassandra prompted, her hand still hovering over the sickle’s handle.

“I rescued them. Lady Daniela has an incredible array of exotic blooms and I didn’t know if these were imported pollinators as I’d never seen them around before—”

“The species is incredibly sensitive to sudden cold snaps,” Lady Daniela came forward, between the pair, and provided a rather convenient obstacle should her sister decide to strike. “They probably struggled for a while, and were too weak when the windows broke.”

Lady Bela frowned. “Were there any others?”

That puzzled Isolde. Why would Lady Bela care…? Unless the species had been specially-imported. “No. I only found these three. I’ve been all through the gardens and back—I caught up on everything you had planned out, Lady Daniela.” She addressed that last bit as Lady Daniela closed the last leg of distance.

Her heartbeat was a constant, churning thunder, muffling her hearing.

“I told you those windows would go with the next sneeze of a storm, Dani.” Lady Cassandra chided. Isolde couldn’t see her hand—couldn’t see if she’d pulled it away from the sickle.

“I know . I’ll have to—ugh… is the entire section gone?”

Isolde shook her head. “As I said earlier, my Lady, I relocated the plants that I could, and then shored up the gaps until I could do a proper solder and repair. I had to speak with your… um…” Isolde trailed off, unsure of the relationship between the daughters and Lady Camellia. They looked rather similar in age. Did they consider her a step-mother? A peer? How was Isolde meant to address her to the daughters? She went with what felt the most socially appropriate. “With the Lady Camellia.” 

“You met Maică ?” Lady Daniela blinked at her, then her eyes widened. “Wait, you fixed the windows?”

Isolde felt exposed under that concentrated stare. “I felt like I had to. I didn’t want all of your work and care gone to waste from a mistake.”

“You’re assigned to the vintners’ cabin. What were you doing in the greenhouses…” Lady Bela’s confusion trailed off. She stared at the green ribbon and accents on Isolde’s uniform, the silence as weighty and ominous as the sickle reveal. “Why are you wearing that color?”

Isolde paled.

Oddly enough, so too did Lady Daniela.

“ I knew I forgot to mention that little detail.” Lady Cassandra’s high-spirited voice cut through the tension like she’d actually swung the blade at her hip. “See, there was a little mishap with the staff and since you weren’t here, it fell to me.”

“ I handle the staffing, Cassandra.”

“And you do it so well ,” Lady Cassandra jeered, even reaching up to pinch Lady Bela’s cheek, earning her a snarl and a swipe of nails at her own face that she easily dodged. “Relax, would you? You have like twenty retainers. I figured this little rabbit wouldn’t be missed and Dani’s been so well-behaved.”

“ Rabbit?” The question escaped Isolde before she could even think about who she was speaking with.

“Yes. Rabbit. I think it fits, don’t you?” Lady Cassandra kept her eyes on her sister. “Small, cute in a vulnerable way, always scrambling back and forth as the wolves circle in.”

“She is cute, isn’t she?” Lady Daniela sauntered around, looping an arm about Isolde’s shoulders. “ I like ‘little mouse’ better, though.”

Mouse. Rabbit. Both of them were at the bottom of food chains and very easily strung up in snares. Neither one appealed as an option, but Isolde was not stupid enough to make further protest. Not in the middle of the proverbial wolf den.

“Please, you can’t get more than a nibble off a mouse, and she’s easily a mouthful —”

“ Enough. ” Lady Bela crowded into her younger sister’s space, breaking off the banter as she forced Lady Cassandra onto the back-foot. She snatched Lady Cassandra’s cloak, yanking her forward and laid the full force of her imperious anger like a guillotine. “I am done with your meddling, Cassandra. The next time the urge bites you—”

Lady Cassandra scowled and wrenched out of Lady Bela’s grip. “Get over yourself, Bela. It’s one girl.”

“She belonged to me!”

“And now she belongs to Daniela. What’s your point?” Lady Cassandra scoffed, rising to the skirmish with pleasure, quickly taking to the offensive. She was the shortest— but she commanded the room with effortless ability. She squared up, shoulders straight; her jaw set and stubborn.

Lady Bela’s next swipe came dangerously close to her sister’s eye. Lady Cassandra smacked that one away, bristling—eager to return violence upon violence. As the pair squared off, a strange whining filled the quiet spaces within the kitchen..

“We should go.” Lady Daniela squeezed Isolde’s shoulders, already turning her away from the burgeoning fight. “You really don’t want to be in the middle of that. You’d rather be tucked in bed. Where it’s safe.” It sounded like friendly advice but a frisson of tension in the air drove a warning through Isolde’s spine. Whatever Isolde’s feelings on the matter — right now, Lady Daniela was the devil she knew.

She turned at Lady Daniela’s urging. It occurred to her as they walked through the empty halls that the youngest Dimitrescu wasn’t fazed in the slightest as the trio of flies crawled along the length of her arm still draped around Isolde. A gesture that Isolde didn’t know how to shrug off without risking even more trouble.

The last thing she wanted was Lady Daniela noticing how petrified she was. She needed a distraction. Anything . And the more terrified she became, the more Lady Daniela fidgeted and it was bringing back their last encounter and—

“H-how was your time away, Lady Daniela?” 

Lady Daniela startled, then peeked at her sidelong. “Rough. Bela would never admit it, but we were lucky to find her.”

“I heard you mention mycelium… were you looking for a new mushroom for the greenhouse?”

Lady Daniela flinched, looking like a puppy caught stealing food from the counter. She worried at her lower lip with her teeth, saying nothing. Isolde started to think that she wasn’t supposed to have heard anything at all, and so changed the subject.

“...well, I’m glad you made it home safely.”

That startled Lady Daniela even more, causing her to drop her arm from Isolde’s shoulder.

“ Why? ”

Isolde stuttered to a stop a few steps ahead, then turned about to meet that suspicion head-on. “Because I like your company, Lady Daniela. I liked working with you, despite…” She dropped her gaze, losing the courage to admit that she’d been lonely, that she had missed the youngest Dimitrescu.

She didn’t look up as Lady Daniela took the several steps needed to approach her. She was afraid to meet Lady Daniela in the eye, terrified that she’d find some lingering trace of the fury. When the silence dragged on long enough that a nearby clock chimed the top of the hour, she braved a glance.

Lady Daniela’s gaze did not carry a smoldering ember of her previous anger, but was rather inscrutable. At best, it was an echo of the stunned shock that had taken over when Isolde had handed her the book. At worst…? Well. Isolde didn’t want to think about that .

“May I?” Lady Daniela extended her hand after a moment, her fingertips brushing Isolde’s shirt. “Thank you. For taking care of the greenhouse, and the windows, and all the plants… and these three girls.”

“They’re female?”

The three flies drifted from the shadow underneath Isolde’s collar as if called out, making their way towards Lady Daniela’s hand without missing a step. They kept buzzing excitedly, squirming and clambering to reach the heiress.

“Mmhmm. All of them are. A trait of the species.” Lady Daniela cooed as they forged trails up along her wrist and forearm. She twisted her limb this way and that as they scaled up to her shoulder.

“Well, they were very pleasant company.” The pair of them watched the three flies on their mighty trek of Lady Daniela’s arm. They reached the midpoint of her humerus when Isolde spoke again. “I’ve never seen flies like them before.”

“I don’t expect you have.” Lady Daniela said with a fondness that Isolde had never heard before. “They’re very rare and very special.”

“They sort of look like the bottle flies that I dealt with in the kitchen over the summer but, ah, much larger.” Isolde stressed that last bit. She wanted to stress that even more. Flies were not supposed to be as big as her palm. 

She expected a patronizing chuckle, perhaps even some teasing like when Isolde had yelped at the size of the butterflies, but Lady Daniela said nothing. Did nothing. 

That creeping sensation of danger returned.

When Isolde deigned a glance, she found a new, peculiar expression gracing Lady Daniela’s features. “I… did I say something wrong?”

“What did you mean: ‘dealt with’?”

Fear prickled on the nape of Isolde’s neck. She blinked, then paled. “I don’t understand.”

“The kitchen flies. In the summer. You just said you ‘dealt with’ them.” Lady Daniela’s stare hardened, but something about it looked strangely. Was she worried? No. That didn’t make sense.

“Oh, uh—I know a few tricks to trap them in apple cider but I mean there’s always the swatter if you have the reflexes… “ Isolde trailed off. That was definitely worry in Lady Daniela’s gaze. No, not worry. Worry didn’t widen the pupils like that. It’s... “Lady Daniela, what’s wrong?”

“You drown them?” Lady Daniela’s voice dropped to a whisper, as if she couldn’t believe what she was hearing. That if she whispered it, somehow it wouldn’t be made real.

Isolde froze. Confusion battled with fear as she struggled to answer a question that felt more accusatory ; felt on par as when she defended actual wrongs committed in her past. “Uh... well, it’s the most humane, I think--”

“Most humane?” Lady Daniela’s eyes widened further—hovering a protective hand over the trio of oblivious flies.“Drowning is more humane than tricking them into glue? More humane than letting them starve as they risk pulling their wings and legs off to get free?”

“I… suppose it would be? It’s not intentional, though. The trapped—”

“That makes it worse! You know that, right?”

“Lady Daniela — they’re —they’re flies! They’re pests in the kitchen and we had to keep--”

“Pests?!”

A distressing whine erupted somewhere about her. Like a mosquito’s but louder, as if dozens if not hundreds of the creatures were emerging all at once. It grated at Isolde’s eardrums— bad enough that she clapped her hands over her ears to protect them from the noise.

It was everywhere. Lady Daniela became distorted in the gloom. Isolde stared as the shadows came alive and crawled over her until the woman turned to nothing but fractals of color and dark shapes.

Isolde stepped back once, twice, three times. She should run. She should — but where? And why ? Lady Daniela wasn’t doing anything but standing there in the middle of a cyclone of noise and shapes; glaring at Isolde like she was the one who revealed she had the remains of ex-lovers buried in the garden soil.

Another step back. The distorted noise was so loud now that Isolde closed her eyes against the vibration to try and gain some relief from the sensory overload.

Something tiny settled at her hand. She flinched, tried to shake it off. It didn’t budge. Two tiny, tickling points of contact. Then a second weight, this time at her neck. The sensation of a small body creeped over the collar of her shirt towards the wrinkle of her vest lining.

A third impact. A little heavier but still familiar.

This one landed right on her shoulder. A dissonant brrrzt from the droning whining about her. It grounded her, pulled her out of the overload and rerouted her attention back to the here and now.

“What are you doing?!” That wasn’t directed at her. “She kills flies!”

Brrrrrz !?!

“That’s— that’s a fluke! Mother said it all the time; a broken clock is right once a night!”

Brrrrzzz ! That came as a triplet of noises, low and clipped compared to the rest.

Little by little the whine faded away. Little by little the pressure against her eased up to the point that Isolde felt like she could open her eyes and lower her hands. There was nothing in the hallway. No strange cyclone of noise and shadow. Just her and Lady Daniela.

Isolde straightened up. “I—”

“Why didn’t you kill those three?” Lady Daniela demanded from where she stood the entire time. When Isolde’s answer wasn’t immediately forthcoming, she repeated the question.

“I—”

“They’re not flower flies. They’re obviously not common carrion flies. They’ve bit you multiple times. As far as you know they’re just a strange outlier of the kitchen pests. So why didn’t you leave them on the web? It’s no different than the fly-glue you use!”

“Flies are a safety hazard in the kitchen, Lady Daniela! We only manage the fly population when the colonies are big enough to risk the staff getting sick and it’s… it’s always overseen by one of the older staff-members—” which now that she thought about it… that was a bit odd, wasn’t it?

“Flies don’t make people sick.”

Isolde scrunched her nose. “All of the reading I’ve done while trying to look up what these three girls are suggest otherwise, Lady Daniela.”

Lady Daniela scowled and crossed her arms about her stomach. She glared at Isolde across the distance between them and it made Isolde want to laugh. How was it that she was the one soothing the actual —very likely a serial killer— woman? She refrained from laughing. It would only make matters worse.

“You still didn’t answer why they’re not dead, though. I mean— if flies supposedly make people so sick then after they bit you —why didn’t you drown them or rip their wings off?”

“I do not rip off wings—” Isolde pinched the bridge of her nose. Counted to five. Counted backwards from five.

“Well?”

“They were nice to me!” Isolde didn’t mean to snap. It just… came out. She ducked her head. “Sorry. I’m sorry I—”

“What did you say?” A shuffle of footsteps as Lady Daniela neared. Isolde kept her head down. She refused to meet her gaze — didn’t want to.

“They were... nice — to me. I drew Eliza’s hand and it... reminded me of everything that happened that day and this one...” She stroked a finger along the thorax of the largest fly. “She… charged at the sketch because I was upset? It— I don’t really have friends here, Lady Daniela… and a very pretty but very weird fly was the first creature to be concerned about me and I know— I know that sounds silly, but this is a very isolating place and being...”

“You can say it.”

Isolde looked up at that. Lady Daniela was just out of arm’s reach now and braced herself for what they both knew Isolde was going to say next. Isolde stared at her for a minute, just long enough for the silence to get uncomfortable.

“We both know that you’d rather be one of Bela’s retainers, all right? Or maybe Cassa’s. I know that all right? I’m not— I’m not that delusional...” Lady Daniela’s voice was smaller than Isolde had heard before. “And — and alright maybe Cassa is right and I shouldn’t just... throw myself at every act of kindness as if it’s some grand statement of love and— and maybe I should have asked Bela... and, well, you — I suppose — but—”

“I was nice to you?” Isolde ventured. Lady Daniela’s glance was so shy before she nodded, once, and looked askance again.

“Something like that... yeah.”

Isolde risked moving closer even though Lady Daniela watched her with a wariness that, well, yeah, Isolde finally let herself laugh at.

Which might not have be the right move because Lady Daniela started to bristle. “What? What’s so funny?”

“Us.” Isolde gestured between them. “This conversation. Though, uh— when we had it before you went on that Lycan-hunting trip, you tried to murder me.”

Isolde grinned as Lady Daniela started to protest, thought about it, then wound up baring her teeth in a soundless snarl that quickly turned into a wry huff as she joined in Isolde’s mirth. “All right… fine. However, clarification? I didn’t try to murder you.”

“You had a sickle to my throat!”

Lady Daniela shrugged her shoulders. It was effortless and somehow charming. “So?”

“That-- that counts as attempted murder! You even implied that it was attempted murder!”

Lady Daniela shrugged her shoulders again. “Clearly, I said that in the heat of the moment. My passion overwhelmed me. I didn’t know what I was saying.” Every sentence came flatter than the one before it. Lady Daniela’s eyes, though, twinkled bright.

Isolde’s brow twitched. Just as Lady Daniela’s lips did.

“Look, Isolde, I can prove that I didn’t want to murder you. For example: You are clearly alive, for one,” She ticked that off on a finger, and held up a second one. “And— two? You’re now best friends with three very adorable lady flies.” Lady Daniela waggled those two fingers. “Your counter argument?”

“Lady Cassandra told me, and I quote,” Isolde cleared her throat and puts on what she thought was an impressive imitation of the huntress. “’I’ll try to convince Dani to take you off Death Row.’”

Lady Daniela’s hand dropped. “She did not!”

“Afraid so. Right after one of these girls but with gold eyes bit me. Why can’t you two have normal pets like cats?”

Lady Daniela scowled, her nose crinkling with distaste. “Ugh. Hate cats.”

“What? Why? They’re adorable. You have to admit they’re adorable.”

“They eat flies.” Lady Daniela turned her nose up. “I simply can’t abide by that.”

“... you have a thing with—fine. All right, back to my point. You were going to kill me and Lady Cassandra talked you out of it.”

“Uh, no? Cassa’s opinion is not that—all right, her opinion is that important to me but not when it comes to discussing the fate of a serial killer.” Lady Daniela nodded. Ball back in Isolde’s court.

“Serial... Daniela, I am not the woman with a literal garden of ex-lovers as free fertilizer.”

“Well, that’s wonderful!” Daniela set a hand over her heart and put on a very posh accent. “Neither am I!” She almost lost her voice when Isolde’s flat stare forced her to fight back a grin. “I am a woman with a greenhouse— stop glaring at me like that, thank you — fertilized with generously donated bodies that, by the way, soarece mic, you have no proof that I had any part in their demise.”

“You also have no proof that you weren’t not involved in their demise.”

“Hmm.” Daniela tapped a nail against her lower lip. “You have a point there. We are at an impasse, then. You are a dastardly black widow— devouring and drowning innocents but, alas, I cannot prove your crimes— yet. And then there’s me; an heiress wrongfully accused of murder and yet am without the recourse to properly clear my name.”

Isolde nodded. Very seriously. “I suppose we’ll have to keep an eye on the other, then. It’s safer that way.”

“I suppose.” Daniela agreed. She looked beyond Isolde as the door to the kitchen opened. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow evening?”

Daniela sounded regretful as she met Isolde’s eyes. “I really should be there when they talk to Maică. Neither one of them has any sense for botany. Seriously, I’m glad we’re not related sometimes. It would be so embarrassing.”

“You’re... wait, you’re not?” Isolde pondered that revelation for a moment. Looked down to see gossamer wings at her shoulder. “Oh, I should probably let these girls go back with you, right?”

“Hmm?” Daniela looked at the three flies each with a spot claimed of their own on Isolde’s shoulders. “Oh, no. We’re fine staying with you tonight. The swarm can reconnect tomorrow.” She touched Isolde’s shoulder then headed off at a quick pace to catch up with her sisters.

Isolde watched her leave, then went the last few meters to her room, made it to her door and had her hand on the handle when she realized what Daniela said.

We?

The fly trio buzzed, curious to the delay in bedding down. Isolde gave the largest one on her shoulder a second look. It waved a tiny leg back, almost in a salute.

“I’m going to bed.”

Brrzzzt.

“With the window cracked.”

BRRTZ!

Chapter Text

Daniela was there to greet her the next evening.

No, that’s not quite the way Isolde wanted to describe the encounter. That evening, Daniela was there to terrify Isolde into an early grave. It started with the bizarre sensation of being watched roused Isolde out of sleep. Cold trickled down the nape of her neck and quickly dragged her senses into high alert.

She opened her eyes and met the pair of golden eyes directly above her.

Isolde couldn’t help it. She screamed.

Daniela screamed too, scrambling back over the bed to duck down beyond the frame. There was the sound of frantic, alarm buzzing and — were there suddenly more of those strange, over-sized flies in her room?

“AAH! Why did you do that?!” Daniela scowled at her from behind the bed frame, with only the top of her face visible. From what Isolde could make out her eyes, they were wide and pupils-blown from panic, and as Daniela lifted her head up just a little bit there was the last remnants of a snarl at her lips.

Isolde sat up and struggled to catch her breath. Her heart slammed hard against the confines of her throat as she swallowed, trying to find the moisture to speak after screaming her voice hoarse. “La-Lady Daniela?”

“Who else would it be?!” Daniela wasn’t moving. She is, however, glaring at Isolde like Isolde is the one in the wrong here — which is silly. Isolde’s not the one creeping into another’s bedroom at —

“It’s like... three in the afternoon? What are you doing?” Isolde’s pulse finally starts to settle down — now that she’s not worried about being mauled in her sleep. She re-evaluates that thought with a glance over to Daniela. That might still be a risk, so she adds: “Here. In my room?”

“Waiting for you to wake up, obviously.” Daniela’s conclusions about Isolde trying to murder her — which again, rather uncalled for — seem to also be fading as she peeks higher up from her defensive position. “Not expecting you to attack me!”

“I did not atta— you were the one who startled me!”

“I didn’t do anything!”

“You were like — were you watching me? How long were you watching me?!” Isolde peered at the door. It’s closed, and locked. Answered absolutely nothing.

“Why are you making it sound creepy? It’s not creepy — I know because I wasn’t being creepy.” Daniela’s head was fully up over the bed frame by then. She rested her forearms on the wooden frame and set her chin petulantly into the cradle of her arms.

“How’d you like it if someone was staring at you?”

“Cassa does it all the time?” Daniela drew the observation into a question. Somehow, this situation twisted to have Isolde at fault. Isolde groaned — then snapped her fingers as she remembered something.

“You know who stared at people when they sleep? Cats.”

“You take that back! I am nothing like a cat!”

“My cat Sir Felix woke me up like that all the time.” Isolde pointed out. Daniela’s brows crinkled.

“Yeah — well — Sir Felix...” Daniela trailed off. Isolde waited. In fact, as she waited, she took the quiet moment to yawn and stretch. “Isaverycutenameugh.”

“Thank you.”

Daniela rolled her eyes. By now she’d relaxed enough to sit at the end of the bed without using it as a barrier. She held a hand out and from the little protective hide-cubby next to Isolde’s pillow came the three flies. They worked a path down the pillowcase and along the rumpled bedspread towards the heiress.

“I can’t believe your flies are so well-behaved.” Isolde commented as the three reached Daniela’s hand.

“Aww! According to Bela mine are practically feral — so thank you!” Daniela tossed her a grin as she coaxed the two damaged-wing flies to crawl onto her palm. The largest touched her index finger before meandering its way back over to Isolde.

Isolde watched it return and idly set her hand down for it to trek up to its — her favorite spot on Isolde’s shoulder. “Do you think they’ll be able to fly again?”

Daniela hummed as she lifted the two in hand for a closer look. She gently nudged the bent wing on one before looking at the chipped wing on the other, both which left her frowning. “I hope so. Swarming should help speed up the recovery.”

Isolde glanced up from watching the largest fly — she really needed a name. “Swarm?”

Daniela nodded, “Yeah, they’re sisters in a way? Best way to describe it, I suppose.” She tucked her hands back onto her lap after the two flies disappeared somewhere underneath the collar of Daniela’s turtleneck. A rich cream color, it looked as soft as fleece when Isolde gives it a longer look.

“How would...?” Isolde trailed off. She didn’t quite have the question figured out and so let it drift away. Daniela waited a moment to see if Isolde would continue — when she didn’t, Daniela decided that she was comfortable enough to start nosing around.

“So, is Mother not paying enough or are you just one of those minimalist ladies?”

Isolde snorted at the question. “Up until about a month or so ago I was sending most of my pay back home — figured I wasn’t going to be here long enough to personalize the space.”

Daniela nodded, drifting closer to the wardrobe and vanity. She noticed the picture-frame turned over but oddly didn’t pluck it up. She touched it though, then danced her fingers along the wood as she continued her self-guided tour. “Where’s home?”

“A very small, very sheltered town called Tolkiškės.”

Daniela’s nose scrunched in thought. “You’re Lithuanian? How did I not place that accent?”

“Probably because my father’s a British ex-pat who fought with my mother daily about her insistence on remaining in a country that hated our people.” At Daniela’s confusion, Isolde elaborated. “The Holocaust destroyed my parents’ faith, but no amount of spite or regret can take who we are away.”

“Oh.” Daniela’s fingers left the vanity as she completed her circuit. She looked around the room one last time before her eyes settled back on Isolde. “I didn’t know you were Jewish.”

“Because I don’t practice — anyways — uh, I didn’t know you could speak Lithuanian.”

“I dabble, really. I’m much more fluent in Russian and Hungarian. French too— obviously — for romance.” Daniela returned to sitting at the end of the bed, hands neatly tucked in her lap. “Bela’s the traveler so Mother’s ensured she’s fluent in like — everything — but I just happen to really like languages.”

“Well, if you want to do more than dabble, I’d be happy to brush up your skills.” Isolde’s cheeks flushed warm when Daniela offered her a shy, genuine smile.

“I’d appreciate that, thanks.”

“Y-yeah, of course.”

Isolde realized she was staring. She coughed and averted her eyes before she could be accused of such. “So, uh, what made you decide to wake me up way too early?”

“Well...” Daniela leaned back on the bed. She braced herself by her elbows and tilted her head up to peer at the ceiling. “I figure I’d walk with you to breakfast — like how friends do — but if I’d known you wake up at the worst time, I’d never have bothered getting scared to death.”

“Scared to—" Isolde cut off. This was a repeat of the murderer’s conversation. “Lady Daniela, you snuck into my room— “

“I did not sneak!” Daniela turned her head to the side, glaring. “Stop making it sound so creepy.”

“It is a little creepy.”

“Whatever. I’m not the one who scares girls for fun so I’m not going to accept your judgement.”

Isolde’s practical side clamped down on the need to clarify who scared whom. “... all right. What’s suddenly got you interested in the staff’s breakfast hours?”

Daniela’s gaze went back on the ceiling. “I’ve been gone for so long — I missed you! Didn’t you miss me?”

Isolde’s nerves prickled. There was something about the sing-song in Daniela’s voice that suggested something more than that. “Uh-huh - and the real reason?”

Daniela’s nose scrunched again, and a scowl danced over her features. It was gone just as quickly, though. “You’re no fun, you know? Can’t I have some secrets?”

Isolde thought back to the buried body in the Greenhouse. She hadn’t found any more — she also didn’t try too hard to dig for them. “I think you’ve still got plenty of those.”

Daniela peered at her with one golden eye.

 Isolde was proud of her restraint when she didn’t roll her eyes at Daniela’s exaggerated sigh.

“I didn’t realize you’d be so grumpy in the evenings.”

“Uh - one? It’s afternoon. Nowhere near evening; and two? I am not grumpy.” Daniela turned her full stare on her now.

Isolde couldn’t help but grin as she leaned in. “You’re a little grumpy.”

Daniela gently shoved at Isolde’s shoulder, returning the grin. “All right, fine, since you’re going to be nosy about it.” If she saw the dubiousness of Isolde’s expression, she ignored it. “I wanted to see the hounds that chased you into the old cistern.”

Isolde blinked, not even fazed by the shove. “Lady Cassandra told you about that?”

Daniela’s eyes narrowed. “... yes. Yes, she did.” The lie rolled clumsy off her tongue. “However, she didn’t give me names, though — just that she spoke with them.”

Daniela nudged Isolde when she didn’t answer quick enough. “Isolde?”

“It was handled, Lady Daniela.”

Daniela’s pupils constricted with the use of her title. “You’re mad at me.” She stated, voice as flat as her stare. “I don’t understand why? I’m doing everything that a friend is supposed to. I’m listening and I’’m— “

“I’m not mad at you,” Isolde sat up, now on the edge of the bed right next to Daniela. She stayed there until she collected her bearings and then it was up to get ready for the coming evening.

“Yes you are, you’ve got that look— yes, that one right now! That’s the look you gave me when we had that silly spat about Eliza and you were mad at me then, therefore— “

She followed Isolde throughout most of her waking routine. Isolde ignored her for the most part until she twirled a finger to suggest Daniela turn about.

“Ugh, fine but I don’t see why when we’re together— anyways because you were mad at me then, you’ve got to be mad at me now. I can hear your heartbeat, you know? It’s pounding.”

“Because I’m — I’m not angry at you! I’m —" Isolde cut off with a slight growl and decided to divert her attention to making sure she had the toiletries she wants, as well as her entire wardrobe. It was early enough that she could just rush to and from the washroom in a robe, but she didn’t trust Daniela to peek.

“Scared?” Daniela’s voice softened. She sounded almost upset at that.

“No. Not now. I was — earlier. Scared and angry with you but — can you hand me that basket?”

“Does that mean I can turn around now?” Daniela asked as she did as requested; handing Isolde the small carry-hold for her bathing trip. When she noticed that Isolde’s still in her sleepwear, she pouts. “I wasn’t going to peek!”

“Habit, I suppose.” Isolde started towards the door, Daniela still right on her heels, when she paused and notices the bed linens. She’d been tired enough last night that she’d forgotten to wash before and the grime of the last week or so...

“Hold this.”

Isolde handed Daniela back the carry-on, then the folded pile of clothing. Daniela, surprisingly, took the items without fuss, curiously watching as Isolde stripped the linens off and gathered them up.

“All right, I’ll have to swing by the laundry first but — I want a clean bed. Where are our little friends?”

Daniela’s eyes twinkled as she gestured to the wooden bedframe. “Ready for their trip, of course.”

“All right then,” Isolde leaned her hip against the wood so the flies could find purchase on her clothing. “After you, Daniela.”

They stepped out into the hallway and Daniela fell right into line with her. It wasn’t too far to the laundresses’ area and the place was thankfully empty as Isolde dropped off her linens.

Daniela hummed next to her. When Isolde asked, the heiress smiled. “This is — well, not fun — but I’ve never got to just tag along with anyone but Cassa and Bela before.”

Surprisingly, as they reached the cross-way for the common wash rooms, Daniela shook her head when Isolde starts to head down the way to the communal baths. “Actually, come with me?”

“All... right?”

“Don’t worry, you’ll still get squeaky clean.”

Isolde was now the one trailing after Daniela as the youngest heiress heads up to the ground floor, then along the hallways of rich, dark wood to the wings that belonged to the Dimitrescu women.

The Rose Staff were awake, or rather, two of them were begrudgingly awake, leaning against the other as they try to steal the little energy from the steaming mugs in their hands.

“Hi Chloe, Wolf!” Daniela’s greeting is bright as she and Isolde walk past.

“Wolf?” Isolde inquires, turning her head to peek at the two women as they continue past. She sees nothing that would suggest the need for that sort of nickname for the woman but Daniela’s taking her around a corner and coming to a stop.

“Mmhmm. Here we go. This one’s for our guests but as we’re not entertaining at the moment— you can use it.”

“I— thank you?” Isolde stepped into a bath suite that puts much of what she’d ever experienced to shame. The room was designed around a large bay window looking out over the dark woods and welcoming the evening light. The paneling continued the dark wood of the rest of the castle, but the accents and fixtures brought spots of warmth with gold and bronze filigree.

“I don’t understand why I can’t just bathe down with the rest of the staff?”

Daniela peered at her. “So that is like how the books say...” she murmured, almost exactly how she sounds when figuring out how to transplant delicate plants without damaging them.

“What what said?”

“Commoner reactions. It’s just a bath, silly mouse. You’re allowed to be pampered a bit, no?” Daniela set Isolde’s things on a counter.

“I—" Isolde thought of the other staff and how being Daniela’s sole maiden already isolated her as it was.

“Fine, not pampered. That’s — ugh— I always hate books where it looks like the hero’s trying to show off or buy the heroine’s affections. Think of this as a thank you.”

“For the windows? I — I mean I would have felt terrible if you’d lost all of those plants.”

“And watching after my three little ones,” Daniela propped a hip against the counter. “The windows, sure, I guess we can say that’s a part of your job, but you didn’t have to do anything with those three and — you did, so thank you.”

“Oh, well,” Isolde watched as the three flies shimmied down and off her clothes to wander over to where Daniela’s fingers idly traced patterns in the countertop. “You’re welcome, then.”

“Good, now that that’s out of the way— we can also talk in here without anyone else barging in. Talk about things like... how you say you’re not mad at me, but your heart did speed up a bit, and your pupils dilated, and — well— there’s a certain smell that— “

“Smell?” Isolde didn’t hide how she tucked her chin to her shoulder and inhaled. “I don’t smell! An-and if I do smell— that’s why I’m going to bathe!”

Daniela blinked, not expecting to be caught off-guard, and laughed. “Oh! Your expression!” She clapped her hands together, grinning. “Yes, people smell differently when they’re under extreme emotions. Now, Cassa’s amazing at picking out details but I know the basics.”

“I do not smell.” Isolde repeated, almost petulantly. She busied herself ducking into the adjoining room where the tub was. “What if you’re smelling yourself, hmm?” She poked her head around the corner. “Did you even bathe after you got back from wherever?”

“Mm, now that you mention it...” Daniela’s grin slipped to a sly smile.

“That is not an invitation, either.”

“Oh, boo.” Daniela didn’t look that put out. Isolde heard her pick up that soft humming noise as the water started up.

When she was stripped down and, in the tub, Daniela slipped about the corner and perches on a comfortable looking bench nearby. She tucked her feet underneath her and propped her head in a hand.

“Do you mind?”

“What?” Daniela looked puzzled. Isolde sunk a little lower in the tub, but the heiress didn’t come closer or leer.

“You could have waited in the other room? Or ... not here?”

“But it’s warm here — and I hate talking through walls?”

Isolde sighed. Of all the battles to pick, this is one she’ll forfeit. “Fine. May I ask you a question?”

“Of course!” Daniela’s head tilted with her hand. “Ask away!”

“What would happen to the women if I named any of them?”

Daniela’s bright demeanor dimmed, just a fraction. “Well, I— I don’t see how their punishment should bother you any. It’s their penance, after all.”

“What makes you think I even want them to be... punished?” Isolde braced her forearms on the tub, head resting in the cradle of her arms as she watched the redhead for her reaction.

Daniela blinked. Again, stunned. “I ...” She trailed off, unsure for a beat until she met Isolde’s gaze head on and earnestly, “Because they made you feel really scared?”

Isolde stiffened. She hadn’t told anyone that. Hell, she hadn’t even written it down in a letter, or a journal. “How...”

“An-and sure, you made it out all right, and Cassa said to just ignore it because nothing happened but— but you’re my maiden, and that means I’m supposed to make sure you’re protected and safe and ... not being scared for your life.”

There was a part of Isolde that’s flattered, and a little taken aback. However — “No, Daniela, really. Who told you? I told no one about what happened down there so how did you find out?”

Isolde expected another head tilt, or a dismissive brush-off. What she got was Daniela straightening up and watching her with a quietness that Isolde didn’t associate with the redhead. “You.... really don’t know, do you?”

“Know what?”

Daniela was fidgeting, well, no— that’s not quite right. Daniela was restless, like she’d held a secret that she’d been dying to let loose.

“The rule is that only the Rose Staff is supposed to know and even they’re strictly monitored because if it becomes common knowledge... well, I don’t know what would happen but Mother and Maica both really, really stress that we shouldn’t... but...”

“Daniela,” Isolde used her name to try to focus her. “Daniela, what are you talking about?”

“But you took such good care of me and— and that means something, right?” Daniela wasn’t speaking to her directly anymore. She was call-and-responding without expecting Isolde to answer at all.

“Daniela...” Isolde grew worried. “If you’re not supposed to tell me then don’t.”

Not because Isolde didn’t want to know but if the Countess had a strict say on who is allowed to know...?

“Daniela, really, it’s fine.”

“No. It’s not! It’s not because I don’t like lying.”

“I don’t mind.” Daniela gave her a look that killed her protests. “I ... if you Mother didn’t want me to know then if you tell me, we’ll both be lying to her instead.”

“She lies to us so maybe that’s just being fair?” Daniela stood up and Isolde had the sudden sense that if Daniela wasn’t not stopped, right then— then she didn’t know what.

“Daniela, please. If it’s better for me not to know... don’t tell me.”

“What if knowing helps you in your job as my retainer, though?” Daniela was at least looking directly at her again. A start.

“I... “

“Wait here. Ok? It’ll ... explain... a lot.”

Daniela darted out to the adjoining room as Isolde rose to try and snag her wrist. Isolde slumped back into the bath, feeling about as cold as she would be if snow dumped into the tub about now.

She didn’t look up as Daniela returned but did notice when Daniela set the three little flies down on a metal tray on the rim of the tub.

“The flies.... told you?” Isolde looked up. The start of indignation— of being teased and prodded bubbled in her chest but then there’s another fly.

There’s another fly.

And another, and a sixth, and ... and...

Isolde surged back as the soft humming she’s been hearing from Daniela turned into a gentle drone of noise as the woman became the eye of a cyclone of noise and color until there was no woman...

Just a swarm of strange, lovely flies that balanced ever so carefully on the tub and any nearby surface as to not fall in.

It...didn’t make sense. It made total sense.

She didn’t scramble back, or out of the tub, but watched as the three flies that she knew first, the ones that couldn’t really fly, reach out tentative feet towards her.

“That’s... why you accused me of being a murderer...” Isolde murmured, her eyes darting from the swarm that crawled along the rim and started to pull back, take flight and form and shape.

When Daniela returned, she stood just out of reach of the tub and managed to look both terrified and hopeful all at the same time.

“I— I saw how scared you were and I felt terrible and — and I know how Bela and Cassa run their staff but I don’t... I don’t want a servant o-or a maid.”

“What do you want?”

“A friend?” Daniela took her seat again, this time folding her legs lotus-style and tucking her hands in her lap. “Is that really so terrible?”

“It’s not, no...”

“But... I also know that I can’t be friends with someone and not tell them the most important thing about me which is— “

“How does it work?” Isolde jumped in, her eyes on the three that still haven’t returned to the Swarm. “The... well—" she flapped her hand, “All of that? Is your mind split throughout them? I... wait, I’ve seen you eat— how do you eat? Or breathe? Or... laugh? Daniela, you can laugh and turn into a swarm!”

Daniela chuckled softly. “Sometimes I can laugh while I’m turning into the swarm.”

“How!?” Isolde shifted closer in the tub. “That’s... that should be impossible.”

Daniela’s smile strengthened as Isolde’s reaction didn’t devolve into panic. “No one really understands it. Mother has some basic knowledge of biology but we’re way more advanced — and she refuses to ...” she trailed off, still smiling, but shrugged. “No one knows.”

“You said we’re— so like the swarm is ... you? All of it?”

“Well, when some of the drones get caught too long out of it, they’re pretty much regular flies until they’re rejoined with their sisters.”

“Oh.” Isolde looked down at the trio as they peered back up at her. “Well ... they’re much more than regular flies.”

“You’re not freaking out.” A statement, rather than a question.

“I am not freaking out. I am... this is so fascinating, Daniela! I ... I am freaking about because I think I understand why your Mother wants this knowledge kept secret.” Cold snaps, for one.

“Yeah, but you won’t spread it around, and now that you know— well— “

“I won’t tell a soul,” Isolde reached a hand to touch the outstretched feet. “I promise.”

“You better not, because if you do— it’s not me you’ll answer to.” Daniela’s smile was a feral thing, all teeth as she tucked forward. “Now because I showed you something important you have to tell me something important too— “

“Daniela, I’m not going to tell you their names.”

“Why not?!”

“It doesn’t matter why, what matters is that disputes get settled without involving you, your sisters, or your mothers.”

“They ran you into a cave of lycans and left you there! I think that’s a little more than some… some petty pranks, Isolde.”

“And I survived, didn’t I?”

“It gave you nightmares!”

“How did you…?” Isolde’s eyes fell on the three flies she’d allowed to sleep in her room. On her bed. Answer given. “Oh, ok. you are not sleeping with me anymore and you can have your drones back.”

“What?! No! We like you!” Daniela went to her feet again, and then knelt so she was almost eye-to-eye with Isolde in the tub.

“I like my privacy.”

“I— well, what if the swarm doesn’t want them back?”

Brrtz? A gentle query, soft and sorrowful as the littlest fly approached Daniela’s arm.

Daniela’s attention immediately went to her. “What? No, of course, you’re welcomed back but I’m in the middle of something here?”

Brrrrtz.

“Can I… can we compromise?” Isolde found the conversation fascinating but there’s something more important here. “Let me try this my way for a little while longer and if they do anything else… then I’ll ask for your help.”

“... your way involves sleep deprivation and meal-skipping. If you were Bela’s retainer, she wouldn’t stand for that at all.”

“I’m not Lady Bela’s retainer, though. I’m your friend.”

“... you are?”

That was a low-blow; but she needed the breathing room to try and figure out how to handle Cassandra’s wolfpack without Daniela’s brand of justice or punishment getting involved as she’s certain that it won’t be a pretty sight at all, so she nodded, and reached out a hand to find Daniela’s tucked between her arms, and curled her fingers about the heiress’ palm. “Yes. Who else can say they’ve got a swarm as their friend?”

Chapter Text

In retrospect, Isolde should have expected this outcome.

It was already a miracle among the gossip-mill that she’d lasted this long — long enough that she was the only exception to the long-established cycle associated with the youngest Dimitrescu daughter’s appetites that she overheard her own name included in the latest revision to the warning.

Of course, when she’d been the one feeding that line to the newcomers, she hadn’t really believed that Daniela killed her maids. At best, she’d figured, the awkwardness of the ill-fated romances meant a discreet dismissal before gossip reared its ugly head.

Well, that naivety had been well and truly burned from her.

Now, Isolde knew better, and when she added her take on the warnings, they came with stressed reinforcement on keeping low, keeping out of mind, and not catching Daniela’s roving eye.

For that’s truly what Daniela had.

After the talk in the bath, Isolde thought they’d reached a breakthrough of some sorts.

And, really, they had. For a time. Daniela had backed off, allowing the Isolde autonomy to handle the Wolfpack herself. They’d worked better in the Greenhouse now that Isolde understood that Daniela’s commentary on the territories and political drama on the various pollinators wasn’t pulled impromptu from an overactive imagination but ... likely was occurring.

The rough patches in the emerging groove of Isolde’s new experience came about a week after The Swarming, as Isolde thought of the conversation. Two nights where she’d found herself absent instructions or summons; not at the greenhouse, nor the library, nor even as a conversationalist.

Isolde’s first thought was that Daniela had taken advantage of the warm break between dour nights to hunt as she’d mentioned wanting a rabbit’s winter pelt for a new pair of gloves, but Daniela hadn’t left the castle.

To be more specific, Daniela hadn’t left the side of a brawny, smoky-eyed woman who Isolde knew only as one of the recent arrivals for the Castle’s wintering season.

Isolde was thrown off — at first. She’d never seen Daniela interact with any of the staff beyond the occasional Rose and didn’t pay it mind until she’d followed up on a quick summons from a Scarlet that an expected package from The Duke had arrived.

She felt like she was intruding, somehow, when she found Daniela leaning on the upper railing, playing keep away with a polishing rag that the maiden in question lifted up on her toes to reach for.

It brought her close enough that if Daniela leaned forward, they’d kiss.

Isolde coughed and rapped her knuckles on the wall next to her. No response. She called Daniela’s name three times before the maiden noticed her first.

Blushing, the maiden lowered herself to her feet and excused herself for tasks in the lower halls. Isolde watched her go before she looked back to Daniela.

Daniela was scowling at her, her eyes narrowed. “Yes? What do you want?”

Isolde blinked. Not quite the reaction she’d expected. “Well, Daniela — “

“Lady Daniela.”

That shouldn’t sting but it did. Isolde swallowed. “…Lady Daniela, your merchandise from The Duke has arrived. You asked me to fetch you as soon as I’d heard.”

Daniela stiffened, and something about her gaze shimmered wetly before it hardened. She shoved off the banister and dropped the rag she’d been holding. It fell unceremoniously onto the floor. With a roll of her eyes, she gestured for Isolde to hand over the itemized list. “You have no sense for tact.”

“Pardon?”

“Obviously I was in the middle of something very important?” Daniela flicked her gaze up, irritation still there, before she read through the list.

“You mentioned — “

“Ugh, you already said that.” Daniela tucked the list into a pocket, “And it’s not about what I said it’s about — whatever,” She flapped a hand at Isolde. “Thank you. Go ... elsewhere now. Please.”

Daniela made her way towards the stairs after that. She stopped with a groan when she noticed Isolde has not, in fact gone elsewhere — but rather had fallen into step behind her.

“What now?”

“They need to be brought inside, right?” Isolde tried to keep her tone and expression neutral.

“What sort of question is that? That’s where I’m going?” The ‘obviously’ was silent but there.

Isolde knew a losing battle when she was in one. “What shall I do, my Lady?”

Daniela wrinkled her nose at the question. “I don’t know? Something not here. In fact, take the night off. You’re relieved of your duties to attend to me.”

Daniela continued downstairs without further conversation.

Despite the dismissal, Isolde never enjoyed being idle and so, without direct orders, she worked on the various tasks she’d uncovered during her last time being left to her own devices. One of them included repairing the iron-soldered windows that weren’t in immediate danger of cracking but could use a touch-up before the next cold snap.

She was caught up in her own world, chattering idly away with Adele, the largest of the three flies and the one that constantly traveled with her. She didn’t hear Daniela’s laughter until the heiress was practically on her position.

Isolde was about to greet her when she caught a glimpse through the heavy foliage. Daniela wasn’t alone and still stinging from the last dismissal, Isolde wasn’t keen on a second round.

She stayed low, trusting that sightlines and a distinct lack of showy color would help her avoid detection.

That maiden’s there again, this time at Daniela’s side with her hand curled into Daniela’s elbow and setting such a wide-eyed stare up at the flame-kissed heiress that Isolde rolled her eyes hard at the display.

Daniela was showing off the gardens. As… was her right, they were a crowning jewel to be displayed, but the way the maiden simpers suggested that she didn’t actually understand the theories and decisions behind the arrangements. Just that they were pretty.

“It is so gorgeous in here, Lady Daniela! It’s just like how I imagined Eden when Milton described it.”

“Ah-ah, my sweet songbird, there’s no need for formalities.” Daniela clasped the girl’s chin between forefinger and thumb and tilted it up. “Not between us.”

The girl — the ‘songbird’ giggled and sure, all right, Isolde admitted that her voice was, somewhat, musical.

“Oh! O-of course La... Daniela,” She ducked her head, a rose tinge to her cheeks. “I feel a bit ... scandalous calling you by your Christian name.”

Daniela laughed. “Don’t be. We might be in your vision of paradise, Songbird, but I like to think I’m more the serpent here to tempt you toward the sweetest sins, mm?”

Isolde averted her eyes. She glared holes into the wooden handle of the hammer she’s holding white-knuckled against her lap. She didn’t need to look to know what that soft noise meant.

When they walked on, Isolde released the breath she’d been holding and attributed the ache in her chest to a lack of oxygen.

Adele buzzed softly, little feet patting Isolde’s hand, but had no insight into her mistress’ change in behavior.

Trouble found her just after the servant’s dinner. Isolde noticed too late that the small dining room cleared too quickly for a natural filing out. When she reached the doorway, she stopped herself before she slammed into the person standing in the middle of it.

Rowena’s smile set Isolde’s nerves on edge. There hadn’t been any confrontation since the catacombs and Isolde had thought the matter settled when she’d been left pretty much alone after the heiresses returned.

Evidently not.

Isolde looked behind and around her. Five other Wolfpack maidens carved a crescent at her back, preventing direct retreat. She faced Rowena. “May I help you with something?”

Rowena tilted her head, and her smile grew. “My, aren’t you an eager bee. Interested in another hunt?”

“Not particularly, no.”

She clicked her tongue. “Pity. Good thing I’m not here for that.”

Isolde didn’t want to find out what she was there for. “Can it wait? I’m busy at the moment.”

“Oh, right to the point. I knew I liked you.” Rowena leaned forward. “Anyways, we both know that you have absolutely nowhere to be right now. You haven’t in... what, two, three nights now?”

“So? How is that’s any of your business?” Isolde tried to step around Rowena.

Rowena stepped right back into the way. “You’re misunderstanding me, I’m sorry. I meant that I won’t keep you long. I just wanted to extend our... condolences?”

Isolde closed her eyes. Inhale. Exhale. Opened them. “For what, exactly?”

“Relax, Isolde, I’m not here to start anything. I just... look. Do you know when a child really begs and pleads for a rabbit around Easter? And the parents give in because they’re a year older, they’re mature enough now...”

Isolde’s eyes narrowed. Her teeth ground at the sudden tightness of her jaw. Behind her, she sensed the crescent tightening.

“They get the rabbit and it’s so cute and everyone loves it... and then summer comes around and Miss Rabbit is left out in the hutch in the back garden because the what the child really wanted was a kitten.”

Isolde rolled her neck to the side. Adele crawled along the inside seem of her collar. “Your story have a point?”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I forgot there’s a language barrier. I’m saying that we’re sorry that you’re last month’s pet. That you’re single... I think that’s the British term?”

Isolde’s bark of laughter was a bitter crack in the space between words. “Are you serious right now?”

“Little Miss Terika is strutting around just like you did. There’s no subtlety with you flower maidens. Just a lack of awareness and common sense.”

Isolde’s nails dug into her palm. Every nerve primed to strike if she acted on it. She didn’t. A physical confrontation was going to leave her poorly. Rowena’s smirk dug into the wounded belly of her esteem, and she needed to lash out somehow.

“Why do you care if I’m single or not? Are you interested?”

Rowena scoffed. “No.”

“Then what’s with the stalking? Honestly, it’s like you’ve pulled all your plays from Lady Daniela’s book— “

Rowena’s hand clamped down on her jaw. Fingers calloused from manual labor and attached to an arm that tensed with muscle dug painfully into her jaw harder and harder until Isolde whimpered out of instinct and pain.

“You’re going to regret comparing me to that psychopath,” Rowena growled as she leaned in. She lifted Isolde up by the jaw alone, uncaring that Isolde’s feet kicked out to try and get purchase somewhere.

“Rowena! Shit, Rowena, stop.” A woman with braided blonde hair stepped up, tugging at Rowena’s arm. “You know the rules!”

“Do I?” Rowena mused, tilting her head like a dog ready to pounce. Her eyes were obsidian, malice glittering along the edge. “I’m sure if the Rose Staff ask us, we’ll all say it was a simple, forgivable, misunderstanding.”

“Rowena, she’s still Lady Daniela’s and — “

“I know she’s still Lady Daniela’s property, Odette, I don’t need you crowing on about it!”

“Then let her go before there’s more than bruises!” Odette hissed.

Rowena let go with a shove. The crescent broke behind her as Isolde stumbled and barely caught herself with a painful jab from a table corner.

At least it wasn’t the floor.

She struggled to right herself and get her hands between Rowena and her jaw again. Rowena barreled past them, snatching Isolde’s collar dangerously close to where Adele resided. Isolde froze.

“Listen to me. You should be rotting and serving up mulch like every other broken, discarded plaything that psychopathic girl had before you. Understand? You don’t deserve to be the exception. Not you.”

Rowena let her go. Survival instinct kept Isolde’s gaze lowered. Humiliation and pain burned bright in her eyes. She refused to let them have that.

Isolde didn’t move until Rowena was out the door and the room cleared of the wolfpack save for one. Odette lingered and flinched when Isolde’s glare snapped up to her.

“What?” It’s defensive. Prickly. Guilty. “I saved your ass, what do you want?”

“What the hell did I ever do to her?” Isolde’s voice wavered to keep steady.

Odette’s mouth twisted around words that she didn’t have the guts to say. When she spoke, her voice was flat, and her eyes went somewhere above Isolde’s head. “You didn’t do anything.”

“Then what the hell is her problem with me?!”

“You lived. Simple as that.”

Isolde stared after her as she left. It’s only when she was certain she’s alone that she took Adele out from underneath the collar. “You all right?”

Brrzt. Adele reached her forefeet up. Brrrrrtz?

“I’ll manage. C’mon, I’ve got some leftovers for your sisters to share.”

Brrt. Adele took her place on Isolde’s shoulder and didn’t tuck away this time. She remained there like a tiny sentinel until they could be safely locked behind closed doors.

Isolde didn’t believe that she’d seen the last of Rowena’s temper. She braced herself for confrontation over the next three nights but found herself surprisingly unbothered.

She didn’t trust it.

She was proven right on the third night. The increasing isolation from both the other staff members and Daniela herself had Isolde adrift where she used to know the waters well.

She was eager to sleep, to close her eyes to the nonsense and wake up to a new start. Somehow. Hell, maybe she’d request a day shift.

STRAYS DON’T HAVE HOMES

A sticky, black ichor fouled up the hallway with a stench that gagged. Isolde pushed through it, touching one of the clean spots on the door to nudge it open.

Ichor dribbled down the walls, over the floor, along the overturned bed. It congealed on the scattered and torn bed linens, stained her uniforms.

At first glance, everything appeared to be there. Just... ruined.

Isolde’s mind was beyond the stench, though. She stared at the wall and didn’t see ichor. Didn’t smell the rotting, gurgled mess.

She smells the iron-tang. She stares at the splashes of blood that soak and drip down through the awning of her father’s storefront. She doesn’t understand the words yet, but she knew the intent behind them. Understands why the neighbors can’t meet their eyes when they pass by.

Isolde swallowed her tears. Sucked down the rage until the memory is ash on her tongue as she stepped forward.

Her heel cracked over a piece of pinewood. The little makeshift hidey-hole is splintered into dozens of pieces.

No...

Isolde dropped to her knees, uncaring that the black ichor squelched underneath her weight. “No, no no... you’re both fine. You’re fine. You can stop hiding now, they’re gone. They’re gone and they’ve made their point.”

Adele crawled slowly out from Isolde’s collar. Her wings were low and wide, her feet lifting to the air to scent. She carefully hopped to Isolde’s other shoulder, then down to the overturned mattress.

When Adele beat her wings loudly to make a buzzing noise, Isolde turned to her. “You found them? Show me.”

Isolde followed Adele’s slow lead until she peeled back a broken piece of the headboard to find a crack that ran deep into the wood grain. A pair of flies could have easily scurried into it and then managed to get stuck.

She peeked in. “Rasa? Yaara?”

She received two distinct tones in response.

“Oh, thank Hashem...” Isolde looked for something to pry the wood apart further. She does so carefully as to not risk damaging either one of the smaller drones.

When they clambered out, they’re quivering from thorax to butt but look to be unharmed beyond a light layer of sawdust. Adele made her way over with a flurry of alarm-noises and fussed over them with feet and wing beats like a Momma Cat would with two kittens. When she was assured they were all right, she assured Isolde as well.

“I thought you were...” She trailed off, looking at the shattered hidey-hole. “Didn’t matter. You’re safe. We’re safe.”

Isolde allowed the three to settle on her shoulder and underneath her collar before she stood and faced the mess. “I’m going to tell Daniela about this. I don’t care if they’re bullying me but this —" Isolde’s gaze skittered painfully over the phrase repeated from the hallway onto the back wall. “This isn’t just petty, stupid hazing and you two could have been killed.”

What if they’d broken one of the windows?

Three soft thrums at her neck.

“Of course that makes all the difference!” Isolde shook her head. Where does she even start? She chose the linens first; best to see what’s salvageable and what isn’t before she worried about anything else.

When the pitifully small amount of laundry was dropped off, Isolde went to find Daniela after a quick scrub off. It didn’t do much but at least she wasn’t treading it everywhere now. It was late, but Daniela was typically still active this close to sunrise, so she checked her usual haunts first.

The Greenhouse was quiet and still when she entered. Nothing there. The library greeted her much the same, as did the Opera Hall. Even the atelier was cloistered and looked to haven’t been touched in days.

Isolde returned to the upper hallway. She’s half-mind to just give up right there when Yaara buzzed for her attention.

A striking figure made short work of the distance from the courtyard towards the Daughter’s Wing. Even in the low lighting, Lady Bela was unmistakable.

Isolde risked the chance. She rushed to the banister and raised her voice just to where it would carry down below. “Lady Bela?”

Lady Bela slowed to a stop and eerily honed immediately to where Isolde was. Molten, luminous gold rose to meet her through the dark. “Miss Ardenlane.”

Isolde set back on her heels. “I really don’t mean to intrude on your night, but have you seen Danie... Lady Daniela tonight?”

Isolde couldn’t quite make out Lady Bela’s expression, but she could make out the surprise Lady Bela adjusted too late in her voice. “You’re not with her.”

Was that supposed to be a question or a statement of fact? Isolde decided to go along with the question. “No, Lady. I must speak with her though.”

Lady Bela glanced back the way she came. Daniela couldn’t be outside. It was freezing out there. Then again, had Lady Bela been...?

“I’m afraid Daniela’s occupied for the morning and — “

“I won’t take up too much time. Just... point me in the direction and I’ll find it. No need to waste the last dregs of your night?”

Lady Bela’s gaze sharpened at the interruption. “Is it urgent?”

Isolde thought back to the mess in her room. “Well...”

“If you have to think on it, that’s a ‘No’, Miss Ardenlane.”

“I know but — “

“Therefore, it’s probably best suited for tomorrow evening — “

“Daniela would want to hear this. I promise — I promise I won’t waste your time.”

Was that a creak of leather? Lady Bela sighed, exasperation leaking through. “Fine. Come along this way and do try to keep up? I am not going to be up with the sun.”

Isolde took the stairs down by two. She caught up to Lady Bela at the entrance threshold to a wing adjacent to the daughters’ own, but more situated along the interior courtyard’s wall. When she came to a stop next to Lady Bela, the heiress made a noise.

“Why do you reek of Lycan?” Lady Bela stepped fully aside to put space between them. Isolde tried not to take it personally.

Embarrassment flooded Isolde’s cheeks. “Part of what I need to speak with Daniela for — “

“Lady Daniela,” Lady Bela corrected absentmindedly.

“Right. Lady Daniela. My apologies.”

“Regardless,” Lady Bela waved the apology away as they walked. “Lycans fell under Cassandra’s purview. Or — in your case — her hounds. You should be bringing this up with them first if there’s trouble. Why aren’t you?”

Isolde hedged on a half-truth. “It’s not exactly a Lycan problem. It’s ... lycan-adjacent and Da... Lady Daniela swore me to tell her first before anyone else. That it was a knight’s oath.”

Lady Bela scoffed. “That sounds like Dani.”

“I swear if it were a threat to the castle, I wouldn’t bother overreaching Lady Cassandra’s grasp. I just — “

Lady Bela waved a hand again. She didn’t want to hear excuses. “It doesn’t matter. Whatever Daniela does with her staff is her business. If there is a problem — she could take it up to Cassandra why she’s forcing maidens to ignore protocol.”

“I — yes, Lady Bela.”

“Mm.” They didn’t speak again until they came to an unassuming door at the end of a hallway filled with game trophies large and small.

The warmth of a hearth fire seeped out underneath the doorframe as Lady Bela rapped her knuckles against it.

The knock interrupted a low giggle and a conversation in a language that Isolde didn’t understand but recognized as French.

There’s only a brief pause before it resumed, leaving Lady Bela to roll her eyes. “Honestly...” She knocks louder.

The conversation stopped. “Oui?”

“Tu as une minute pour vous nettoyer avant que j’ouvre la porte.”

“Bela?” Daniela slipped back to Romanian. “What the hell? Go away?!”

Lady Bela glanced down at her nails, looking for all the world like she’s already bored of this conversation. When the minute was up, she didn’t bother with a knock, she just opened the door. “Trust me, I’d rather be anywhere but here but your retainer insists.”

“My what?”

Lady Bela stepped aside so Isolde could step in as well. The room was an intimate den with the focal point on a large set of arched windows overlooking the courtyard’s statuary and fountains. Underneath the moonlit snow the marble gleams bright and beautiful.

Daniela glared at the both of them from her recline on one of the long couches. Her hair was mussed, her lipstick was little more than a smear across her mouth, and Isolde’s not ever seen that much bared skin before on any of the heiresses. Neither Daniela nor Lady Bela seemed fazed that Daniela had not taken the minute to make herself decent.

Or perhaps... this was her being decent.

Sat astride Daniela’s lap, at least Terika was aware that the situation wasn’t exactly the most ideal to be caught in. Her shirt was unbuttoned, tugged down around her arms so she couldn’t quite shrug it up and button it. Her neck was a purple and red map to Daniela’s favorite spots, and Isolde’s gaze wandered down that trail before she caught herself and stared hard at the fire for a second or two to burn the image out of her mind.

“What do you want now?” Daniela groused, ire leveled onto Isolde when she looked back. “Didn’t I... dismiss you from, like, all your duties?”

Isolde kept her gaze at eye-level. “Daniela— “

“Lady Daniela,” Daniela snapped, eyes flashing.

That threw Isolde off-guard. She took a moment to reorient her approached. “Lady Daniela, I wanted to give you that list of names you wanted concerning the Wolfpack.”

“Wolfpack?” Daniela’s nose scrunches. “I don’t remember any wolf pack around here.”

Isolde’s throat pinched on her next words. Behind her, Lady Bela’s stare leveled at her skull. I promise it wouldn’t be a waste of time... Isolde’s words echo.

“The Golden Hounds, Lady Daniela.”

“Oh.” That caught Daniela’s attention. She straightened up, ignoring how Terika had to catch herself from falling off the couch and making the moment even more awkward.

Isolde kept her breathing steady. Whatever else was going on — Daniela had been invested in helping if Isolde couldn’t solve things her way.

The flame-kissed heiress moved over to a side-table and poured herself a glass of wine. As she sipped from it, her eyes settled on Isolde once again. “That thing. You said you had it handled.”

“I ... well— yes. I wanted to solve it without — “

“You practically threw my help in my face.” Daniela cut her off, gesturing with the wine glass. “Do you know how humiliating that was?”

Isolde’s wondering if she should be asking Daniela that at this very moment. Still, she forged onward. “... you were open to letting me try and manage things.”

“Let me guess.” Daniela curved a hand underneath her breasts as she shifted her weight to one hip. “Didn’t go so well?”

“... not exactly, Lady Daniela.”

Daniela smirked and Isolde’s spirit shriveled at the sight. Right.

Right. How could she have forgotten what she’d learned practically in her first days with the heiress. Somehow Eliza’s hand had slipped out of her memory, but she sees the grasp now for what it had truly been. A warning.

A dark portent about her fate.

She felt the tremble of the trio of drones underneath her collar and glanced towards Terika. She should just reveal the drones, warn Terika now about the predator prowling at her bedroom door.

She’d promised though. Unlike Daniela— Lady Daniela, she understood what that meant.

“I guess you learned your lesson, mm?” Lady Daniela spoke again, snatching Isolde’s attention from her internal thoughts.

Isolde tried one last time. Lady Daniela had been so earnest in the bath, and she’d made Isolde feel...

“You said that I was your maiden, and that you were supposed to protect and keep me safe.”

Daniela’s nail stopped tapping along the crystal ware as she peered up from underneath copper-kissed lashes. “Oh, you... oh, I see. This is you being in love with me.”

“What?” The bottom dropped from Isolde’s stomach.

Lady Daniela cooed, a tinge of faux-sympathy in her voice. “Oh, poor Soricelule, see, this is why I’ve been trying to put distance between us, so you could ... stop playing pretend with that sweet but ultimately not-real story you’ve made up about us.”

“... What?”

Isolde felt like she’s going to be sick with the way Terika looked at her. She cut her gaze to Lady Daniela, but the redheaded woman was staring past her.

Isolde swallowed hard, and did her best to keep her chin leveled.

Small favors that she couldn’t see whatever expression Lady Bela wore.

“Miss Ardenlane.” Lady Bela spoke up as if summoned to action by Isolde’s thoughts.

Blood rushed in Isolde’s ears and the room was tilted on an axis but she’ll be damned if she let Lady Daniela get anything but a polite: “I see. Thank you for clearing that up for me, Lady Daniela.”

She left the room without waiting for a response. She didn’t expect a response. She was halfway down the corridor and her vision was blurry and it wasn’t that she was in love with Daniela but —

“Damn it.”

“Miss Ardenlane.” Lady Bela was somehow at her side, brow furrowed as she took in the mess that Isolde managed to keep Daniela from seeing.

Shame burned Isolde’s cheeks and she swiped at the brimming tears without thought. “I’m sorry, Lady Bela — I didn’t... I did not mean to make you waste time on something so ... fucking stupid.”

Lady Bela hummed her answer. “You’re a bit too distraught to find your way back without some wrong turn. Allow me to assist you.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“I insist.”

Isolde glanced up, read absolutely nothing in the marble beauty before her. Realized that she was unable to say ‘no’ regardless. “Sure.”

Lady Bela strode ahead and afforded Isolde the benefit of privacy on the way back. There was a small comfort in that the only staff ever awake at these hours were kitchen and livestock, so less likely a chance encounter that would just put the cherry on the entire affair.

When they returned to the main foyer, Lady Bela did not break off as Isolde expected, but remained as a quiet, stoic observer along the way to collect new linens (though where Isolde’s going to keep them, she didn’t know) and up to the hallway leading down the way to Isolde’s quarters.

Isolde stopped at the corner. Didn’t want Lady Bela to go further — didn’t need any of the castle, staff or not to see the mess. She wouldn’t accept their pity. She couldn’t take the guilty, averted gazes.

She would not be her father, wiping down the blood in broad daylight and opening the store to the very people that threw it up there.

“Thank you, Lady Bela — I can manage the last bit on my own.”

Lady Bela’s head tilted towards the corridor Isolde very much did not want her interested in. Her lips thinned as her nostrils flared. “You never explained why you — and this hallway — reek of Lycan, Miss Ardenlane.”

Isolde shrugged. “Doesn’t really matter now. Just ... there’s no lycan threat in my bedroom.”

Lady Bela snorted. “I would hope not. Nevertheless, I would rather finish up this escort.”

“I’d rather you didn’t.” Isolde remembered too late which daughter she was talking to. Ducked her gaze. “Please, My Lady.”

If there was one trait that all three of the Dimitrescu Daughters shared, it was that they hated being told no. For Lady Bela, the Dragon’s Heir herself, it was practically a challenge.

Lady Bela inclided her head. “Very well,” she said. “Then I bid you Good Morning, Miss Ardenlane.”

Isolde could weep with relief. “Good Morning, Lady Bela.” She caught onto the trick a second too late. The eldest’s strides swallowed the distance towards Isolde’s room with enviable ease.

She let her go ahead. Might as well take her time to follow, then. Figure out what she’ll say, prepare herself for the looks.

A thrum at her neckline. Adele poked her head out, feet reaching to brush the strands of hair that had escaped Isolde’s ponytail. “What, Adele?”

Brrtz?

“Lady Daniela swore us to secrecy but this risked you three and that takes precedence. Even if it means I’m going to break my promise.”

Isolde found Lady Bela standing in the threshold staring at the state of the room after a halfhearted cleaning. The heiress held the back of her wrist to her nose, but the fury in her gaze trembled all the way down to the quivering of her hand loose at her side.

“You said some of Cassandra’s Hounds did this?” Lady Bela inquired as soon as Isolde came to a stop behind her.

There was no point dancing around it. “Yes, Lady Bela. I wouldn’t have bothered Lady Daniela with this — “

“Whyever not?” Lady Bela’s gaze was sharp on her as Isolde stepped about the heiress to enter the room again. “We allow petty squabbles to slip by, but this is inexcusable.”

“It’s not the first time I’ve cleaned up insults and muck, Lady Bela. Just ...” Isolde reached up to her collar, and the three little drones made their way out. She offered them to the heiress who stared at them like she knew exactly what they were.

Lady Bela’s voice betrayed the steadiness of her hands as she took the drones from Isolde. “They went after...”

“I don’t think they knew Yaara and Rasa were here. I think the cold’s still a bit much for them to do much more than rest and recover. I had a ... place for them...” she picked up the remained of their hidey-hole, “But as you could see.”

“How long has this gone on?”

“This just happened, Lady Bela.”

“Whatever ... troubles you and Daniela are having, this is inexcusable. You are her retainer. She is responsible for ensuring that you are well-kept here. I will speak with her about this, and this will be addressed.”

Isolde mustered up a faint smile at the sheer indignation that Lady Bela exuded. She was pretty sure it was because this reflected badly on her as Heir, but it was nice to have someone affronted on her behalf for once.

“Miss Ardenlane,” Lady Bela stepped forward and after a three-toned query from the drones, returned them to Isolde’s hands. “I promise that you will receive fair compensation, and the guilty will be punished... and then I will speak to Daniela about how to treat her staff — “

“Pardon my crudeness, but I really don’t give a shit about how Lady Daniela treats her staff as I’m resigning from it.”

Lady Bela stopped. Her head tilted like a wolf’s would. “Very well... where do you see yourself — “

“Honestly? I’m so ready to just break the tenure-contract, endure the fallout, and head back home.”

“You can’t.”

“You can’t force me to stay.”

Lady Bela’s gaze was liquid honey as she stared Isolde down. “You’ll find there are many things I can do that don’t require force, Miss Ardenlane — but nevertheless... you don’t deserve to be blacklisted because of Mother’s absolute stickling for fair judgement on contract-reneging.”

“You don’t have a say in what I deserve, I think.”

“I am still your superior, Miss Ardenlane, and I am not the one you’re mad at. Please do not lash out towards me.”

Isolde flinched at the chastisement. Ducked her head. Took a moment to think about the consequences of breaking the contract early. Her family could use the money... no. They needed the money to get out of Lithuania and with the first ... third of it gone to some runaway affair...

“Fine. I’ll work with the scullery for the remainder of the tenure, then.”

“What? Nonsense. Those positions are temporary and soul-crushing.”

So was this one...

Isolde almost missed what Lady Bela mentioned next. “You were talented in the winery and is that not what you came here originally to do?”

“What? Are you suggesting that I come back into your employ?” Isolde scoffed. Shook her head. “I don’t want to...”

“You know as well as I do that the Scarlet Staff are second only to myself, my sisters, and my mothers’ household. Cassandra’s Hounds will bay and wail, but you’ll have a sisterhood at your back and prestige to hold your ground once more.”

Isolde looked down at the three drones in her hands, then towards the devastation around her. It’s so tempting. So tempting.

She stroked a finger along Rasa’s broken wing, gentle as silk. Rasa buzzed happily in return with a thorax-punch to show her appreciation. Cats headbutted, flies... threw themselves bodily at you.

“Lady Bela, I would be honored to accept a position in your household.”

Lady Bela’s smile illuminated the room. It transformed marble to a warm, beautiful softness that recalled the wondrous golden afternoons of childhood. It lifted the dark weight from Isolde’s chest as Lady Bela stepped forward, hand extended. “Maica said you had a decent head on your shoulders. The Scarlet Staff welcomes you home, Isolde.”

Chapter Text

Isolde chalks the new room for the first day as a simple consequence of her current quarters being practically unusable. Not that she requested it. She'd been willing to clean up as much as she could and face the coming evening with dread but Lady Bela had insisted and, well, Isolde didn't have the mental reserves to work up the muster to decline.

The reassigned room was located in the western section of the castle, the side with the higher parapets and nearest the Tower of Worship and the Winery. The only other rooms that could rival the views were that of the family's personal quarters — a floor higher but relatively close by.

It's the evening afterward, as Isolde's preparing to deal with the looks and commentary in the dining hall, that she thinks this isn't just an apologetic extension of comfort to placate her.

"Miss Ardenlane!" A short, stout woman with wispy light brown hair curled up into a loose bun bears down on her as Isolde sets a hand on the banister. "Wait, please." Miss Fields was one of the Scarlet Staff that Isolde knew by name and feature but little else. With a face marked by character, not time, her age is hard to place.

"Miss Fields?" Isolde waits, as requested.

"I don't think you know the way to the dining room."

Isolde casts a quick glance down the stairs she'd just been about to descend. Miss Fields catches the glimpse and flaps a hand in the air.

"No, no, not the one for the lower staff."

"Miss?" Isolde doesn't understand but her elbow's hooked by a calloused grip and she's trotting to keep up with the woman. "The ... but I ate there when I was originally assigned to the Scarlet Staff?"

"Yes, well, not anymore. I do not know what you did to earn Lady Bela's attention nor is my place to know. The fact of the matter is she approached me to have you brought up to speed on your new arrangements while she prepares her proposal to the Ladies."

Isolde's taller than this woman. She's also barely able to keep upright as she's dragged through the castle. "I — arrangement?"

"Well, yes." Miss Fields peers up at her like she's feverish and Lady Bela's made a mistake. Then her eyes widen with understanding and she bobs her head in a knowing nod. "Ah, right. My apologies. You're new."

Isolde is not following. She's also not going to interrupt.

"Lady Cassandra has her Pack, Lady Bela has her Pride. Women who have earned the trust of the family and are considered the most essential and dependable of the Heiresses' households. You're not just a part of the Scarlet Staff anymore, you're our youngest lioness."

Isolde had never been called anything but cute, diminutive names. Lioness catches her off-guard.

"I — when? Why?"

"That isn't for me to question — or any of the Pride to question."

Isolde wants to question though?

She doesn't get the opportunity until later that night after she's escorted up to a study that carries the dark wood and rich, deep colors of the castle throughout it. There's a blazing fire in a hearth carved from a dark stone that Isolde's never seen before and the southwestern windows are wide and arched high — holding a captivating vista of the Carpathian Range underneath the winter moon. The view draws the forest into the study and it captures Isolde's attention to the point that she doesn't hear when Lady Bela enters.

She can't help it. She startles when Lady Bela speaks.

"The crown jewel is the waterfall, though it's not as visible in the winter. Though, when the snows start to melt in the spring? Stunning, truly."

Though not as tall as Daniela, Lady Bela is still an impressive third of a meter taller than Isolde. Wearing a black flared skirt with a white open-necked poet's shirt. The ensemble is accented with a beautiful scarlet cravat that's been loosened. Lady Bela looks as if she's just come from a fancy dinner. She's even peeling off a pair of black gloves as she comes to stop next to Isolde.

"Miss Fields said you wanted to speak with me?" Isolde turns away from the view and finds herself incredibly close to the eldest heiress. Lady Bela's eyes are a leonine gold in the firelight as she angles her chin down to meet Isolde's gaze.

"Ah, yes. Please," Lady Bela guides her to one of the couches near the fireplace. As Isolde sits, Lady Bela moves over to a wooden cabinet. Through the glass planes, there's quite a selection of drinks. "Any preferences?"

"I ... would not say no to a brandy, Lady Bela."

"Brandy it is, then." Lady Bela pours them both a glass then. She hands Isolde hers and then takes a seat in the chair opposite. "So, I know there wasn't time to discuss much of anything this morning — consider this the conversation we should have had then."

"Miss Fields mentioned a few things during breakfast."

"Did she? Good. I believe she'll be an excellent mentor for you — what did she mention, exactly?" Lady Bela crosses a leg over the other. Her skirt has a side-cut that runs up to mid-thigh. Isolde's eyes flicker down to the ivory expanse before she drags her gaze back to more appropriate sights.

"Uh —" Isolde clears her throat. "She mentioned something about a Pride?"

Lady Bela chuckles. It's a warm timbre and as smooth as the brandy Isolde sips. "Ah, yes, well that started a while back by some of our more ... outgoing staff members when they overheard my Mother's terms of endearment for us. We've kept the tradition out of respect and remembrance. Cassandra has her Pack, I have my Pride."

"And Daniela?"

Lady Bela's lips twitch with amusement. "I believe the collective for a group of foxes is a skulk. Fitting for Daniela, no?"

Isolde doesn't feel the same tug of amusement but dips her head in acknowledgment regardless. She peers into the warm amber of her drink as she gently swirls it against the glass before she risks a venture. "The collective for a group of flies is a swarm, right?"

Lady Bela's gaze becomes more leonine as she lifts her brandy to her lips. She doesn't break eye contact as she takes a sip and then lowers it once more. Her arm loosely dangles over the edge of the chair, the glass balanced between her fingers. "I suppose it is."

Isolde breathes a little easier when Lady Bela's gaze goes to the fire. She straightens her posture though when it returns to her. "I promised Daniela— Lady Daniela —"

"Daniela's not as subtle about rule-breaking as she likes to pretend. I figured you knew the moment I saw you had three of her drones buzzing around you without nary a flinch or a disgusted look to be seen."

Isolde takes another sip to disguise the way her breath is shaky with relief. "They were unusual from the beginning, though they weren't the first fly I encountered."

"No?" Lady Bela tilts her head.

"A ... gold and soot fly helped me find my way when I was lost in the old prison."

"The carcer? What by the Black Earth were you doing down there?"

"Hiding from Lycans."

Lady Bela's brow twitches much as her lip did previously, only this isn't amusement. It's an annoyance — a break in the eldest's otherwise calm demeanor. "You ... encountered lycans ... in the carcer?"

Isolde nods.

"How many?"

"I didn't really check, my Lady. I was hiding in a crevice."

Lady Bela rolls the glass in her hand. "While I don't think you're lying to me, there is little chance that a single drone managed to assist you in escaping a roving band of ravenous man-beasts."

"Some of Cassandra's... Hounds? Her staff — they said they were hunting the beasts. They..." Isolde ducks her head. "They used me as bait."

Glass cracks.

Brandy drips down Lady Bela's fingers. She lifts her hand, staring at the mess of glass and flesh, Blood glimmers in the light along with the brandy itself. "Mm." She plucks out a large piece, flicks it towards the fireplace, then brings her index finger up to idly suck at the cut.

"And Cassandra knew?"

"I—" Isolde stops. She... isn't sure. How much would an individual fly know? "I don't know, Lady Bela."

Lady Bela waves her off with her good hand. "No matter, I'll ask her at midnight tomorrow. Out of curiosity — did Cassandra assign you to Dani's retinue before or after that happened?" Lady Bela's tone is casual, almost airy-like, but the set of her eyes is the fearsome stare of a predator.

Isolde shrinks back against the couch. "Before. I was reassigned before that happened."

"Mmm. So she deliberately lowered you on the pecking hierarchy, then her mutts run you through a deathtrap and no one bothers to... wait..." Lady Bela lowers her wounded hand from her mouth. Her lips are smeared with blood —her own blood, but blood nonetheless. "How long before that were you reassigned?"

Isolde realizes that she's run right into a trap and the snare has already caught tight about her leg. She lowers her head and sighs. "Just after the harvest, my Lady."

Lady Bela's exhale is a rumble of stone. Isolde hears the swish of fabric as she's up on her feet again, striding to the fireplace to glare into it from above. "I ... suppose the ‘exactly when’ and the ‘which sister’ isn't that important." She gives Isolde a look over her shoulder, illuminated from below by the flames. "What is important is that you are rightfully back where you belong and this entire fiasco will be nothing more than foul memories soon enough."

"I hope that your optimism is proven correct, Lady Bela."

“It will be, just you see.” Lady Bela’s smile is sharp and angular from the flames beneath her. “Have a good night, Miss Ardenlane.”

🌹———🌹

Subsequent encounters with the Lady Bela over the following nights leave Isolde with more questions than answers. Lady Bela does not give her tasks or assignments — mentioning that she hasn't quite found the fit she wants yet. What that means for Isolde is yet to be determined. Isolde's nights stretch out into long, languid hours again where idleness pulls at the threads of guilt she'd long stitched into her being that she always needed to be working — be useful.

Not to say that time with Lady Bela wasn't delightful. On the contrary, Lady Bela is much like her sister — charming, with a wickedly quick sense of humor, and passionate in her areas of interest. Where Daniela loved the arts, the natural world, and romance, Lady Bela's sights were a little more worldly. The music draws her, as Isolde believes it drew all the sisters, but Lady Bela's fondness reached into the annals of history, architecture, and philosophy.

And again, much like her time with Daniela, Isolde spends far too long scouring the shelves (during the daylight hours, of course) for the books that Lady Bela offhandedly references so she can present debate and mental gristle to chew on. She's reminded of home during the late hours when the fireplace is crawling with the dregs of embers and there's been at least a glass or two of brandy between them. Only instead of an angelic woman and brandy, it's her tucked into the circle of her mother's arms as her family banters scripture and ethics like a game of toss-ball.

One of the later nights, when it's more appropriate to call it early morning, Isolde ventures into the topic that Lady Bela deftly avoided that first night and many of the following ones. Namely, her lack of responsibilities. It's after a glass or two of brandy, and Lady Bela's curling into her armchair as if she's more feline than heiress.

Bela's long legs are tucked up underneath wide, comfortable slacks and her feet are bare, despite the chill of the room. The white sweater Bela dons almost dwarfs her within it and if Isolde was a braver woman, she'd tease that it must have been the Countess'. Her head is tucked on her hand as she stares into the fire with almost a melancholy stare, her other hand idly swirling the last droplets of her drink in the glass.

Normally, this is when Isolde excuses herself. The conversation's naturally faded and there's little need to pry into the quiet life of a woman who never asked to be picked apart.

However, there's something about the mood that inspires Isolde to linger back. "Lady Bela?"

"Mmm?" Lady Bela shifts her head, moving her hand from her cheek to right behind her ear. "Yes, Miss Ardenlane?"

"I appreciate everything you've done for me over the past few days. Truly, but I have to ask — shouldn't I have tasks? Or an assignment?" Isolde takes her seat again when Bela waves her back with a shake of the glass. Isolde reaches out, grabbing the glass and setting it on a side table.

"Bored of the life of luxury already, Miss Ardenlane?" Lady Bela's sting is lessened by the wry smile. "No, I understand, truly. I don't like being idle when there's plenty of tasks that could otherwise be done." She shifts her head again, sighing softly. "I can't assign you tasks."

"Why?"

Lady Bela's lips twitch. "You are still, on a technicality, assigned to Daniela. Under the rules of the House I cannot, again on that technicality, assign you any task that might take you away from Daniela requiring you."

"You said —"

"I did," Lady Bela sits upright. There's a faint red crease line from where her knuckles bit into her cheek. It makes her human, almost. "That still stands. Not just with the Scarlet Staff, but with the Pride. You're one of the lionesses now, Miss Fields has taken to you quite well."

"I've taken to her as well. She's very ... active." Active was an understatement. The woman ran on the energy of stellar fission, Isolde just knew it.

"I believe that her blood is literally coffee. Haven't had the chance to prove the theory yet, though."

"I'm sure she'd be honored to let you test a sample, but Lady Bela —"

"Yes, my apologies." Lady Bela blinks and gives a slow shake of her head as if she can simply will the drink from her. She pauses, head gently tilted to a side, with eyes closed. "Mm." She opens them again — the gold gleaming within the dark shadow of her makeup. "Allowing you to do as you please with... encouragement means that neither one of us is breaking Mother's much-needed rule that we can't interfere with the other's retainers. As Daniela is..." Lady Bela's gaze meets hers in a soft, understanding mue, "...distracted, there's no harm being done."

"So, my job...?"

"I mean I suppose if you're dying for me to command you to task, I could always assign something and if Daniela decides she requires your assistance, I can just leave you with the standing caveat that anything I ask of you is to be overruled by whatever Daniela needs — but that's a little too much busy work for me to follow along with. So, consider your relaxation your task, Miss Ardenlane."

Right back where she started, Isolde sighs. Then her head tilts. It's the brandy thinking for her or she's tired enough that it just makes sense. "So if being busy relaxes me, then it is all right if I'm busy? Because that's my own time that I'm using."

"Essentially."

"What keeps you busy then, if you don't mind some curiosity?"

Lady Bela's smile unfurls like a rose in bloom. "Oh, I'd be quite happy to show you. As a treat."

🌹———🌹

It turns out that Lady Bela has more than a few tricks in order to keep busy. The first being that her hand is quite literally on the pulse of nearly everything going on within, without, and through the Estate.

There isn't a squabble, purchase, relationship, or career change that goes through without her notice.

"Besides yours, of course, Miss Ardenlane.” Lady Bela has almost burned the irritation out of that exception. Almost.

Lady Bela watched after her sisters as well as their staff though at a distance that wouldn't risk Mother's Decrees which were, to the eldest, primordial and fundamental laws by which the world rotated around.

Then Lady Bela's assigned tasks in the Winery which ran the gauntlet of the financial bookkeeping, the cataloging of the grapes, and various special accents to the flavor which -- "Perhaps you'll learn about that one day".

Lady Bela also oversaw the Winery's public affairs. The tourists, the tours, the assurance that nothing awry occurs in the castle.

By the end of the accounts, Isolde leans on a polished oak counter as Lady Bela finishes the stocking of a shelf in a private bar attached to the winery for the "more casual business meetings".

She’d offered to help, but a sly dig at her height decided her supervising role for her.

"I think that label's off-center," Isolde props her chin in hand as Lady Bela's head whips towards the offending bottle, then to Isolde herself.

Isolde grins. "Sorry, from this angle... it just looks weird. I'm sure it's fine for giants." Her gaze drops to Adele, idling on her other wrist between flight practice. "Isn't that right?"

Bzzt.

Lady Bela scoffs and Isolde mentally counts down before the eldest heiress is rounding the corner of the counter to lean down next to her, head level to Isolde's own, and peer up.

Lady Bela resists the urge for twenty seconds. After she’s done exactly what Isolde predicted, she turns and scowls at the both of them, though it certainly doesn't reach her eyes.

"Oh, my apologies, Lady Bela," Isolde's grinning too widely to convey any remorse. "I'm so new to this, I just wanted to clarify with you that's how you wanted it." Isolde cranes her neck to keep eye contact as Lady Bela straightens back up to her full height.

"Did Daniela let you get away with such sass?" Lady Bela inquires, "Or did she teach you? I do not remember you being this much of a talker when you were first with my staff."

Isolde's spirits dampen slightly with Daniela's mentioning. Adele notices and returns to her wrist to tap her front feet along the gentle bump there. Lady Bela's attention flickers down to Adele's behavior, then glances back to Isolde. Isolde braces for the probing questions but when Lady Bela speaks, she misses it completely.

"I said we should go for a walk." Lady Bela extends a hand for Isolde to take. Isolde looks back to the two crates still on the ground behind the counter. "Oh, they'll be fine. Nicole will have them situated when she's on shift today." Lady Bela waggles her fingers. "Come along."

Isolde finds her hand tucked into Lady Bela's elbow and led to one of the highest sections of the castle that looked over the inner courtyard on one side, and the Tower of Worship and the sprawling mountain woods on the other. Bracketed by windows, the place should be freezing. Instead, there's a pleasant heat throughout the space. Isolde sees Daniela's influence in the flowers and trailing vines that accent the elegant metal filigree and detailing.

"One of the absolute joys of modernity — central heating. I've poured plenty of resources into ensuring my sisters and I are comfortable when the weather cools."

"The views are stunning here," Isolde comments, though she knows the small talk is just a distraction until Lady Bela decides whatever it is she wants to speak of in an area where eavesdropping is practically impossible. There's a small reading nook up here, tucked between a parapet and one of the towers. Lady Bela gestures for them to sit. When she settles across from Isolde, a soft noise like radio static fills the space for a second or two.

The three drones come out, curious. Adele wandering the furthest.

"Now, Miss Ardenlane. What exactly has Daniela told you about the little sisters you're carrying about?" Lady Bela asks.

Isolde glances down to the trio, then back to Lady Bela. "Ah —"

"Again, I remind you. I'm already well aware that you know more than you should know, but there's nothing to be done about that. It's now in mine and my sister's best interest that we endear you to our peculiarities so that you'll be inclined to keep our secret rather than exploit it."

Isolde hears the subtle warning underneath the genteel, conversational tone. She mirrors Lady Bela's posture, tucking her hands in her lap. "I understand. I do. You're taking a risk exposing that about yourselves. Though, the ability to turn into —"

"Not exactly." Lady Bela extends a hand. There's a sense of distortion, a mirage of skin and chitin and then there's less of Lady Bela and there's...

The fly that works out her wings on Lady Bela's hand is similar in size and shape to the drone sisters, but where Adele and her compatriots have an emerald sheen to their bodies and a copper glint to their wings and eyes, the fly that reaches out a forefoot to Adele has a brush of deep gold to the dark thorax and the wings and eyes glimmer crimson-bright.

"Oh..." Isolde leans forward as Adele approaches and returns the forefoot greeting. With a quick buzz, Adele encourages Rasa and Yaara down to greet the garnet-eyed fly as well. "You three ..."

"Truly are the Swarm. We don't turn into anything, we simply are." Lady Bela observes as the four flies wander from their respective hands and explore the sun table next to Isolde's seat.

"So Adele, Yaara, and Rasa are Daniela? She said they were gone for so long that they're practically normal flies now."

Lady Bela scoffs. "There's nothing 'normal' about our Swarm. Disconnected, they're echoes, but they're still Daniela. This little one is still a part of my consciousness, although her thoughts and emotions can only work with the consciousness they last engaged with." Isolde watches the four flies as Lady Bela speaks. The garnet-eyed one has approached Rasa, running feet over the damaged wing.

"If they're — if I should treat them as if they're Daniela, then why are they so..." Isolde trails off as she reaches a finger out to gently nudge Yaara's thorax. The smallest fly buzzes and whirls on her, playfully engaging in a tussle that's more like her forefeet tugging and trying to flip Isolde's index finger over.

"Affectionate?"

"Yes. They're affectionate and Lady Daniela is... very much not right now."

Lady Bela watches her, not the flies. "Because Daniela must have felt rather affectionately towards you, and well, you saved these three from a horrific death and as Daniela lives, breathes, and exists within the pages of romance novels; they adore you. They..." Lady Bela's head tilts as Adele makes a noise. "They don't want to rejoin their swarm yet."

"You can under— what am I talking about, of course, you can understand them. Wait — they didn't want to rejoin the swarm? That doesn't — you three will heal faster in the swarm! And Daniela wasn't ... she wasn't acting incredibly weird when..." Isolde trails off, then shifts her eyes to Lady Bela. "Why didn't they go back?"

Lady Bela sighs, amusement dancing at the corner of her mouth, and gently brushes her hand along Adele's body. There's that soft radio static again, and the distortion of air and light as if Isolde’s staring into a mirage before the connection is broken and Lady Bela is rolling her eyes. She fixes the trio with a stare. "Really? That's your reasoning?"

Brrrtz! Rasa says, approaching Lady Bela with wings wide and forefeet raised in a menacing manner.

"You understand the connection goes both ways, right? Daniela is as much you three as you are her?"

Bttttz. Now Adele's threat-displaying, and Isolde wishes she could understand.

Lady Bela clucks her tongue, gently nudges Adele so she's off-balance and has to drop her guard to right herself, then returns her attention back to Isolde. There's a softer glint in her eye, now, as she leans back in her chair. "Their reason is quite simple: they don't want to share your company. Even with themselves, apparently," that's said with a side glance to the table. "Again, they're quite fond of you. Very much so, in fact. You've saved their lives twice now, and you share the most delightful meals."

Isolde shrugs, feeling warmth creeping up her cheeks. "They're ... exaggerating, I'm sure. I haven't— "

"Almost makes me curious what would happen if I kept this one with you— "

BZZT! All three drone sisters pitch in with that noise.

Lady Bela laughs, and it's a lower-octave noise that frissons along Isolde's nerves. She pulls her hand back, and without a word, the garnet-eyed drone returns to Lady Bela's hand. The three scramble back to Isolde's side and offer their three-toned chirp that lets her know they want to duck under her collar again.

As she sets them down, she can't help but feel overly exposed under the look Lady Bela's giving her. Adele's rumbling against her neck and half-charges when Lady Bela stands once again, and once again offers her hand.

"Now where to?" Isolde inquires as she takes Lady Bela's hand. She's tugged up, and Lady Bela must have forgotten her own strength as Isolde stumbles to catch her balance and finds it with her hand sets upon Lady Bela's bicep. The creeping warmth from earlier is now a *blaze* as she realizes what she's done. "Oh, I am so— so sorry— "

Lady Bela's keeps a hold on her hand, and her other one stabilizes Isolde at the waist. Her touch is cool, even through the fabric of the sweater Isolde's wearing. This close, the flecks of honey in Lady Bela's gaze is prominent as is the gentle crinkle at the corner of her eyes as she smiles. "Don’t apologize on my account, Miss Ardenlane.. That was entirely my fault. However..." her gaze flicks to Adele, who is aggressively displaying on Isolde's shoulder. "There's still Mother's Decree in effect but I daresay I know how to ... work that into our favor."

"Our favor?" Isolde's words stick to the roof of her mouth.

"Mmhmm. And if Mother's feeling favorable, I'll be able to command you without any repercussions." Lady Bela winks and tugs Isolde forward, breaking the tension and the moment. She laughs again, and it’s light and airy with mischief as she hurries with them down the hall towards the other descending staircase.

At the top, she turns so sudden that Isolde almost crashes into her a second time. The look she’s wearing is positively devilish as she inquires, with the voice of an angel; "That's what you wanted the other night, after all, no?”

The Black Earth help her, Isolde stops herself before she nods in response.

Chapter Text

Lady Bela took her to the wing of the castle dedicated to entertainment and the arts. From the grand theater staging to the adjoining ballroom, to the ateliers up along the upper hallways, the wing is an homage to the joys of creative pursuits. Somewhere along the first floor was a direct route to the library, Isolde took notes as she added these corridors to her growing mental map.

Lady Bela diverted off the main hallway halfway down it, lifting aside a tapestry depicting a summer’s festival of Nymphs and Fauns frolicking in the dappled greenery of the forest. Behind the heavy fabric was a vague outline of a door that opened with the softest of ‘clicks’.

The hallway she stepped into is much like the others, though with less obvious embellishment and finery to be showed off. Here, like the glass walkway up along the parapets, the space was personalized by the touch of the family that resided within it.

“Cassandra’s the artist of the family,” Lady Bela explained, catching up to Isolde’s side as she caught up by a striking rendition of a stag hunt. After a beat, Lady Bela tilted her head and refined her statement; “Actually, anything that requires her hands is going to catch Cassandra’s interest, now that I think on it... carving, metalworking, painting. Sculpture. She hates being idle.”

“A feeling I can understand quite well,” Isolde murmured as Lady Bela encouraged them onward.

“I’ve noticed.” Lady Bela said with just a touch of amusement. “It’s quite odd how Daniela took to you so well, considering that Daniela’s a little more ... lackadaisical when it comes to her studied and pursuits— but she loves her plants.”

Isolde didn’t agree with Lady Bela’s assessment concerning Daniela’s studied but knew this wasn’t the time or place to even mention that. Isolde wondered, and not for the first time, how often Daniela’s had to deal with someone assuming her dedication and mistaking it for whimsy.

“What are your hobbies, Lady Bela?” Isolde redirected back to the eldest heiress as they walk, “Beyond debating moral philosophy and the ethics of dead theorists, of course.”

Lady Bela hummed as she thought. “Truthfully, I don’t really have the time for pastimes, but I enjoy music, history... riding, and hunting when the weather suits it, and if Mother has the time to spare.” Lady Bela guided them down a turn in the hall, and gently stopped Isolde with a touch to her shoulder as they crossed underneath an archway inlaid with flower vines. Beyond, the corridor looked even more like a path into the more private affairs of the Dimitrescu family.

Curious as to the sudden stop, Isolde turned to inquire what’s next when she noticed Lady Bela tilting her head up, and inhaling with deep, steady breaths. She’s scenting the air, Isolde realized as the heiress’ pupils constrict when she lowered her chin.

“Mmm, they’re already here. That... changes a few things but they’re not taking a meal— or,” Lady Bela scents the air again, frowning this time. “Perhaps they haven’t started on one just yet?” Lady Bela’s voice tinged rougher with annoyance.

Something about that sentence bothers Isolde but she couldn’t pinpoint exactly why.

“Why would your Mother and Lady Daniela dine here?”

“Privacy, as you’ll come to find out eventually. This modern insistence that we open the castle and winery to the greater world has shifted a few of our traditions towards … more delicate, subtle affairs.”

That nagging sense grew stronger — and Isolde was reminded of the calm right before Daniela’s outburst when questioned about the body in her garden.

Adele stirred at her collar, poking out and crawling to the edge of Isolde’s shoulder. Isolde wouldn’t have noticed her taking flight if not for the way the fabric shifted under Adele’s feet.

Curious.

Isolde stepped along as Lady Bela beckoned her to, not drawing attention to Adele’s departure. If the little drone had wanted to be known, she’d have done so— they buzzed loud enough to wake Isolde from a dead sleep.

“It shouldn’t require much, honestly. Once Dani’s jealous and throwing her tantrum— I explain that though it’s admirable that Daniela wanted to try her hand at maintaining a staff again, you are a much better asset with my house; and that you’ve been settling in quite nicely with the Scarlet Staff. We just need to reiterate that it’s obviously clear that Daniela’s not capable of taking care of a maiden — and Mother will adjust things as needed.”

“Why would Daniela be upset?” Isolde didn’t follow Lady Bela’s logic at all. “She made her thoughts very clear already and she hadn’t called, summoned, or required anything of me for the last several weeks. She’d probably be more annoyed that I’m making this a formality to fuss over.”

“She hadn’t had the desire to notice you missing,” Lady Bela corrected as if Isolde’s missed a critical piece of the puzzle. Isolde opened her mouth to argue that but decided against it. It… well, that made sense, she supposed, and that’s no issue. It’s fine, really. It is, but it also stung just enough that her acknowledging noise caught Lady Bela’s attention.

Lady Bela stepped back underneath the archway, her smile soft and assuring as ever. If it weren’t for the unsettling knot at the base of Isolde’s spine, perhaps she’d take that comforting expression at face value...

But something about the angle of the electrical lighting made it obvious that Lady Bela’s eyes weren’t quite reflecting the gentleness of the smile she graced Isolde with. No, instead of a gentle crinkling, Lady Bela’s eyes were cold, glittering gold— gleaming too-bright to be anything but the eyes of a predator.

That unsettling knot turned into a painful squeeze. The instinct to run burns electric through her nervous system. The knowledge that running only triggered the predator to chase is what kept Isolde’s feet firmly planted.

Lady Bela spoke as if she was explaining a simple concept. An air of patronizing sympathy oozed as she lightly clasped her hands in front of her. “I’m sure you’ve noticed that Daniela comes across a little more… whimsical than myself or Cassandra. There’s a reason for that— she was changed… at a younger age, though we awoke together. She’s had a difficult time remembering that the women in our employ are not dolls. Though I don’t like it, Mother indulges Daniela’s role as the ‘youngest’ and overly dotes on her. To the point of letting Daniela’s... antics slide. All we’re going to do, Miss Ardenlane, is just reinforce Daniela’s mismanagement of her resources. That’s all.”

Isolde hesitated long enough that Lady Bela’s smile fractured a bit.

“You want justice, don’t you?” Lady Bela asked, and her smile slipped further. “See the women who destroyed your room, led you into a trap, disrupted your routine here— you want them to receive their comeuppance?”

“Truth of the matter, Lady Bela? I’d rather them just leave me alone.”

“Well, that wasn’t what we agreed on.” Lady Bela circled Isolde to the left, and as Isolde adjusted to keep the woman in her line of sight she noticed— far too late— that the blonde heiress was now between her and the only known exit. If Isolde bolted, she was going to run blind.

Isolde tried her best not to bolt at the realization. Lady Bela was reasonable; if Isolde presented her case correctly, this could be solved. “No, it wasn’t. What we did agree to, Lady Bela, was to maintain my contract— which you assured me would be honored should I be brought under your employ. Revenge was never part of that conversation, or any conversation following it.”

Lady Bela’s smile left, replaced with an intense stare straight from the glossy magazines where photographers captured the gaze of a lion, or a shark. She’d always found them captivating. Now, she found it terrifying.

Lady Bela’s eyes darted down to Isolde’s neckline the moment Isolde’s heartrate quickened. Could she hear it? She stepped forward.

Isolde stepped back.

“Something the matter, Miss Ardenlane?”

Isolde shook her head, even as she assumed that her heartrate is giving her away. They partook in a strange dance as Lady Bela stepped towards her again and Isolde stepped away. Again.

“No?” Lady Bela canted her head to the side just as Lady Daniela did before she’d struck. Isolde braced for the cutting jab, the slice of words that’ll cut her off at the knees just when she’s finding her footing again.

“Are you certain?” Lady Bela stepped forward again. Her lips twitched with cruelty when Isolde stumbled, her foot catching on the runner— and it was Lady Bela’s reflexes that kept her from falling back.

“Careful now, we wouldn’t want you to be hurt.” Lady Bela’s hands steadied Isolde by the shoulders. She’s close enough that her perfume tickled every breath Isolde took. Her hair fell forward, brushing Isolde’s skin as she straightened her upright again.

“I am not going to embarrass Lady Daniela for revenge.” Isolde stated as calmly as she could with her heart threatening to leap out of her throat.

“Whyever not?”

Lady Bela’s grip tightened past the point of discomfort about her shoulders. Isolde couldn’t step back any further if she tried; not without wrenching her arms.

“Lady Bela, you’re hurting me.”

Lady Bela clicked her tongue. “I’m simply keeping you upright while you listen very carefully to what I have to say next. I was insulted once when Daniela thieved you away like the fox she is, and I will not allow your simplistic morality to insult me a second time. So, this is what is going to happen, mm?” Her thumbs pressed firmly into the top of Isolde’s clavicle, causing Isolde to wince.

“You are going to assist me in agitating Daniela. We are going to instigate such a frenzy that Mother will intervene, and you are going to do this without complaint. Afterwards, when you are properly restored to my house and to my service, we will address your ... view of the world.”

Lady Bela’s grip was steel without effort. Her gaze was intense— cold and calculating. Her victorious smirk lifted her mouth in a way that chilled Isolde’s blood. The calm, collected energy of Lady Bela was so different from the wild, impulsive mania of her younger sister that Isolde must have lapsed in her daily reminders that each of the heiresses were just as dangerous as their sisters— and Lady Bela being the eldest? Well, Isolde should have kept in mind that she’d be the most dangerous of them all.

“Now, back to what we were discussing, mm?” Lady Bela’s fingers flexed lightly along Isolde’s shoulders; as if they were sharing a friendly pep-talk rather than the terrifying encounter it had become. “I— “

“— have replaced Bela with an imposter because I know I’m not seeing my dearest, oldest, most-behaved sister threatening Dani’s only retainer.”

Lady Cassandra’s voice drawled along the edge of boredom as she prowled along the hall toward them. Isolde’s eye caught on the large, emerald and copper fly pacing along the broad expanse of the brunette’s shoulder, wings out and body trembling from agitated, alarmed vibrations.

Adele? Thank you, thank you...

“What do you want, Cassandra?” Lady Bela’s tone was drawn out and as bored as her sister’s. She didn’t watch her sister’s approached, kept her gaze locked with Isolde’s instead.

“Aww, not happy to see me?” Lady Cassandra simpered, then giggled when her older sister turned that scowling look her way. “Oh, relax, Bela. Dani’s been droning on and on and on about the latest sweets she’s ordered from Paris and seeing as you’ve been occupying her retainer for the past week or so, I’m the one who got stuck with reminding her to meet the Duke to pay for said sweets… so I can then steal one — see what the fuss is about.”

“Miss Ardenlane does not work for Daniela any longer.”

“Really?” Lady Cassandra’s brows arched and the first inflection of interest stirred in her tone. “Does Dani know? Oh, even better— does Mother know? That you poached Dani’s maid, I mean.” Lady Cassandra draped an arm about Lady Bela’s shoulders, grinning as if her birthday had come early. “If she doesn’t... May I please be there when you tell her you’ve misbehaved? I haven’t seen you punished in forever...”

“I did not poach— get off me, Cassa!” Lady Bela wrenched her shoulders back to knock Lady Cassandra away. It didn’t work. Rather, it encouraged the brunette to adjust her stance to better bother her elder sister with overt touching and needling.

“And now we’re lying! Oooh, this really is going to be fun!”

Lady Bela’s attention fully snapped to her smirking sister as she held Isolde tightly, driving her frustration with Lady Cassandra’s heckling into the crushing anchor of her hands on Isolde’s shoulders. Isolde must have made a noise.

Two pairs of golden eyes latched onto her pain.

Isolde was no longer thanking Adele.

Isolde needed to get Lady Bela’s hands off before something (her) broke.

“Lady Bela’s not lying, Lady Cassandra.”

Lady Cassandra’s brow managed to climb higher. “Oh?”

“I’m not working for Lady Daniela. I ... we had a disagreement and she saw fit to dismiss me from any required duties for the time being.”

“You’re not?” Lady Cassandra’s attention slid pointedly over Adele’s short flight from her shoulder back to Isolde’s, and she tracked the fly’s march up to Lady Bela’s hand to start slapping it with her forefeet.

Adele buzzed a territorial warning that turned Lady Cassandra’s gaze curious. “Huh.” She looked Isolde over, then turned back to Lady Bela. “Whatever— Dani went through moods. You’ll get used to them. Now— back to Bela’s rebellious streak—" she broke off into laughter as Lady Bela turned to properly swat her off.

Isolde took the opening to stumble back, gain space, and catch her breath. Lady Bela realized her mistake, whirling back on Isolde — before being tugged backward as Lady Cassandra locked her in place with the curve her arms about Lady Bela’s waist, and around her shoulders.

It’s an intimate embrace, and one Lady Bela struggled to break free from. “Cassandra! Let go of me, now!”

“Oh, let the little rabbit run off, Bells.” Lady Cassandra’s voice danced with amusement, but her gaze was razor-sharp and focused. Her lips brushed against Lady Bela’s ear even as she flicks her gaze hard to the right. “It’s obvious you’ve frightened her. Too much more excitement and we’ll be watching as Mother reprimands you for scaring her to death.”

The hidden meaning was clear enough.

Leave. Now. Before you can’t.

Isolde fled as commanded, racing back through the corridor, through the non-descript door, and out into the echoing art wing. When she felt safe enough to pause, she lifted a hand, ignoring the tremors that wracked her fingers; brushed them over Adele’s thorax. “Thank you,” she whispered.

Adele shimmied in reply.

Isolde kept her hand there as she hurried back to the relative safety of numbers.

The allure of Lady Bela’s attention disappeared as quickly as it had arrived. For the rest of that evening, Isolde shut herself away and refused to acknowledge any of the heiresses. The same went for that night after that, and the night after that.

The bruises sank deeper into her flesh and turned ugly as Lady Bela’s anger bloomed into a mottled splotch of greens and purples over her shoulders. It’s bad enough that Isolde rotates through a pair of turtlenecks to avoid any unwanted inquired.

Lady Bela eventually tried to summon her on the fourth night. Isolde declined it on grounds of being unwell, and barely slept with the worry of fallout. She woke too late the next afternoon, and the lack of a response concerned her worse than if she’d been demanded to report.

A summons came the next night, and the night after that. Again, Isolde declined both. Each time she did so with a glance at the bruises in the mirror while the trio of flies looked on with worry.

Eventually, Lady Bela decided that summons alone wasn’t enough. Her heels clicked a dreadful rhythm on the stone outside Isolde’s door. Isolde placed the bed between the door and herself, slipping down to the floor with a prayer that should the heiress decide to lunge inside, there’d be enough obstacles in her way that Isolde could dart beneath the bed and risk an escape.

“I don’t want to see her,” she admitted to the three drones. “I don’t— I can’t— not yet.”

The three drones fell quiet, almost still.

“What are you doing here?”

Isolde lifted her head from her knees. That… was directed to someone outside her room.

“I was visiting a friend.” Lady Daniela’s voice practically stole Isolde’s breath into a vice, twisting her lungs until Isolde struggled with the very act.

“You don’t have a friend down here.” Lady Bela scoffed.

 Isolde could easily picture the chill of her gaze, the stiffness in her lips from the smile that didn’t break genuine. She felt the dig of Lady Bela’s thumbs against her chest, the flat pressure of the wall behind her, the lack of options to leave— to run— to breathe without being crushed—

“And you do?”

The responding growl chilled Isolde’s blood.

“Whatever. You’ll do instead.”

“I’ll do wh—ahh, hey!” Lady Daniela yelped.

The voices faded from outside her door. Isolde didn’t relax until she heard nothing but the pounding of her blood and the subtle thrum of the drones. She looked at them, wondering why they’d not warned her of Lady Daniela’s presence.

With that plaguing her mind, she set the three back in their cubby.

Eventually, she had to venture out again and return to the Pride and the politics of her job. When she showed up the next evening, Miss Fields had been thrilled with just the simple acceptance of an invitation to play cards.

It wasn’t hard to socialize with the pride; all of them easy-going and pleasant. And whatever complicated history between her and Lady Bela hadn’t seemed to have been disseminated throughout the heiress’ staff. Even odder, Isolde’s lack of designated responsibilities hadn’t caused much of a fuss either.

She asked Miss Fields about it one evening as Isolde assisted her with rearranging the communal space for the upcoming winter festivities.

Miss Fields shrugged. “The Pride and Pack might be just as competitive as our respective Ladies, but we are all connected by the simple fact that we’ve peeked behind the curtain; and we’re ok with what we found. I’m sure you’ve figured it out that the Ladies require women like us, and I think if we’re honest… we need them as well.”

Isolde wrinkled her nose, glancing at the three drones crawling along her shirt. Now that Rasa and Yhaara had recovered enough to endure a rogue draft in the castle, they’d yet to leave Isolde’s side.

“What did you see behind the curtain?”

“Brutality.” Miss Fields stated simply enough. “My start in life was… rough. I learned what needed to be done in order to survive and the Ladies Dimitrescu understood that.” Her gaze caught Isolde’s over the table.

“Belonging.” Is what Isolde answered later that night, while they whiled away the early hours with hot cider. She thought of the drones, the weeks spent with the Ladies— the exhilaration of exploring more and more of this strange new world; and how every teasing truth drew her further in.

“Oh yes.” Miss Fields nodded as if she understood. Isolde believed she just might.

“I thought about leaving before Lady Bela suggested ... this arrangement,” Isolde admitted after putting another log onto the fire. Not for the first time, she noted that despite the discussion of the winter festivities, there weren’t any garlands or secular decorations that she’d expected with celebrating this time of year away from home and family.

A pang of homesickness stole her next breath. She covered it with a push forward before Miss Fields, or the three little drones could notice. They’d become uncannily aware of her moods, often before Isolde herself realized there’d been a shift at all.

“Understandable, what with what’s going on with you,” Miss Fields was, unsurprisingly, unflappable when it came to the details. “You’ve got two of the three most dangerous women I’ve ever known interested in gaining your attention; and I’m sure you’re aware that with one of the Heiresses... eventually the others follow.”

“I’m slowly picking that up, yes.” Isolde admitted with a wry chuckle.

“Which means you’re likely aware that if you do decide to leave... you’d be hunted down before you could leave the village proper.” Miss Fields kept both her gaze and her voice steady as she brought that up. There was sympathy in her eyes, a sort of comradery that came with shared trauma, but Isolde wasn’t naïve enough to believe that their short-lived friendliness would outweigh whatever held Miss Field’s loyalty to the family.

Isolde nodded.

Miss Fields returned it before she reached to pat Isolde’s hand as comfortingly as one could after that sort of conversational piece. “You’ve only got, what, half a year left on your contract? I’m sure if you can last until then, your exit interview can come with some concessions that’ll make sure you and whoever you’re staying here for will be comfortable for a very long time.”

That piqued Isolde’s interest. Not that Miss Fields knew about her family— but that Miss Fields had been in (or still is?) the same predicament as Isolde.

“Did you make it to your exit interview?” It was a bold question.

Miss Fields awarded it with a knowing grin and a respectful tilt of her chin. “Oh, I did. Perhaps I’ll tell you about it when you manage to survive yours.” She pats Isolde’s hand again before rising.

“Now, I need to make sure the Midnight Meal’s done right for tomorrow. Both Countesses will be home for once and our Lady Dimitrescu is particular about everything being perfect for her Lady of Thorns.”

“Of course.” Isolde rose as well, ever-polite. “I’ll speak with you later?”

“You will; even if only because you’re the only lass who listens to me ramble.” Miss Fields smiled a final time, pausing only when Isolde called her name.

“Is The Duke still here?”

“I would think so. He oversees the transport arrangement for the girls who don’t want to Winter here... or shouldn’t Winter here.”

“I see. Thank you, Miss Fields.”

Isolde lingered by the fire for a little while longer after Miss Fields’ stepped stop echoing down the halls. Without curious eyes, she gently nudged Adele from her spot underneath Isolde’s collar and smiled  at the offered a sleepy greeting. “We still have that surprise for your Swarm to get. It should be in by now.”

Adele’s wings fluttered in excitement.

Holding Court in the lower grand foyer near the Carriage Gate, The Duke managed both discretion and within Castle Dimitrescu. There was something otherworldly about the bizarre blend of flea market, bazaar, and caravanserai.

One of the peculiar traits Isolde quickly learned to admire, was The Duke’s strange ability to have any desired item on hand, or within reasonable purchase time after receiving a request for it. Such as the items Isolde currently tucked away in her bag as she handed over the last of the leii.

“Always a pleasure, Miss Ardenlane.” The Duke smiled as she exchanged coin with a dark-haired apprentice. “Shall I make arrangements to have a letter delivered for you as well?”

“Not this time,” Isolde murmured. The question gave her pause: when had she written home last? “Actually... When do you set out again, Duke?”

The Duke tapped his fingers along the edge of an oak chest. “The end of the work week, Miss Ardenlane. Two days from now, and no later I’m afraid. Not with the Passes as they are.”

“That’ll be more than enough time, thank you.”

The Duke dipped his head but Isolde caught the moment his eyes flickered behind her.

It was a little emboldening to see Lady Daniela just as startled when Isolde turned about. A small spark of petty vindication as the flame-haired heiress reeled like a cat spooked by it’s own shadow.

“Isolde?” Lady Daniela sounded surprised at first, then her voice smoothed to haughty indifference. “Are you stalking me now?”

Isolde rolled her eyes. Despite everything, some measure of Lady Daniela’s terrifying nature had vanished after their bathtub conversation; even with the recent... developments. Not to mention, Isolde’s grown a little tired of the emotional see-saw, and she was already dealing with the trouble of trying to compartmentalize Lady Bela’s likely murderous tendencies. “Yes, Lady Daniela. It’s a relief that you’ve finally noticed. I missed you terribly— though I have to admit that Lady Bela’s company helped to soothe the jagged wound you ripped out of my heart.”

It was an exaggeration, sure, and a jab at Lady Daniela’s melodramatic tendencies— but Isolde found that she’s not lying, exactly. She did miss Lady Daniela— or if she was being honest: she missed the easygoing conversations and optimistic outlook the heiresses has. She missed working in the Greenhouse alongside the Lady, laughing at the (retrospectively, true) stories unfurling in the insect-world, and learning second-hand about the stranger facts about the plant life around them.

And sure, before Lady Bela had decided to turn Isolde into the mouse inside a cat-and-mouse hunt— Isolde had found some comfort in the eldest heiresses’ calm, measured outlook on everything.

But Lady Daniela didn’t need to know that.

When she didn’t answer right away, Isolde took that as her cue to leave. She passed by the statue of the Angel of Joy when she heard the click of heels behind her.

“I’m doing this for your own good, you know!” Lady Daniela called after her, uncaring that there was an audience in regards to The Duke’s workers, not to mention the various layered of the Castle Staff nearby as well. Isolde’s steps turned staccato as she processed what Lady Daniela said.

Adele buzzed a warning to let it go. She should listen. To that, and to the warning bell going off in her ears—

“Are you kidding me?” Isolde stopped, turning about. Her bag jostled against her hip. “That’s what you’re going to open with? Seriously?”

Adele buzzed again, and it almost sounded like the little drone was cringing.

Lady Daniela didn’t stop until there was barely any space between them and right, Isolde had forgotten that none of the heiresses understood anything about personal space. It must be a Swarm... thing. That didn’t mean she was comfortable with the lack of boundaries, though, and brought up a hand to stop Lady Daniela before they’ve practically fused.

Lady Daniela’s tone was low and dangerously close to a snarl when she spoke. “Bela is a Dionaea Muscipula and you are a very, very silly fly who’s about to get herself snapped up if you think for a moment that she’s not using you—”

“I’m well aware of that. I learned—” Isolde stopped herself, biting back the cutting words she wanted to say. She’d meant what she’d said to Lady Bela, damn it.

Adele chimed in with a loud, fierce noise that broke both of their gazes down to her pacing, and that drew Isolde’s attention back to something else.

“What’s stopping the trio from rejoining their swarm, Lady Daniela?”

Lady Daniela’s golden gaze snapped from Adele back to Isolde. She was so close, barely an inch away. Isolde didn’t back away, though. “What?”

“The drones. Lady Bela said they don’t want to rejoin the swarm but that’s not all there is to it... am I right?”

It was a literal lob in the dark, but it hit the mark as cleanly as if Isolde’s aimed for it.

Lady Daniela’s pupils widened, and she took a step back, then another as if she realized how close they are. The measured distancing was... new but Isolde didn’t comment aloud on it.

Isolde raised a brow, waiting for an explanation or excuse. Anything, really. When none arrived, she bowed her head in a nod. “I see. Well, then, begging your leave, Lady Daniela—”

Isolde was past the statues when Lady Daniela remembered that she had the ability to speak. “Wha-hey! I didn’t dismiss you!”

Well aware of the eyes on them, Isolde considered her answer carefully as she turned to meet Daniela’s frown with one of her own. “Didn’t you?”

The next night proceeded much like the ones before it. A subtle distancing of Lady Bela’s scheduled haunts, a deliberate avoidance of Lady Daniela’s preferred habitats, and a growing sense of restlessness that Isolde couldn’t seem to shake.

However, after the confrontation, tonight’s trip was a solo affair as Isolde’s left Adele with the other two drones. Needless to say, it hadn’t gone well, and Isolde’s half-surprised that their hadn’t arrived to see what the hell caused Adele so much distress.

Though Isolde’s suspicious that Lady Daniela was likely already aware, and had likely been aware of her drones antics, whereabouts, and Isolde’s interactions since she had returned to the castle.

If pressed, Isolde couldn’t explain where the theory came from— only Lady Bela’s commentary as she had observed Adele stuck with Isolde after that disastrous encounter.

Another difference tonight: Isolde was on the hunt; seeking out answers for herself, though her quarry is neither the blonde heir apparent nor the darling red haired lady. Her target was the curiously-disengaged huntress, and the woman that Isolde suspected was least likely to enjoy mental gymnastics and mind games.

It wasn’t hard to discover where Lady Cassandra might be. Just by overhearing the cleaning narrowed down the likely areas that Isolde would not find the huntress— which narrowed down the wings where one might find a malicious brunette.

Her destination blazed with heat and light. A solitary workshop on the ground floor of a shuttered wing, closest to a wall of wide, floor-to-ceiling pane windows that allowed the open wooden floors to soak in sunlight during the day.

She didn’t bother knocking, though it would have been polite. Likely, Lady Cassandra’s heard her arrival and if she wasn’t wanted, there’d have been signs to warn her away. Instead, Isolde leaned against the doorjamb, watching as Lady Cassandra straightened up after setting a long, metal rod into a furnace. The heat was so intense that Isolde felt it from at least four meters away.

When she didn’t enter, waiting for actual permission before breaching that barrier, Lady Cassandra chuckled.

“What’s wrong, afraid of a little heat?”

And there it was. Isolde scanned the space as she walked in, picking up the various tools and machinery that confirmed Lady Bela’s observations that her sister preferred hands-on work to keeping busy.

The space was professional and minimalist, free of extraneous items that could risk an accidental bump or spill. There were signs of a variety of crafting, from metalworking to ceramic to glassblowing— as Isolde spotted a marver pulled out near to the furnace, the brass surface worn with years of use.

“Well, next time I have to fix up a broken window, I’ll be able to skip the overpriced middle man.”

“Yeah, I saw what you did with the windows in Dani’s garden. Decent work— if a bit rushed.”

“It was a choice between practical insulation or making the design pretty.”

“Oh, I don’t blame you. I’ve been on Dani for the last few years to let me at that section and I’m surprised it lasted this long without a touch-up.”

“What stopped you?” Isolde spotted an extra pair of thick, tooled gloves. They would be a little big, but they’ll do it in a pinch. She slipped them on and came over to lean her hip against the marver’s edge.

“Apparently the wasps there have issued a decree that I’m not allowed within flight radius of their territories and Dani’s adamant on ‘preserving the peace’ or something like that...?” Lady Cassandra trailed off in question as she turned to see Isolde even closer, with gloves on.

“Like you said, you saw my work on the windows. My father’s a bit of a jack of all trades. He’s also the village’s farrier too if that helped.”

“... huh.” Lady Cassandra rolled a shoulder. “Well, all right, I’ll have you roll, then.”

Isolde nodded and for the next half-hour or so, she fell into the meditative ease that came from being first assistant as Lady Cassandra works a molten slab from an amorphous blob to the beginnings of what’s going to become a rather intricate glass decanter.

It was only after Lady Cassandra closed the annealing oven door that she addressed Isolde’s likely reason for being there.

“Would you be satisfied if I killed them?” Lady Cassandra inquired, pulling off her gloves and making a face at the sweat and grime at her forearms where they stopped. She took a detour to a basin of clear water and scrubbed it away, leaving her forearms wet, but clean. Isolde followed suit.

“No.” Isolde said, surprising herself with how simple the answer is.

“Are you sure? I might choose for the most vicious of the maidens but even I can understand when a hound needs to be put down for the greater benefit.”

“I’m certain I’m sure.”

“Suit yourself. The offer stood regardless.” Lady Cassandra gestured for them to move into an adjoining space likely heated from the furnace in the workshop. “Hungry?”

“...yes.”

The smaller room wasn’t likely to be Lady Cassandra’s personal quarters but there was a resonance that echoed the woman’s preferences and mannerisms. Much like Lady Bela’s chambers, there was an expanse of open glass that Isolde wouldn’t expect from women overly sensitive to the cold, but it was tempered by a raging, overlarge fireplace that drove the cold to the corners of the room.

Lady Cassandra as she approached a low cabinet on a wall with an array of weapons, likely personally designed to the daughters’ hands if their size said anything about the intended wielders. There were also paintings in several stages of completion, and in the corner, Isolde saw something stored underneath a white sheet— the dusting of stone on the floor around it giving away that whatever’s hidden away was a sculpture of some sort.

“I noticed you ditched the guard drones,” Lady Cassandra commented as she poured herself a glass of the Dimitrescu’s special reserve wine. For Isolde, she handed over something that’s as smooth and amber as whiskey. For the both of them, a platter of bread, cheeses, and meats arrived not too long after Lady Cassandra suggested a meal.

Isolde nursed her drink, feeling her cheeks warmed by the alcohol as well as the fire. “If Daniela wants to know what we talked about, she can ask me whenever she’s ready to have an actual conversation. Otherwise, I don’t care.”

Lady Cassandra’s chuckle faded but the grin remained there. “Oh, the little rabbit’s finally learning she has claws? It’s about time.”

“I didn’t realize you were... invested, I suppose?”

Lady Cassandra’s aurelian gaze balanced the intensity of Lady Bela’s and the wildness of Lady Daniela’s, and the result somehow made hers the hardest to keep eye contact with. “I am always invested when it comes to my family. I’m even more invested when Daniela’s involved.”

Isolde nodded.

Lady Cassandra watched her for another moment, nails tapping on the edge of her glass. “Answer a question for me: you didn’t go along with Bela’s plan earlier, why?”

“I’ll repeat to you what I told her. Reve— “

Lady Cassandra rolled her eyes and waved Isolde silent. “No, uh— no. See, I don’t want to know what you told her, I want to know why you didn’t go along with it. Bela’s not exactly sunshine and sweetness when she’s told no.”

“I just don’t work that way, Lady Cassandra. I’m ... “ Isolde took the time to collect her thoughts. “I don’t understand what happened to snap Daniela from friendly to... callous but that doesn’t mean I’m going to match her at that level for someone else’s gain.”

“I don’t think you’re understanding my question. I know Romanian isn’t your first language, so... allow me to rephrase it.”

Cassandra leaned forward, eyes bright. She was enjoying this. It was a taunt, a blatantly baited trap. “You could have done anything and been practically untouchable afterwards. I don’t care what color’s in your hair— Bela’s favor is practically gold bullion for the staff and sure, Dani would have been crushed and—”

“Yeah, I might be new to the ... ‘My Employer is a Swarm of Human-Devouring Flies’ business but I like Lady Daniela—”

“Oh? You like Daniela, do you...?”

Isolde’s glower only made Lady Cassandra grin even wider.

“What made you step in, anyways?” Isolde grumbled, leaning back with her drink cradled between her hands.

Lady Cassandra’s grin disappeared, and she matched Isolde’s slouch. “I didn’t step in for you if that’s what you’re trying to weasel at.”

“Oh, no, Lady Cassandra. I wouldn’t dream of such a thing.” Isolde took a sip, savoring the whiskey. “Thank you, by the way, for helping me when I was in the catacombs.”

“What?” Lady Cassandra’s eyes snapped back to hers. “I didn’t—”

“If the three little ladies currently pouting in their hiding hole are essentially Lady Daniela regardless of direct contact or not... then the little gold-dusted lady who helped keep me calm and escorted me back must have been—”

“That’s different. You were Dani’s only retainer and had you died because of that little stunt I would have never heard the end of it. I’d have had to cull my entire staff to make up for it!”

“So... it was different when you intervened with Lady Bela in the hallway, I suppose?”

Lady Cassandra paused, mouth dropping slightly ajar. Like Isolde, she recognized the trap and the bait. Perhaps more than Isolde, she seemed to appreciate the turnabout. “Clever little rabbit, aren’t you?”

“I have my moments.”

“Mmm.” Lady Cassandra’s gaze shifted calculating as she reevaluated the woman in front of her.

“So, what was different, exactly?”

“Look, I might find your disobedience with Bela hilarious but I’m still —”

“Oh, I am well aware of the fact that you’re quite capable of hurting me should —”

“I’m sorry? Should?” Lady Cassandra leaned forward, eyes wide with indignation. “Should?”

Isolde pressed on. Lady Cassandra was unnerving but she’s the third in a line of threats, and this time there was neither hands on her nor a blade in sight. That, and the whiskey was a solid buffer against Isolde’s better judgement.

“Should you feel the need to do so.” Isolde finished without missing a beat.

“What makes you so sure I don’t feel the need to right now?” Lady Cassandra’s head tilted to the side, and her voice angles with it. It was a lilting sing-song and disturbingly childlike for the woman seated across from Isolde.

Isolde took another drink. Steadied her voice, though she couldn’t help the edge of a smile from coming through. “I don’t think you’re the type to feed and water a woman before you torture her.”

Lady Cassandra smirked. “I could have drugged the tea.”

“And risk losing out on my reactions if you were going to strike me?”

“It could be short-acting, just long enough to bind you so you don’t fight back.”

“That circles back to ‘and risk missing out on my reaction?’”

Lady Cassandra’s chuckled. It was a smooth, velvet noise that settled Isolde’s nerves. She’d been bluffing, guessing along the lines of ‘the maidens match the mistress’.

She’d chosen correctly.

“How upset do you think Bela would get if I told her that I’m considering you for my Pack?”

“Terribly so, and no.”

Lady Cassandra shrugged. “Figured I’d ask.”

They fell into a surprisingly companionable silence after that, and when the small meal was finished and the castle bells chimed for Lady Cassandra to join her family for whatever duties required of her— there’s something to be said for the casual nonchalance that came with walking alongside Lady Cassandra back into the open foyer.

Where some of the Wolfpack were gathered, laughing at something or another being said. It died when Odette noticed their arrival and the hush that fell over the group of women was staggeringly quick.

Lady Cassandra stared over her group of chosen maidens with a critical eye before asking, this time loud enough that it carried: “All right, a wolf cull might be off the table, but are you certain a maiming or several won’t suffice?”

Isolde followed her gaze, met Rowana’s across the way. “Exceptionally sure, Lady Cassandra.”

Lady Cassandra shrugged again, “Fine, whatever.” She stepped forward, and the casual slant to her tone sharpened to something metallic as her voice lifted with power. “I know there were at least three carcasses still in need of breaking down before tomorrow. Did you manage to discover efficiency in the last four hours or so?”

Isolde watched the impromptu scolding for a while longer, then headed back upstairs to the warmth and comfort of the Pride’s territory.

Chapter Text

“Midwinter’s just about here and I really need to know what colors to decorate your wreath with. Green? Red? … Gold? Should we be expecting you to wear the Pack’s mantle now?”

The teasing words came with a mug of warm cider as Ms. Fields took the open seat next to Isolde in front of the grand fireplace. With the shuttering of the castle for the winter, many of the local women had returned home to their families, and the various household staff who’d remained now enjoyed the ease of a reduced workload.

The mood was a charming, gregarious one that night. Isolde had begun it enjoying a moment of solitude and now found herself surrounded by a collection of the more veteran women; some of whom even wore the topaz and gold of Lady Cassandra’s favor.

One of the novice recruits to the Pride, Hannah, took the seat on the opposite side of Isolde, and smiled in greeting. Across from them, on the larger of the two chaises, four more of the Pride tangled together in a pile of limbs and wild gestures as they struck up conversation.

Three armchairs designed and accommodated for Lady Dimitrescu’s wishes filled the remainder of the space; and with them, many of the staff took advantage to pile onto each at once — there was plenty of room.

“Isolde hadn’t even figured out if she wants to be a lion or a fox, Anni. You can’t expect her to add ‘flea-ridden mutt’ to her resume!” Ursula, another of the Pride, grinned around a mouthful of pastries that’d been brought by someone, and even winked as the nearest Packmember aimed a kick at her shin.

“Lady Cassandra’s turned my refusal into a game, I think,” Isolde murmured as she sipped at the deliciously warm hot cider. “She quite enjoys asking me to join the Wolf Pack — inserting the question into the most random of moments… and I quite enjoy telling her ‘no’.”

“How exactly are you walking away with your hide intact again?” A girl wearing topaz asked, eyes wide. “Lady Cassandra is not exactly the most … patient of women.”

“Well — “

Isolde and the others went quiet when a door opened on the floor above. The steady, resounding noise of Lady Dimitrescu’s arrival was something that commanded full attention and as the Countess came into view, the entirety of the staff stood to greet her.

Next to the Countess, the Lady of Thorns’s powerful stature became cast in a delicate light. The pair descended the stairs with a casual glance over to the assembled staff, and the assortment of small plates and cups.

“A fine Midwinter to you, Ladies.” Ms. Fields said, the rest of the women following suit. “An early dinner?”

“A stroll, if you can believe I snagged her away from the accounts.” The Lady of Thorns smiled and stroked a finger along her wife’s forearm.

“One night you’ll have to teach me how to convince Lady Bela that she’s allowed a break too.”

That prompted a low chuckle from Lady Dimitrescu. “That night we’ll both learn Camilla’s secret. Do be sure to include me when she reveals her magic?”

“Naturally, Lady Dimitrescu.”

Lady Dimitrescu’s eyes shifted over the staff and settle upon Isolde as if she was aware of her and she wasn’t quite sure if that was a strike in Isolde’s favor, or against her. Isolde swallowed hard and tried to keep eye contact. When the two Ladies of the House finally stepped away, Isolde slumped back on her seat with a pounding pulse.

Chloe, a newer recruit to the Rose Staff, returned the conversation to the very important topic of house gossip. Namely: “So what exactly do we call a hybrid maiden? If Isolde’s neither lion or fox…” She leaned into the side of her seat-partner, a woman with the most striking hazel eyes Isolde’s seen on anyone outside of the Dimitrescus.

“I haven’t decided on Lox or Fionness yet.” Isolde answered, grateful for the distraction.

“If you do join the Pack, you’ll be a Wox? No. A Folf — a FLOOF!” That set the entire group into a fit of giggles, and marked the mood for the remainder of the night. The group finally retired when the logs required a refresher, each of them refreshed and merry from the rare break. Isolde bid the others a good night and headed for the stairs.

She was on the first step when she heard a skittering noise from the corridor leading towards the Library and Opera Hall that sent a bolt of fear down her spine. She all but ran the rest of the stairs and the upper hallway until she was safely in her room.

She was immediately accosted by three agitated flies before the door’s closed. They swarmed around her, buzzing with alarm. Adele marched on Isolde’s shoulders and arms until she was satisfied nothing’s amiss.

“Rasa, you barely have the strength to hover — stop wasting it on me.” Isolde caught the little drone in a wide cage of her fingers and set the worried creature on the bed. Rasa turned in a circle, working off nerves, and lifted her feet up as if demanding to check Isolde over again.

“No. You can stay right there. Yaara — you’re supposed to be watching her.”

Yaara hummed and hopped from Isolde’s wrist to the bed; setting a firm forefoot on Rasa to guide her back towards the comfy hide-away.

“I need to teach you three how to write…” Isolde listened to her gut, and the drones behavior, and went to lock the door and stuff an old, weighted saddle-blanket as a door runner. Just in case.

Someone pounded on her door. The handle jiggled, and there's a grating drone as something tries to push past the wedged blanket. Isolde sat up, staring at the door. Her heart was in her throat and she looked for something to use as a weapon when —

“I can hear your heartbeat! You’re awake — open the damned door, Rabbit!”

Lady Cassandra? Isolde swung out of bed, tying her dressing robe around her as she undid the lock and kicked the blanket back. She opened the door to —

“Lady Cassandra. … Lady Bela?” Both elder Dimitrescu sisters were in the hallway, their forms shimmering and rippling at the edges like a desert mirage. “What’s… going… on?” She dodged back a step as Lady Cassandra shoved past, barging into the room. The woman stared about, tilting her head one way, before she aimed directly at the hide-away.

“Lady Cassandra, what’s going on?”

No answer.

Lady Cassandra dropped her human pretense as a swarm of soot and fire descends onto the hide-away; the alarmed buzzing of the drones within lurched Isolde forward to… help? To protect? To…

She’s stopped by a hand, steady and strong as steel, on her shoulder.

“Did you see Daniela last night?” Lady Bela asked, her brow furrowing as she watches Lady Cassandra’s swarm wrestle and drag the three drones out. Something was happening here, a struggle that Isolde couldn’t make out.

“No, Lady Bela. Why—" Isolde cut off as Lady Bela tugged her dressing gown back, peering intently at her shoulders and neck. The weight of that golden gaze burned as it traveled. Whatever Lady Bela was looking for, she didn’t find. She finished by smoothing the fabric back in place.

“Lady Bela?” Isolde tried again.

Lady Bela stared at the blackbird necklace, her fingers gentle on the little pendant. When Isolde called her name again, she looked up. “You need to remain in your room for the rest of the night, and likely all of tomorrow. Do you understand me?”

Isolde’s protests were cut down before they could begin.

“Rabbit, now isn’t the time to muster up that independent streak, all right?” Lady Cassandra’s voice was dark chocolate against Isolde’s ear as she stepped behind her, one hand light on the shoulder Lady Bela wasn’t holding her in place with. The scent of blade oil permeated Isolde’s nose as Lady Cassandra kept her there, caught between the two.

Lady Cassandra addressed her sister without stepping around Isolde. “The impression was pretty faint — they haven’t been a part of Dani’s swarm for a while now so I can’t—“

“Can’t is not a word in your vocabulary, Cassandra.” Lady Bela pinned her sister in place with just a look. “You’re our tracker. You’ll find her.”

Isolde risked a look back. The drones were still there, though they appeared shell-shocked. “What happened to Daniela?”

Both sisters looked at her. Lady Bela answered first. “Daniela had ...” at a look from Lady Cassandra, she stopped whatever she was going to say to scowl. “Oh, come now Cassandra, it’s not like Miss Ardenlane isn’t unaware of the more peculiar dangers of being one of our employees.”

.Lady Cassandra clucked her tongue if to scold her for getting Isolde invested. She turned Isolde around and lowered herself to eye-level. “She’s right, Rabbit… Which is why you need to listen to Bela’s warning. Just … stay here. Here, in the room, until Bela or I come back to collect you.” Lady Cassandra lifted her chin with two fingers. “You can manage that, can’t you?”

The heiresses’ innate charms didn’t really mean much when Isolde’s three stepped ahead in worrying and planning. “What happened? Is Daniela hurt?”

“Damn it, Cassandra,” Lady Bela muttered behind her.

“Daniela’s fine. It isn’t so much what’s happened to her, Rabbit —“

“More like what Daniela’s done. Or might do. So, please, stay in here tonight. Lock your door, tuck the blanket underneath it, and … don’t open it for anyone besides Cassa or myself.”

“Daniela hadn’t paid any attention to me in nearly two months — besides those three,” Isolde waved a hand to the drones. “What would she want with me now?” When the two exchanged a look over her head, Isolde scowled. “You can tell me now or I’ll find out for myself, later.”

“I told you to leave her out of this…” Lady Bela glared at her sister. “This isn’t the … look, Miss Ardenlane — Isolde —” Lady Bela rounded so she’s shoulder to shoulder with Lady Cassandra. “I will personally come back and answer what questions you have after I have dealt with Daniela and only if you stay here. Cassandra? Come.”

Lady Cassandra released Isolde’s chin and followed Lady Bela as she swept out the door. She stopped before she exited, a hand resting on the handle as she turned back to Isolde. She looked over her shoulder as if to make sure her sister couldn’t overhear her. “If you do indulge in your insatiable curiosity — for the love of the Black God Below, take those three with you. All right?”

She turned and hurried to catch up to her sister’s side. Isolde went to the door to try and eavesdrop on their conversation as they rushed away but whatever they were speaking — it was in no tongue she understands.

The strain to chase after them — ask questions, demand answers stuck to Isolde’s ribs like glue. She knew she wasn’t entitled to anything but surely they couldn’t expect her to just … sit and wait? Right?

She retreated into the safety of her room, replacing the blanket and locking the door as expected of her. She crossed back to the bed and knelt on the floor by where the three drones recovered from whatever Lady Cassandra had done to them.

“Are you three all right?” She asked as Yaara stumbled through a short hop. Adele’s wings flicked once — an affirmative.

“... is Daniela all right?”

Rasa shivered, almost shrugging. It was not a response Isolde’s got from them before. She couldn’t translate it.

“Is she… hurt?”

Another shiver. Isolde glanced to Adele. The largest fly somehow manages to look concerned, and even risked a glance with her fellow drones before spreading her wings wide, and sort of shaking them.

“Is… that? So, she’s hurt but not… physically?” Rasa shivered, and Adele’s wings flicked once. Then flicked twice more.

“Mentally? She’s upset? Scared?”

Now, there’s a shimmer of all of their wings. Adele came forward, reaching to tap lightly against Isolde’s nose.

“ … you don’t want your sisters to find you first, do you?”

A collaborative look between the three, and then a single decisive Brrtz with a powerful downbeat of Adele’s wings.

Isolde sighed and gingerly lifted the three to their usual spots underneath her collar. Once they had their footing, she looked around for something to defend with. She came up empty-handed. How do you protect yourself against an immortal swarm of flies?

“I don’t know how well fly-neurons can lie to each other but … if you know where she— where you might be hiding… ” The thought crossed Isolde’s mind that it was not so much that the drones lied to Lady Cassandra but perhaps that Lady Cassandra might have lied to —

Isolde headed back to the door, opening it as the drones questioned her again. “Well, you three know where to go and I am listening to the last instruction I received: take you with me.”

Of all the likely hiding spots, Isolde did not expect … this.

Isolde banked on the Library, the Greenhouse — any one of the Conservatories. Perhaps the Opera Hall, or one of the high towers. Sure, if it’d been that easy, Lady Cassandra wouldn’t have needed to use her as secret bait.

Because as Isolde stood at the top of a narrow staircase, staring down a crumbling, stone pathway leading into the lower cellars on the opposite side of any livable portion of the castle, she could only think that Lady Cassandra knew exactly where Daniela was and Isolde’s either being sent off as a sacrifice to lure her out … or… No. No, she’s pretty sure she was a sacrifice.

“And you’re sure we have to go… down there?”

A chorus of affirmative buzzing at her shoulder.

Isolde swallowed. Cranes herself far enough to see that she couldn’t see anything but the dark and damp void—

“I don’t know…” She curled an arm about her stomach, shivering — and not because it’s cold. “It’s freezing down there.”

Adele clambers out to balance on Isolde’s shoulder, leaning to make her own assessment about the abyss below them, and offered her conclusion with a worrying fret and wash of her forelimbs.

Brrrrtz.

“I know I don’t have to. I’m going to — I just —” Isolde took a step back, then another. She mentally mapped out the path she took here, and the various landmarks that should be nearby. The laundry’s near here, she thought. That…

“I just need to collect a few things, first.”

She darted faster than she cared to admit away from the dark, imposing unknown and threw herself into the liquid heat of the laundry room to grab a quilt. Just in case.

When she faced the abyssal maw a second time, she found that… nothing’s changed. It was still very dark, foreboding, and she felt it closing in on her before she’s taken a step down.

“... Daniela’s down there.”

…Brrrt.

“Fuck.” Isolde backed up again. Ran a hand through her hair. Wished she’d thought to grab something heavier for herself. She’d barely remembered to slip on the slippers before she’d hurried out.

“I thought she’d be in like… the Library…” Isolde muttered aloud. She could do this. The walls weren’t actually going to collapse on her. She wouldn’t be trapped dozens of meters below the surface. “You owe me so fucking much after this. Not just an explanation. I want … an apology; and a-an undying oath of friendship or loyalty or whatever for this. Ok?”

The drones wisely didn’t comment.

When Isolde took the first step, her heart exploded in her chest — hammering a high, rapid pace just like a rabbit startled from the brush. Her skin went clammy, and she tasted fear like acid on the back of her tongue.

“Just … just guide me. Ok?”

Brrtz.

She took another step, then another. Somewhere, her hand brushed over a circular switch that threw weak, pale light that does nothing to banish the absolute horror that she’s willingly descending into.

By the time she reached the last step, Isolde’s mind is scrabbling against the irrational truth that she’s going to die down here. Trapped. Alone. Gasping for air…

Brrrrrrrzzzz… Yaara crawled along Isolde’s jaw, up to her temple. She fluttered her wings, letting the tiniest of air currents waft over Isolde’s skin.

It… curbed the petrifying terror. Just… a little.

But a little is enough buffer against the sharp descent of panic as Isolde left the stairwell behind her. It helped that the space opened up and Isolde silently thanked the drone as she got a look at her surroundings.

All around her was weathered, cracked grey stone walls and rusted iron bars. The cells down here were not fit enough to house a hound let alone a person — and each space was cluttered with a variety of instruments and tools meant for torture and cruelty.

There was a history here, told in the chair covered with hundreds of sharp teeth along the seat and arms, with the stains dripping down the legs. There was another story in a mask hanging on the wall, designed to forcefully open and keep open someone’s jaw.

There’s even an honest-to-heaven Iron Maiden down here. Isolde thought those were fictional!

And yet… though the implications of their usage was worrying, Isolde struggled more to ignore the subtle hiss that the walls were breathing — inhaling and exhaling about her like a stone bellows.

Or a pair of lungs.

“Of course you’d hide at the very back of Shoal,” Isolde kept walking. The drones didn’t answer her, they couldn’t. It’s freezing down here and they’re huddling and exerting their strength into staying warm.

And the further Isolde descended, the sharper the cold and —

There’s a noise. Faint, like rats scratching in the walls.

And… sobbing? No. It’s lighter than that. Whispering. A voice caught on what little air there still is down here. Whatever the noise was — it tripped every survival instinct Isolde had… each of them blaring a clarion horn to get out now before it’s too late.

Isolde’s steps skittered to a halt. “I’m … going to demand a proper schedule.” Isolde started listing her expectations to keep the panic at bay. “I want… a pay raise. I want two nights off a week and enough vacation time —”

“No, damn it! They’re not… tight — not tight enough! I can still get out. I can’t get out. Not until… not until I’ve cleaned everything up.” That voice…

It was Lady Daniela but with a horrible, broken cadence that jumbled and tripped over itself, like white water after a storm.

Isolde’s hands trembled as she braced to peek around one of the solid, stone walls of a cell. She stared into a room that had no entrance save the narrow arch she cowered beneath and housed… a nightmare.

The space was barren save for a singular wash basin bolted to the floor; the edges eaten away by time and neglect. There’s water within it, sloshing a dark, viscous color that made Isolde’s stomach churn as it poured in. Several wooden slats fitted over the top, with iron rungs secured to them, and through the rungs are two chains that haphazardly snaked along the floor. One end is bolted into the stone and the other is…

Lady Daniela paused, head snapping up as she glared at the wall ahead of her. She was soaked in blood; caked in what could only be viscera and flesh that stuck to her like snow burrs on fur.

Isolde didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. She thought about saying something when Adele nips at her skin, sharp and quick. It was a warning, and Isolde heeded it well.

Adele’s shivering, and her buzzing carried a nervous, frantic vibration. Did they pick up the residual of whatever panic Lady Daniela was caught up in. She hovered her wings as slowly as she could manage.

Isolde trusted Adele’s instincts. She took careful, wide stepped into the room and then around the space in a methodical, steady approached; edging little by little into Lady Daniela’s field of vision.

Isolde spied an empty bucket and the washer sink being used to fill that basin. She picked it up, then stepped directly into Lady Daniela’s path.

Lady Daniela reached for the bucket, likely relying on muscle memory or behavior patterns she’d never broken. However, when Isolde didn’t release it to her, her eyes lifted from the floor to the bucket, then from the rusty metal to the hands holding it out, and then —

“YOU!” Lady Daniela lurched forward, trapping the bucket like a barrier between them; an anchor as the world writhed around them. “What are you doing here?! You can’t be here!”

Lady Daniela stepped back to get distance and Isolde stepped forward. They’re both still holding onto the pail. Lady Daniela couldn’t decide what she wants to look at more. The pail, their hands, the floor, or Isolde. Her gaze was white-wild with fear as she tracked Isolde like a caged, cornered creature might. “You can’t be here,” she repeated, almost sullen. “Why… why are you here?”

“Your sisters are worried about you,” Isolde said, and braced when Daniela snarled at that. “They are, Lady Bela—”

“Bela is worried about our reputation and the scandal! She’s not worried about me. She just wants to make sure I don’t—” Lady Daniela’s eyes flashed a bright, molten-gold. Her lips twisted in a sneer, and it’s not just her skin that’s covered in blood. Her mouth was filthy with it too. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“I don’t really want to be down here. It’s terrifying, Daniela… but if you th…” Isolde bit off her words, then rephrased herself. “I was worried about you. I am worried — you’re covered in blood. Are you hurt?”

Lady Daniela’s laugh was too-loud and falsetto. “Am I hurt? No! No, I’m not hurt! But you— you could have been! You… you should have been.”

Isolde blinked back her reaction. “I… should have been hurt?”

Lady Daniela’s head cocked like a puppy being taught a command. “Why… aren’t you hurt?”

“Daniela… what makes you think I should have been hurt? Who would —”

“ME!” Lady Daniela surged against the chains, taking five steps as Isolde stumbled back six. “Because that’s what I do!”

Isolde’s heart was somewhere in her throat as she realized that she’s going to die down here and flies are not nearly cute enough for this sort of emotional trauma she’s facing down. Still — she didn’t let go of the pail, and neither did Daniela, though she kept wrenching on it.

Isolde found the one other thing in the room to talk about — distract Lady Daniela with. “Who … uh… are you trying to do hydrotherapy?” She remembered overhearing a phone conversation a long time ago. How to settle the mind and body when someone’s… become a little too much.

Lady Daniela’s mouth twisted about her words. “You don’t want to know who’s blood I’ve got all over me?”

Isolde ignored the bait. “Because if you are trying to do hydrotherapy — you’re not doing it right. It’s not —”

“Said who?” That golden gaze burned into her again. “You? You’re an expert in patching up broken minds like broken windows?”

“No.” Isolde said, far calmer than she felt at the moment. She tried from another angle. “You’re… worried about hurting me, and you… hurt someone. My aunt always ran the water a little hotter when my mother… well… “ Isolde trailed off, embarrassed. “How can we heat up the water down here?”

Lady Daniela’s— Daniela’s head canted to the other side; a snake measuring striking distance. “I … why are you asking me that?” She’s suspicious, and her words hissed through her teeth while she drummed her nails over the metal pail. “That’s a weird question to ask me right now? Why are you asking that question?”

“Why aren’t you answering it?” Isolde countered; brow arched in challenge.

Daniela’s lips peeled back from her gum line, baring her teeth. Isolde noticed the fangs, first. Daniela had fangs… and then she noticed the blood and the—

She’s going to ignore the implication of those dark, stringy things caught between Daniela’s upper canines.

“... the water has to be cold.” Daniela said, finally.

Isolde sighed in relief. She’s no expert on the mind but if Daniela’s talking, then that could only be a good sign, right? She hoped so.

“Because you’re a Swarm, right? And Flies… don’t they hibernate in the winter? I think I remember reading that.”

Daniela giggled. It’s not sweet, or silver-bright. It’s a cruel, jagged noise and hurt to listen to.

“You’re thinking of bears, silly. The water has to be cold so I can feel it. That’s the proper punishment for what I did, and if the water’s too warm, well,” Daniela’s fingers slid over Isolde’s own. “I can just get up and escape before I get scalded. So— freezing cold it is!”

Isolde’s hands managed to stay steady as Daniela’s freezing touch seeped into her skin. It’s worse than any crawling or buzzing sensation. Isolde could handle drones but this…

“That … sounds unpleasant, Daniela.” Isolde forced them to make eye contact, and for Daniela to keep it.

Now Daniela flinched away, her expression falling from mocking to anguished. “It’s supposed to be, Dummy. How else am I going to learn?”

Isolde’s gaze didn’t waver as Daniela’s gaze darted, startled and frightened over everything but her. When Daniela nervous energy dimmed a little, Isolde ventured deeper with her questions.

“What are you punishing yourself for?”

Daniela’s smile returned with an edge of manic desperation. “Would you like to find out?” She sing-songed like a villain from a fairytale as she pulled on the bucket and by extension, Isolde. Her hands snaked up over Isolde’s wrists, then her forearms. Her nails scratched and left red welts behind.

Isolde winced but didn’t snatch her hands back. Not when there were three drones trembling against her skin; and it wasn’t just the cold, Isolde thought. They’re scared of their own self. After all, when would Daniela have had the chance to see herself from the outside in before this?

“I can show you. My companion position opened up again, y’know?” Daniela’s fingers danced a playful jig near her elbow. “I promise that I’ll listen to you and everything and you’ll get… every… answer… you… want.” She punctuated her words with tapped of her nails. Then she frowned. “Then again, if you’re as smart as I think you are — you’ll turn me down. You should turn me down. I promise I won’t be upset if you do.”

There. That’s… she could use that. She could. Isolde laughed and shook her head. It stopped Daniela’s looming, and the redhead pulled back as if Isolde’s the one on the verge of a murderous break.

“What?”

“I’m just… what if I say yes?”

“To what?”

“To be your companion, Lady Daniela.” Isolde emphasized that with a flutter of her lashes. “You just asked me.”

“And I told you that if you’re smart, you’d say no.”

“Well, I’m saying yes. Provided … one thing.”

Daniela’s eyes narrowed and she waited.

“You said you’d listen to me; if I ask you to do something for me, would you?” Isolde met that predatory gaze head-on. Daniela’s teeth were sharp and wicked in the gloom.

“Of course. I’d do anything you want.”

“... prove it to me, then. Right now. Undo those chains and come with me upstairs.”

“I —wait — what?”

“Come with me back upstairs. I’ve got a quilt so you can get warm again—”

Daniela’s brows furrowed and she broke their stare as Isolde turned her hands over to gently grip Daniela’s arms. “I— I can’—”

“You just promised me that you could, Daniela.”

Daniela’s eyes snapped back to her, wide. “That ... I didn’t mean — not right — “

“You’re breaking your promise already?”

“No!” Daniela’s grip turned to iron at her elbows. Isolde felt the bruises that’ll be there when she woke up. “No. I— I’ll—”

“You already broke one promise to me, Daniela. If you’re breaking this one immediately after making it — I’m never going to forgive you.”

Daniela swallowed. She looked down at the drones peeking out from Isolde’s collar, then back to Isolde before nodding, slowly.

Isolde hoped her relief wasn’t too obvious. She looked around the space again. “Let’s … get out of here, then. We’ll get you cleaned up … somewhere else.”

“We shouldn’t. This is the only place I can be —”

“I’m not going to punish you, Daniela. I’m going to help you get cleaned up and—”

Then what? Isolde’s inner voice hissed. Tell her that everything’s going to be just fine?

“Then we’re going to talk about Terika and why you killed her in my place.” Isolde held steady onto Daniela’s arms when she lurched back. “Because that’s why she’s dead, isn’t it? Because of me?”

“... I ... “

“You don’t need to answer that right now.” Isolde let go of one of Daniela’s wrists and carefully extracted the bucket from between them. Then, she stepped into Daniela’s space and looked at the shackles. They’re not that complicated to undo with an extra pair of hands, and they’re unlocked and off the heiress’ wrists within a minute. Underneath, Daniela’s skin was raw and vivid-red from straining against them.

Isolde gently brushed over the raw skin, then as gently as one guides a spooked mare, set the quilt around Daniela’s body, and led her out of that desolate space. They stepped past the horrible history trapped in the rusted cells. They left the frozen, damp stone walls behind and went up the stairs into the quiet of the castle proper.

Surprisingly, Daniela didn’t question Isolde’s choice to bring her back to Isolde’s room, though she stood a little awkwardly in the middle of the space as Isolde shut the door.

“I don’t know how good a tracker Lady Cassandra is—”

“She’s amazing at it…” Daniela answered in a slight daze as she peered around at the various ways Isolde’s made the new space her own. She found the hide-away for the drones and her breath hitched quietly.

“I figured as much. Would you be comfortable, then, if I lock the door and discourage any lazy attempts to eavesdrop?”

“Aren’t you worried that I might hurt you? If the door’s locked, you—”

“Daniela, another woman is dead explicitly because you didn’t want to hurt me. I think I’m safe for right now.”

“You sound so sure...” The heiress was wistful as she watched Isolde lock and tuck the saddle blanket back in place.

“My mother said my worst trait is my inability to listen to common sense.” Isolde smiled, extending a hand to lead them to the connected bathing suite. It’s nowhere near the luxury that Daniela might be used to, but it’s a comfortable, intimate place.

As Isolde drew the bath, Daniela remained standing in the doorway. Isolde kept an eye on her through the mirror, watching her tense as Isolde went for the hot water, but little by little she relaxed when Isolde constantly monitors the temperature via her wrist.

The three drones carefully make their way down to the tub’s rim, basking in the humid heat rising from the water as Isolde lets it run. She kept an eye on them as she grabbed what she hoped will be useful for scrubbing out tough, coagulated stains without damaging frostbitten skin.

When she’s done, and the water’s turned off, she turned to see that Daniela hadn’t moved at all.

“Would you like some assistance with your clothes?” Isolde asked, still kneeling by the tub. She stood only after Daniela gave a hesitant nod. She approachesed slowly and obvious, careful as she possibly could as she starts to peel the tunic off. She stopped once, to soak a cloth to help soften the bits of Daniela’s swarm that don’t want to part with their clothing as easily.

Isolde tried to push away the intrusive thoughts that appeared. Is this skin or a broken, damaged drone? Or is it a part of the woman that Isolde barely given more than a second’s thought to? If it is, what did Isolde just peel away and throw in the sink? Muscle? Some sort of organ meat? Did Daniela actually kill her?

“Isolde?” Daniela’s fingers brushed at her hair. Isolde blinked and noticed that she’d been frozen in place for a while, kneeling in front of Daniela, one hand gently pulling at the hem of Daniela’s skirt while the other held the dripping cloth.

“Sorry,” she murmured, and finishes until Daniela’s naked, but still absolutely covered in the gore that’d seeped through the loose linen. Isolde stood up, collecting the articles of clothing and frowned as she absently folded them on the counter. “How… dangerous is the cold for you, really?”

Daniela tilted her head as she spoke. “Sudden temperature drops are the worst thing for us. We can go outside in weather like this but we’re sort of… trapped in our skin and we’re really vulnerable because we don’t get injured like… normal people. Why?”

“Because…” Isolde felt very foolish, but she’s already asked the first part. “What about the drones … that…” she waved a hand over the folded clothing. “Are these ones… stuck? Like… Adele?”

“Oh, no, did I lose more drones?” Daniela leaned around Isolde, laughing when Isolde pointed at the clothes. It’s a softer laugh than previous, made of simple, pure amusement. “Oh! Uh, those… are just clothes, Isolde.”

Isolde bit the inside of her cheek but she’s blushing anyway. “... in my defense you are literally a swarm of flies.” Isolde tried to regain her pride by turning to do one final, unneeded temperature check as Daniela giggled behind her. “All right, fine, where do your clothes go when you swarm then, hmm?”

That made the giggling worse. Isolde whirled on the redhead and glared at her over folded arms. “Oh! You’re… uh, you’re actually asking? Serious asking… uh, well, I carry them.”

“You do not.”

Daniela tried not to giggle again; she was failing miserably, and Isolde’s lips twitched in amusement as well.

“Hey, who’s the swarm of flies here, huh? I do so carry them; that’s why I stick to the loose, flowy stuff. I don’t like anything compressing or constricting or … restraining. It’s irritating and difficult to swarm through.” Daniela stepped closer to the tub, and with a shaky breath, stepped into the water — trusting Isolde with the temperature.

Isolde dragged over a footstool and sat. “You know… I would pay a ludicrous amount of money to have been there when Lady Dimitrescu taught you three the importance of clothing. I bet it took forever.”

“Took Cassa the longest, believe it or not. She’s all lithe limbs and lean muscle… It was the saddest day when Mother introduced her to a pair of trousers she liked.” Daniela leaned back with a tiny, pleased noise. “The water’s… really warm. I like it.”

“It seemed like you’ve done the cold bath a few times already and it didn’t work… so I went with this instead.” Isolde started gingerly working through Daniela’s hair, delicately detangling the matted tresses. “ … is there any way to contact that girl’s… Terika’s family? Some sort of … I don’t know — compensation?”

“Probably? Bela… usually handles… that part.” Daniela sank down until her mouth was below the water.

“Ah. What about the disposal—”

Daniela broke the surface to answer; “Cassa’s Wolves deal with that,” then it’s back to blowing bubbles and avoiding the conversation.

Isolde thought about the fury and bitterness she encountered with Lady Cassandra’s Wolfpack, and shook her head. She lightly tapped the hair pick against Daniela’s ear. “They’re not going to deal with this one… or any of the others. I’ll take care of it — of her — of… the body.”

“What?!” Daniela rose up, nearly knocking Isolde back. Water sloshed dangerously close to overflowing. “No! You can’t—”

“I can, and I will, Daniela.”

“No! Because she’s— she’s—”

“Dead. Because of me. That makes her my responsibility. Not the Wolf Pack’s.” Isolde firmly set Daniela back down so she could continue working on her hair. Had Rowena had to deal personally with the aftermath of Daniela’s infatuation with her partner? It… answered a lot of things, namely her hatred of Isolde’s inexplicable survivability and the odd intimacy of her interactions with the three heiresses that couldn’t be explained through sex or … feeding.

Daniela didn’t seem to have an answer for that, and honestly — that worked for Isolde; she didn’t know if she wanted to hear the answer — the excuses — or, well, anything at the moment. They lapsed into an uneasy, heavy silence that spoke louder than any conversation.

Daniela’s shame bled into the water as Isolde softly worked it from her body. And with every stroke and refreshing of the cloth, Isolde’s choices and loyalty became more and more evident until the answer’s etched in the moment between them.

Isolde exchanged the water three times, watching the rust-ring stain the porcelain before it swirled down into the pipes. She’s mindful of Daniela’s warning about the temperature change and kept an eye and a hand on the water.

When Daniela’s hair gleamed copper and the water ran a light rosewater pink did Isolde make her terms known.

“You will never kill another woman because of me again. If it’s … difficult for you to be around me, we can deal with that but … “

“You’re not difficult to be around,” Daniela murmured as she darted a shy glance Isolde’s way. “You’re sort of… wonderfully dear.”

Isolde squeezed out the cloth just for something to do. “You could have fooled me these past months, Daniela.”

“... yeah, I know.” Daniela turned back and shifted forward so she’s hugging her knees. Almost as a non-sequitur, she asked; “Do you know what I hate most about romance novels?”

Isolde shook her head. “I thought you loved them.”

“I do… but I hate them, too. They… lie about… everything that romance an-and love is supposed to be. It’s always so easy and the stories say that it’s ok to feel like the love’s going to consume you because you can share that hunger and passion with the other person but … that didn’t ever happen.”

“Everyone always loves me less than I love them and they always stop loving me when they… find out what we are, or tha— that I have to eat… certain things. Or… that Cassa and me—” Daniela stared at the faucet, and Isolde gently studied her profile. “Sooner or later, the undying confessions disappear, and they start cringing and ducking away and… it always happens. Always. So…”

“I think I read somewhere that a kiss is essentially the beginning of cannibalism…” Isolde mused.

Daniela snorted, side-eyeing her. “What sort of books are you reading?”

“Philosophy.” Isolde retorted, with a slight smile. “... so you kill them, and… consume them.”

Daniela nodded. She tucked her chin to her knees. “Love consumes everyone in the end, didn’t it? At least this way… if I eat them, they’ll never be able to leave. They’ll die having loved me forever.”

Isolde blew out a breath. “ … the blush faded from your newest rose that fast? I … don’t know if that said more about you, or about her.”

Daniela shot her a look. “She… couldn’t see me like you do. I mean, yes, she was very pretty, and very good with her —”

“I don’t need to know what she was good at, thank you…”

“... but she didn’t try to see me. See us.” Daniela turned her cheek on her knees as she looked Isolde’s way. “Not like you do.”

“... do you want to consume me, Daniela?”

Daniela’s eyes were wide, and dark. A predator’s gaze. Her mouth was rose-crimson and filled with fangs that gleamed pearl-white. She looked at Isolde as if it was very silly to ask that question…

Because they both knew the answer.

Isolde swallowed around her heart. “I … can’t promise you that I’ll never leave.”

“I know.” Daniela’s gaze grew darker until the ring of gold was a razor wire that Isolde would choke on if she’s not careful. “I thought if I could find someone else … that I’d stop wanting to…”

“I don’t want you to stop.”

That snapped Daniela’s attention to precision focus. She turned until she braced her forearms between Isolde’s steepled elbows, bringing them close enough that Isolde’s breath fluttered Daniela’s lashes.

Isolde licked her lips. “I can’t promise you that I’ll never leave… but I think I’m starting to not want to leave. Does that make sense?”

Daniela nodded.

Isolde’s eyes flickered down, and when she took a breath, it came a little shakier than she expected. “And… I know that I can’t ask you to never be infatuated by another set of pretty eyes and a really lovely book recommendation (if I say so, myself)...”

“Hey…” Daniela pouted, but that’s enough to allow them both the sensibility to pull back. Neither one of them were ready for that conversation. Though the thought that there’s a conversation to be had left Isolde feeling…

Hungry.

And she’d need time to process that.

So, for both their sakes, Isolde fetched a large, fluffy towel. She unfolded it and beckoned for Daniela to stand up, wrapping her in the warm fabric when she did. With her free hand, she brought the dozing drones up to settle on Daniela’s shoulder for once.

“It’s time they come back. You’re meant to be a swarm, not…” Isolde watched as the slightest motion of Daniela’s skin, the three drones she’d come to care for shimmer away into the illusion of the woman opposite her. She felt a little unfair when she asked; “are they…?”

“I — they’re so distinct now. They’re still… me —I’m still me, but we—they’re sort of yours now, too.” Daniela grabbed the other towel and dried her hair, smiling when she caught Isolde’s relief.

“Well. Good. That’s — good. They’re… I mean, I was getting worried for a while because they needed to heal properly, and you needed your brain cells back —”

“Hey, so mean?!” Daniela giggled and snagged a hand out to gently shove Isolde’s shoulder. “They’re not all my brain cells…”

“Just the sensible ones. Whatever makes you feel better about the situation, Lady Daniela.” Isolde’s grin only grows when Daniela’s pout returned with a stomped foot for good measure. “Now, let’s find you the loosest, flowey-iest—” Isolde crinkled her nose at the translation and Daniela laughed. “I want to see you casually converse in Lithuaian before you get to tease me about Romanian.”

“I’d be amazing at it, probably, but that’s not what you were trying to say I think? After we get changed, we’ll deal with my mess?” Daniela risked another shy glance at her.

Isolde nodded as she offered a hand for Daniela to step out of the tub. “We’ll deal with our mess. Together.”

“Together.”

Chapter Text

There’s something to be said about the threshold of awareness. Namely, once something had been noticed, the likelihood that it’ll slip back into the monotonous noise of one’s background obliviousness is poor at best.

And there’s another thing to be said about the Universe’s consistent, aggressive reminders that one was now aware of what they hadn’t been before.

For it hadn’t yet crossed twenty-four hours since her first encounter with the Countess and Isolde was bracing a second time as Lady Dimitrescu’s formidable presence pressed her hindbrain in a vice.

The distance of the previous night’s encounter, along with a healthy helping of hard cider had served to quiet what was now undistilled, irrational panic threatening to swallow Isolde’s rational thoughts.

It certainly didn’t help that Lady Dimitrescu blocked the only exit to the Greenhouse, and Isolde’s alone and trapped with the Dragon.

There was no buffer here. Alcoholic or physical.

At least Lady Dimitrescu looked surprised to see her.

“You’re alive.”

The note of incredulousness shook a shard of frozen fear from Isolde’s soul. “Yes, Lady Dimitrescu,” Isolde answered as if there isn’t the implication that Lady Dimitrescu expected a different fate for her.

“Well, then.”

Underneath the Lady’s gaze, Isolde felt the weight of Lady Cassandra’s nickname for her. Here, she was the rabbit caught in the open meadow underneath the swoop of a shadow overhead.

Lady Dimitrescu stared past her into the garden maze. “And Daniela … is?”

“Fetching dismemberment tools, I believe.”

Another fracture in the ice as surprise brought that dangerous, flame-bright gaze back to her. However, Lady Dimitrescu was not a woman keen on secrets and mysteries she wasn’t privy to, and so Isolde elaborated.

… On most of the night’s events. She kept silent on the more personal revelations. Daniela’s confessions weren’t hers to divulge anyways.

By the end of her retelling, they both heard the pair of voices coming down the long exterior corridor; and Isolde didn’t care if it was one of the Wolf Pack come to reveal a dastardly cover-up if it meant another soul between her and the predator.

Perhaps the two pairs of golden eyes and pallid, lithe limbs weren’t exactly the sort of salvation a woman should hope for, but Daniela and Lady Cassandra’s arrival took the brunt of their mother’s focus when they walked past the windows.

As did the conversation they’re having.

“— she knew we have the grinders for this exact purpose, right?” Lady Cassandra carried a large cloth bag, balanced on her shoulders like a polearm.

“We do, but we have to do this by hand. She said, and I quote ‘this death was personal’ and so using the grinder is like tossing the body in the trash.”

“And…? That’s going to take forever. Who’s the Heiress and who’s the staff again?”

“You haven’t had her glare at you yet. I think Bela taught her. It’s terrifying.”

“Uh-huh. Or you’re just besotted.”

“You’re besotted.”

“Daniela, there you are.” Lady Dimitrescu ducked into the hall to greet the two of them.

“Mother!” The two exclaimed as one and swarmed to her. Lady Cassandra materialized a polite distance before her while Daniela indulged in a hug befitting her status as the youngest.

Lady Dimitrescu cupped Daniela’s cheek in a hand and checked her over with a soft gaze. “I heard about the trouble last night and came to find you.”

Daniela nuzzled into the touch, grateful for it and her mother’s concern. “It’s all right— I’m all right this time. Only one accident this time too!”

Isolde’s gaze skittered over to the ‘accident’ currently tucked under a plain sheet, then back to the family encounter.

By now, Daniela stepped back in favor of Lady Cassandra. Lady Dimitrescu’s affection was more reserved with her middle daughter but no less fond. Lady Cassandra’s eyes fluttered as she received a fond touch to her jaw, then all three turned to Isolde, and Isolde decided that her mind is an idiot — three predatory gazes was certainly not a better assortment of odds to manage as compared to one.

“Isolde helped me last night,” Daniela said, and Isolde did not like the way that Lady Dimitrescu’s lips pursed at that.

“Did she now?”

“Mmhmm! Mother, we just have to revise Isolde’s contract because she’s so much more than a maid now!” Daniela mustn’t realize that Lady Dimitrescu wasn’t sharing in her lighthearted mood because she proceeded to skip inside the Greenhouse — oh, Lady Dimitrescu’s glare was going to haunt Isolde’s nightmares — and plucked up Isolde’s hands.

“Is she now?”

Isolde couldn’t see the Countess’ expression but she felt the stab of it between her shoulders as Daniela spun her about and led them deeper into the verdant graveyard.

All of that frozen fear crackled on her like snap-frost.

Isolde knew that all three women heard the panicked notch her heart rate kicked into. And yet, all three women did nothing with that information.

The tension bent when Lady Cassandra set a clatter of varying blades on a worktable. She glanced up to see all three of them looking at her. “What? Breaking a body down by hand requires tools and I’d like to actually get to see Daniela sometime this week outside chores so — “

“I don’t understand. What does the maiden doing her job have to do with your time with Daniela?”

“Because… Daniela and I are… going to … help her?” Lady Cassandra’s words drawled as slow as the freezing glacier in Isolde’s blood.

Lady Dimitrescu stared blankly at the huntress for a moment. “I beg your pardon? It sounded like you just said that Daniela is … willingly going to assist with manual labor.”

“I am, though!” Daniela rounded on her Mother. Lady Dimitrescu’s scowl softened at Daniela’s earnest smile.

“It’s not manual labor. Breaking down bodies is fun.” Lady Cassandra muttered and trailed her fingers over the length of the largest bone-saw Isolde’s seen. “I can’t wait to set this over the femur and — “ she noticed Isolde’s look. Her expression drops from potential excitement to a pout. “What now? Why are you giving me that look?”

Keeping Lady Dimitrescu in mind, Isolde aimed for professional casualness. “I think it would be… more beneficial for Lady Daniela and myself to do this task ourselves.”

“What.”

Isolde might as well have canceled every good thing in existence with how Lady Cassandra stared at her.

Daniela winced, apologetic as she glanced Lady Cassandra’s way. “I tried to tell you…”

“No, you didn’t!” Lady Cassandra’s wounded gaze didn’t leave Isolde’s. “You just said that you were going to break down a body with Rabbit and— “ Lady Cassandra stopped herself, likely remembering whatever conversation her and Daniela had. “And — I stopped listening halfway through because — the Black God’s tentacles, Dani, you know I love dissections!”

“I’m sorry!” Daniela swept her into an embrace, burying her nose against Lady Cassandra’s neck. “I’ll make it up to you later! We’ll go hunting!”

“It’s freezing out there. You two will certainly not go hunting.” Lady Dimitrescu’s voice cut through Daniela’s words until the youngest heiress went quiet and simply rested her chin on Lady Cassandra’s shoulder while Lady Cassandra glared down at the assortment of tools she’d built her hoped and dreams for the day over.

“Whatever,” Lady Cassandra said eventually. She turned and nuzzled hard against Daniela’s temple until the redhead giggled. “I just received a new shipment of steel yesterday anyways.”

Isolde knew that specific shipment wasn’t expected until the end of the week. The passes had snowed in and delayed any travels through them. But Daniela didn’t.

The look Lady Cassandra gave Isolde promised that the huntress would extract payment for the little white lie in the future. Isolde hoped her gentle look in return conveyed her promise to provide said payment in full.

Lady Cassandra departed after a quick description of each blade and tool, and with her gone; Daniela’s attention shifted to deflecting Lady Dimitrescu’s hovering concern.

Though, the fact that the Countess hadn’t stopped pinning Isolde with the most piercing gaze she’d ever experienced likely influenced Daniela’s interest in removing the Dragon.

Lady Dimitrescu turned to indulge Daniela with a crooning fondness that Isolde didn’t expect when her youngest beckoned to her with a smile and sweet sing-song. “Yes, dear one?”

Daniela slipped forward, turning her head up and into Lady Dimitrescu’s outstretched palm much like a housecat might. Like said housecat, she nuzzled and let out a soft, contented hum. “Would it be all right if I stop by your office later?”

The dismissal was blatant enough that Lady Dimitrescu’s expression darkened and that devastating look trapped Isolde beneath it a second time. However, Lady Dimitrescu’s patience and affection won over her suspicion when she answered Daniela in the affirmative, completely sidestepping the awkwardness of the moment.

When she left, Isolde waited an appropriate length of time before speaking, but Daniela held a hand up. She nodded when she deemed it safe for them to speak freely.

“Your Mother is planning to kill me.” Isolde announced as soon as she’s able to. She busied herself with testing the weight of a saw blade that almost wrenched her arm out of the socket, yelping as the blade clatters loudly on the table. She turned, expecting Daniela to dismiss her worries and to brush past both the worrisome encounter and Isolde’s lamblike weakness in comparison.

Daniela, fickle-minded at heart, did not abide by either expectation.

She picked up the blade that practically wrenched Isolde’s arm with an ease that burned envy deep in Isolde’s breast and said, “Probably. She hates when the staff ‘develop ambitions beyond their place’ with any of us;” so it couldn’t be helped that Isolde answered with:

“Dani!”

“What?” Daniela went on to collect several other blades and dismemberment tools as though they weighed nothing. They probably didn’t for her.

She carried her horde towards the covered body and organized them while she spoke. “Mother has always been more than a little… overprotective of us. It’s become a bit better with Maica’s arrival;” Daniela picked up the first blade, nodding to Isolde to pull back the sheet. She set the edge against the inguinal crease and with a heavy chop, severed limb from the torso. “But dragons are territorial. By right of territory or conquest, we’re hers.”

There wasn’t a response that succinctly summed up Isolde’s thoughts on that statement; and though she’d long since grown used to butchering and preparing meat — she failed to account for the reality that there was a human corpse on the table. A human corpse she positioned under Daniela’s second cut.

So she let the topic lapse underneath more pressing, present issues.

No matter. Whatever the relationship was between the Countess and her Heiresses wasn’t any of Isolde’s business anyway.

Two days after Terika’s breakdown into both blood and bone meal, Isolde woke up to the distressingly familiar sensation that she was being watched.

“Daniela, how many times do I have to tell you that it’s creepy to watch people when they sleep?” Isolde groused, bracing herself for uncomfortable proximity to a bright, golden gaze.

Only…

Daniela was perched on the side of the bed and peeking curiously into the hideaway. Adele was on her shoulder, giving her a tour.

“Huh?” Daniela peered over at her name. “Oh! Hello!”

“Hello, Daniela. Hello Adele. Why are you in my room at...” Isolde twisted to fumble for the bedside clock.

She found herself uncomfortably close to the second pair of golden eyes. At first, she didn’t comprehend what she was seeing.

Until the eyes lunged for her.

“Rah!”

“AAAH!”

Lady Cassandra’s cackle followed Isolde's scramble backward that nearly took Daniela out in the process. The redhead caught her before either of them toppled over the edge. She curled Isolde protectively at her chest and chided her sister in the vibrations of their shared swarm language while Isolde steadied herself by using Daniela’s arm as a brace. Once she stopped panicking, she glared daggers at the giggling brunette.

“What the hell, Lady Cassandra?!”

“I did warn you that she likes to watch me sleep,” Daniela said, leaning her chin on Isolde’s head.

“That — how does that prepare me for her watching me sleep!”

“I don’t know, but it should have. Where I go, Cassa follows after all.” Daniela pulled back and tapped Isolde’s nose. She offered a sweet smile that shouldn’t calm Isolde’s temper, but it did.

Not ready to let go of her righteous indignation, Isolde alternated the focus of her glare between the two heiresses until there was nothing left to do but to lightly shove Daniela back. She left the Vixen’s hold and settled cross-legged on her mattress a bit away. “To my earlier question; why are you two here at ...” She peeked at the clock, then groaned. “Do you ever sleep?”

“Not really, no. Why?” Daniela said, far too chipper for four in the afternoon. There was a trickle of sunlight at the windows refracting in her hair and it was distracting.

“Because I fell asleep barely four hours ago!”

“That’s a personal problem, Rabbit. You should take better care of your needs.”

“I would if I didn’t have the most annoying swarm pestering me! You might not need to sleep but humans do!”

“Debatable,” Lady Cassandra’s cackled faded to a slight smirk. “I’ve heard a rumor that the human body can withstand up to two weeks without sleep and — “

“You have an entire pack of zealous ladies just waiting to prove themselves the most ‘whatever’ to you.” Isolde flapped a hand at the end of that sentence.

“You don’t want to prove yourself to me?” Lady Cassandra’s question came on the tail-end of a delectable pout that Daniela must have taught her.

It saved her from Isolde risking a launch across the mattress to see if fly-swarms needed to breathe. “It’s not on my agenda.”

Lady Cassandra scoffed, but there’s no denying the mirth dancing at her lips. “To be fair, Daniela made us wait until you woke up on your own — which we did.”

Daniela nodded. “Mmhm! Besides, it’s better to travel before evening fell.”

“Travel? You’re leaving?”

“There are only a few decent nights left until Midwinter and uh, after the winery fiasco, Cassa and I decide we’re going to kill a few goats with one scythe: Avoid Bela’s wrath and have a pleasant afternoon ride.”

Isolde snorted. ‘Winery Incident’ made the previous day’s events sound like a casual outing. Not the frantic chase after a loose Lycan through the upper levels of the building before either Lady Dimitrescu or Lady Bela discovered the intruder and the damage left in its wake.

Especially since said loose Lycan had been one of Lady Cassandra’s hobbled specimens. And the reason why said previously-captured Lycan had gotten loose had been thanks to Isolde accidentally implying Lady Cassandra’s hunting skills would rust while being trapped in the castle.

Knowing Lady Bela, that easily placed Isolde equally to blame alongside the huntress currently smirking opposite her.

“ ... fine. I’m going with you then. Where are we going?”

Daniela clapped her hands together with a delighted squeal. “See! I told you she’d want to go.”

“Only because our Rabbit here is smart enough to duck and cover before Bela started her warpath.” Lady Cassandra drawled a counterpoint before answering Isolde. “We aren’t going too far — just across the ravine and along some of the upper trails. Speaking of Midwinter, Daniela mentioned something about— we could, y’know, swing by the village and pick you up... candles? That’s a thing for your people, yeah?”

Isolde’s hackles rose from sheer reflex. She wanted to believe Lady Cassandra meant well, but history had sharpened her defenses to a perfect point. “We — I don’t practice.”

“Yeah, but— “

“I don’t practice, Lady Cassandra.”

Lady Cassandra recognized the warning. The glance she flicked Daniela’s way didn’t settle Isolde’s anxiety, though. “Sure, all right. Well, that means you have no reason to resist when we induct you in our cult then.”

Isolde studied them for any crack or flaw in Lady Cassandra’s nonchalance. She found nothing to warrant her guard staying up so, eventually, she nodded her thanks at the topic’s dismissal.

Before her mood festered further, she scooted off the bed to find something to wear. As she opened her wardrobe, she asked; “When are we heading out?”

“I’d like to as soon as you’re dressed. One of my Wolves will have a pair of horses and a lunch ready for us.”

“You won’t mind riding along with me, right Isolde? I’m the best rider after all, and I’ll keep you steady in the saddle.” Daniela slipped behind Isolde’s back. She settled her chin on Isolde’s shoulder and made and kept eye contact via their reflections as her hands encircled Isolde’s waist, playfully tucking her close. “Mm, don’t forget to dress warmly.”

“You just want my body heat, don’t lie to me.” Isolde murmured, no longer bothered by Daniela’s affectionate nature. The drone trio had prepared her for the Swarm’s desire for close-contact and affirming touches.

And, being honest with herself, Isolde had been feeling a bit lonely, even touch-starved for a while. Even Daniela’s laugh elicited a shiver.

However, Isolde couldn’t help but seek out Lady Cassandra’s reaction to Daniela’s closeness. She found her answer in Lady Cassandra’s reflected gaze as the huntress watched them both in the mirror, gaze dark, pupils dilated, and gold turned seasoned bronze. She lounged on her perch as relaxed as she’d been while teasing Isolde.

Isolde’s pulse quickened, and for the first time, fear wasn’t the driving emotion behind it.

She cleared her throat and turned around in Daniela’s grip. She smiled up at her Swarming companion and lightly shoved Daniela back with a finger.

“If you promise to behave, then yes. I’ll ride with you. Otherwise — “

“You’ll ride with me?” Lady Cassandra rose liquidly to her feet. There was a smokiness to her bright gaze that made it a little harder for Isolde to find her voice.

But find it she did.

“Walk.” Isolde retorted. “I’ll walk there.”

Once Isolde’s dressed, Daniela left them to go on ahead to check on the horses. It wasn’t like Isolde’s never been alone with Lady Cassandra before — she spent many hours working side by side in the huntress’ workshop, however, that had been prior to Daniela’s revelation that she struggled with the desire to consume Isolde.

And that Isolde struggled with the uncomfortable truth that she was more than a little all right with said desire.

So, being left to the mercy of Lady Cassandra’s curiosity felt a little like being left for the wolves.

Especially because she didn’t know how much Daniela’s already shared with the huntress, or how much they might have subconsciously shared through the Swarm. Or how they even exchanged information, or —

“So what does ‘Daniela behaving’ entail, Rabbit? Spare nothing, I want explicit details.” Lady Cassandra broke her internal brooding with a lascivious smirk. Showing off her prowess at spatial awareness, she walked backward as they made their way down one of the personal stairwells.

Isolde’s embarrassment came across as a bristling defense. “Well, it started with her not setting me up as bait, for one thing.”

“Please. If I’d meant for you to have been bait, you would have been bait.”

Lady Cassandra rolled her eyes and hopped the last step to land sure-footed on the floor below. “You can’t be upset about me simply … encouraging your natural inclination to go wandering off when told not to.”

“I can because you did set me up as bait, and so I am going to keep being rightfully upset.”

“Whatever. It ended with you dismembering a body—”

Lady Bela might not have been lurking in wait for them, but the way Lady Cassandra yelped and barely kept together had the eldest chuckling like she’d planned the ambush all along.

“Well, here’s my Aggravation Number One, now where’s Aggravation Number Two?”

Lady Cassandra put on a saccharine air after her startlement. “Aw, I was starting to become fond of ‘Parasitic Leech’. The new nickname just doesn’t flow as well — Gah!”

Lady Bela’s hand darted viper quick as she snatched Lady Cassandra’s ear and drew her low. “Don’t make me ask again.” Isolde had frozen on the last step, but something drew Lady Bela’s gaze from her sister’s snarling countenance to the mortal woman.

She blinked, dropping her aggressive tone but not Lady Cassandra, who squirmed at the tight pinching hold like an unruly pup. “Miss Ardenlane. I did not see you there.”

“Lady Bela.” Isolde’s shoulders still bore the yellow-green dregs of earlier bruising. “If you’re looking for Lady Daniela, you might try the library. She’s been hell-bent on transcribing that volume of poetry from the letters you brought her. It’s been difficult to pry her away.”

“I see.” Lady Bela glanced back to her sister, frowning as if realizing she was still holding her. She released Cassandra, who skittered a half-step away. “Now, that didn’t seem so hard, did it Cassa? I’m glad someone understands how to properly answer a simple question.”

Lady Cassandra swarmed another scowling step or two away and rolled her eyes. “I was going to answer before you ambushed me.”

“I didn’t ambush you. You acted the brat and were scolded as needed for it.”

“You’re not Mother.”

“I might as well be sometimes,” Lady Bela sniffed daintily while she approachesed her sister. Lady Cassandra bared her teeth but does not resist as Lady Bela smoothed out her collar. She glanced between them. “Where are you off to with…?”

“Rabbit? I’m going to feed her to the Hounds. Figured they need something to chase.” Tall enough to do so, Lady Cassandra coiled an arm about Isolde’s shoulders even though Isolde hadn’t moved yet.

Lady Bela caught the unamused stare Isolde burned into her sister’s profile. “Ah... have fun with that?”

“Lady Cassandra’s asked me if I wanted to assist her with a project for Midwinter. As the idea of translating ancient poetry makes me want to throw myself off the ramparts… I agreed for naught better to do.”

“Yep. I am a fate slightly less annoying than death, so if you’ll excuse us…” Lady Cassandra kept a hold on Isolde as she aimed to continue down the hall.

As they step past, Lady Bela brushed Isolde’s wrist with a finger, catching her eye. “A word, if you would, Miss Ardenlane?” She glanced at her sister. “Alone?”

Lady Cassandra looked like she’d fight before allowing that, but a long stare from the eldest and the subtlest of Swarm reverb had her sigh and release Isolde. “Yeah, sure, just... behave, Bels? She’s our only Fox-flower.”

Lady Bela said nothing, but there was a tightness to her jaw and her stare was a vicious thing as she tracked Lady Cassandra’s touch to Isolde’s arm.

“Scream, and I’ll be here.”

“Honestly…” Lady Bela muttered and continued to glare as Lady Cassandra walked on ahead.

Once she was sure her sister’s out of eavesdropping range, she turned about with a steadying breath. “I want to apologize for my behavior over the past few weeks. I was particularly ... unfair towards you.”

Somewhere a clock chimed the hour and Isolde’s smile was perhaps not as polite as she’d like for this sort of conversation. “I appreciate the apology, Lady Bela. If that’s all…?”

“Yes, that’s — no.” Lady Bela’s lips thinned to a bloodless line. “It’s not all.” She struggled with something she wanted to ask. When she spoke again, Isolde had an inkling it’s nowhere near what she really wanted; “You sure you’ll be all right with Cassandra?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Isolde tried to rein in the indignation. Whatever was developing did not need Lady Bela’s domineering aura suffocating it before it had a chance to bloom.

Not that there was anything going on.

Not that Isolde wanted anything to be going on…

Right?

“Miss Ardenlane?”

“Sorry. Uh, weren’t you looking for Daniela?”

“I was, yes.” Lady Bela’s gaze narrowed. She’s caught on to Isolde’s nervousness and her desire for the eldest heiress to leave. “I know that we ended things on a,” her nose crinkled, “sour note but the Pride adores having you around, Isolde and I ...” she cleared her throat. Isolde’s attention dropped to a flurry of motion... was Lady Bela shuffling her hands? She was. Was she nervous as well? “I enjoyed our early morning talks. You were … well. I miss my debate partner.”

Isolde hadn’t expected that. Or for Lady Bela to expose any sort of vulnerability.

“Well,” Isolde paused when she spied a single soot and topaz fly creeping along the crown molding above their headed. Lady Bela must be focusing solely on Isolde if she’d missed the intruder. “If we can renegotia— Lady Cassandra, your sister asked for privacy. Didn’t your mother teach you manners?”

Lady Bela whirled on the little spy. A swirl of ruby and gold broke from her body to bombard and harass the offending intruder, dragging it back the way it’s’ Mistress had gone.

A faint, “Aah! Let go of me!” had them sharing a smile at the huntress’ plight. Lady Bela’s sheepish but vindicated expression reminded Isolde of the late-hour conversations, when alcohol lowered the heiress’ inhibitions and sleep lulled Isolde’s defenses low.

And with that thought… the icy barrier broke between them. Isolde laughed and offered a ‘it is what it is’ shrug. Lady Bela’s returning smile was a shy, golden light that filled the cracks left behind.

“I can’t remember if I ever asked, do you have siblings?” Lady Bela asked, turning and walking with Isolde down the way to where the path would diverge to the carriage entrance or down to Lady Cassandra’s workshop.

“I do.” Isolde grinned at the flickering hope in the blonde’s eyes. “Alas, I’m afraid that you’ll find me a poor ally in commiseration. I am the youngest of four.”

Lady Bela pouted, as easily charming as any of Daniela’s expressions, “Well, at least that explains why you’re as troublesome as Daniela. Youngest of… sisters, brothers?”

“Two sisters, one brother. My oldest sister is ... wow, almost forty-five? Forty... six? She’s so old now, I’ll have to bring it up, naturally. Then it’s the twins, then me. I was, ah, not expected.”

“But welcomed, I’m sure?” Lady Bela escorted her to where Lady Cassandra tussled with a small contingent of garnet-eyed warriors.

Isolde chuckled at the sight. “I like to think so.”

Lady Bela bid them adieu near the Carriage Gate, now intent on her search for Daniela.

Who peeked out from around the edge of the stable a few minutes after the eldest had disappeared back inside, grinning and beckoning them over.

They met her, and Isolde was introduced to horses that easily bypassed twenty hands at their shoulders. Powerfully built, they had the profile and stature of draft breeds but with the proud bearing Isolde associated with the retired war horses she encountered before.

“Bela started the herd, but I took over after she really started struggling with her need to control everything.”

Isolde didn’t comment on the vague jab. Instead, she marveled and stroked the muzzle of a gorgeous silver mare still stabled. “They’re beautiful.”

“Bucovina with careful back-breeding towards their Ardennes heritage. Add in a special blend of the valley’s local herds… and thus, perfection in equine form.” Lady Cassandra ran her hand over the muzzle of a beautiful blood bay mare bearing tack suitable for a day’s ride.

“We’re not riding Strawberry and Bathory?” She directed that to Daniela.

“Nope. You want Bela to storm out here, see our mares missing from the fields, and figure out what we did immediately?” Daniela handed the reins of the blood bay mare to her sister while she took the reins of a slightly smaller, fidgeting chestnut gelding from a gold-ribboned maiden. “It’s like you’ve forgotten everything I’ve taught you.”

“You didn’t teach me anything!”

Daniela bumped Isolde’s shoulder, grinning. “I did. Everything she knew.”

“Ugh, you’re impossible. I’m kicking you over the cliff when we’re there.”

Isolde stared at the horse. While she’s ridden before and, yes, she knew how to mount, there’s a distinct difference when the stirrup might as well be at the level of her chin.

She’s not that flexible.

“Here, allow me.”

Lady Cassandra stepped behind her, waiting for her nod. Then, she bent and cupped her hands to give Isolde a leg up. Isolde braced a hand on Lady Cassandra’s shoulder and then she’s up and in the saddle.

Daniela mounted effortlessly behind her, winking when she noticed Isolde’s scowl. “Oh, don’t pout. I have like... two meters on you?”

“Oh my — no, you do not. I come up to your chin.” Isolde’s scowl deepened as Daniela’s laughter continued. “You know what? I’m going to assist Lady Cassandra in tossing you over the cliff.”

“Ooh. And afterward, you’ll join the Pack?”

“Absolutely not. I’m still a ... not-Wolf.” She caught herself before she mentioned Chloe’s silly nickname which had not gone away at all, and Isolde thanked every higher power that the heiresses had not heard it. Yet.

“Hmph.”

Daniela clicked a command and the three of them were off, heading out of the courtyard and down through the main vineyard at a leisurely walk.

The ride was pleasant, filled with light banter as they left the outermost boundary of the Castle and headed along a high mountain road that wound a scenic path over the valley itself.

They crossed along an ancient stone bridge, between a series of torches illuminate the spans and delivered a welcome, if flickering warmth as the horses passed by.

Down below, Isolde could see the villages that lived and served in the shadow of Castle Dimitrescu. Beyond the outskirts, the fields stretched deep towards the distant trees and though Isolde’s home town had not been the most technologically inclined, it still looked like it belonged in the current century at least.

“I know that Romania’s a little isolated after the war but this ...”

“Is easier to manage,” Lady Cassandra said from her position a half horse-length ahead of them. “Would you be surprised that Bela’s had a hand in cultivating the precise image that we’re meant to represent?”

Isolde shook her head. It didn’t surprise her at all.

“It’s both a gimmick and brilliant marketing. Tourists come here hoping to see ‘the real Transylvania’ and leave with an impression that doesn’t scream ... well, come investigate us further!”

Daniela’s hand tightened about Isolde’s waist as she encouraged their mare to catch up to Lady Cassandra. “Cassa...” she darted a worried look about them. “We shouldn’t —”

Whatever she’s about to say has Lady Cassandra scoffing. “Really? It’s not like she’s going to overhear us all the way out here. She’s not omniscient.”

“You don’t know that!” Daniela’s voice broke on the last word, and she trembled, loud — her swarm swimming at the edges of Isolde’s vision.

Isolde risked slipping a hand into that swarming mass, finding the shadow of Daniela’s hand within it. She rubbed a soothing circle over Daniela’s thumb until the redhead relaxed, solidifying and slumping her forehead against the wing of Isolde’s shoulder blade.

Lady Cassandra looked a bit ashamed, canting her head away from the sight. With a forced cough, she cleared her throat. “Anyways, it suits our nature that our neighbors are a bit behind the times. Not that they know that. Or that any of us were alive last century.”

“Wait, you weren’t?”

Daniela chuckled at her, and once again, adjusted so her chin settled on Isolde’s shoulder. The motion reminded her of Adele’s perching left her smiling. “Nope. Don’t think so.”

“So you’re baby vampires?”

“I am not a baby anything, thank you. Dani — control your companion. She’s becoming mouthy.”

“I happen to like her mouthy,” Daniela retorted.

“Then let me train her to mind her tongue at least.”

Daniela hummed thoughtfully until Isolde tickled her wrists. “Aaah! All right, all right — are you sure though?”

“Very sure. I don’t think Lady Cassandra works on a reward system at all, and I’m far too stubborn to obey out of the goodness of my heart.”

“Now, now. What if I ask really nicely, Rabbit?” Lady Cassandra leaned over, torchlight turning her eyes a beautiful, burnished bronze. Her gaze was captivating along with a delicate smile that really shouldn’t be directed Isolde’s way.

It did not help the matter that Daniela’s started a light stroking over the top of Isolde’s hands, and her nose was chilly but not the distraction Isolde hoped for when she tucked it to Isolde’s ear. “It’s true, Cassa can be incredibly nice when she wants to be.”

Isolde stammered a reply that left both sisters laughing delightedly, and a deep rose blushed across her cheeks.

She thought she preferred it when she only needed to worry about being murdered. If she kept telling herself that… she’ll eventually believe it, right?

Right.

They’d been on the foothill trail for several minutes when the first signs of trouble appeared.

Lady Cassandra’s mare stopped dead in her tracks, her nervous whickering and stamping forehoof interrupting the lighthearted teasing. Underneath the heavy, bowed boughs of spruce and mountain ash, the silence of the woods around them was all too prominent.

Lady Cassandra didn’t waste time scolding her mare. Instead, her gaze lifted to the trees as she retrieved a sickle-blade from the saddlebag and looked over to where Daniela and Isolde sat.

“You brought the crossbow, right?”

“Yeah, and my blade too.”

“Good girl. Give the crossbow to Rabbit.”

Daniela didn’t question Lady Cassandra’s orders. She leaned back, one hand still about Isolde’s waist, and pulled out a small but well-maintained hand crossbow which she offered to Isolde, along with a secure quiver of bolts.

Isolde took it and decided to question Lady Cassandra when Daniela went back for a matching sickle blade. “What is it?”

“Probably lycans. Any of the local natural predators aren’t going to risk lingering in a Dragon’s territory.” Lady Cassandra encourages her horse to continue, now at a steady canter. Daniela’s gelding followed gait without prompting.

The attack started when the canopy swallowed the sky.

Sheer reflex and panic had Isolde pulling the trigger as five bulky figures peeled from the shadows of the high branches and descended as a wave upon them. Sheer luck had the bolt catching the central mass of a grey-furred beast, knocking him off trajectory and into the path of a moss-patchy pack member. Isolde fumbled to load the second bolt while Daniela hooked a russet beast underneath the collarbone and flicked the creature to the snow behind the gelding.

Lady Cassandra wheeled her mare to the opposite side to serve as a bulwark between her sister and the lycans rushing from their landings. With the blood bay on their right and the thick press of the trees on the left, Isolde had a relatively safe measure to load, aim, and fire.

The bolt missed. Isolde was already busy with a third.

The two heiresses didn’t speak aloud. Instead, there was a sharp, rapid buzzing; and Isolde felt Daniela’s body thrumming as the Swarm communicated back and forth. The alarm and distress calls were deeper and richer than the ones she learned from Adele and her sister-drones, but she tried to follow the worry and pattern calls regardless.

She kept the third bolt primed as the horses’ speed into a gallop with no encouragement. Daniela’s right hand was steady at her waist as she half-twisted to turn into a prickly shield on Isolde’s left. Isolde took advantage of Daniela’s strength as she turned and leaned into the next shot, releasing it at the exact moment Lady Cassandra fended off the lunging strike from a pale-furred monster. He staggered and fell into the path of the fourth as Isolde’s third shot dropped him at the knee.

She was loading the fourth bolt when she caught the movement rushing past them. Two more lycans sprinted along the bare branches, easily matching the mares’ speed in the snow— they’d outpace the horses soon enough.

Their speed dragged Isolde’s gaze beyond them to the woods ahead and there she saw the darkness that wasn’t just poor lightning. Something was blocking the path. Isolde’s whistle was high, sharp, and pitched one bright tone: mimicking the Swarm’s alarm call. It worked, drawing Lady Daniela’s attention forward.

Lady Cassandra maneuvered a half-length behind them as a conversation happened quicksilver around Isolde. By the time she’d processing the blockade ahead— a mass of broken pine trees, the heiresses were already diverting the horses into the underbrush. Here, the snow hadn’t yet built up into heavy drifts, and Isolde’s grateful for the heavy layered as the dried brambles scratched and tore at her clothing as the horses’ powerful, charging strides gained them much-desired distance.

It wouldn’t last though, already Isolde could hear the gelding starting to breathe in heavy, harsh pants.

Daniela’s voice was a reverb in her ear, sounding more like Idolde’s internal narration than actual sound.

“Close your eyes, and don’t let go.”

The cryptic comment didn’t make sense until they were deep into the woods and the first leap came. The horses didn’t stop. Isolde’s eyes slammed shut, her stomach ascending into the back of her throat as they landed on solid hooves after what had to be a three-meter drop.

There was a crash in the woods behind them as Lady Cassandra guided them along a shallow stream, keeping her head turned upward towards the noises. By now the lycans must have realized their trap had failed.

“Poor eyesight, exceptional sense of smell...” Lady Cassandra murmured to herself as she brought her mare to a stop. She dismounted quickly and turned to help Isolde down.

Isolde let her assist her off the saddle, confused but not questioning the choice.

“They’re also rather ... impulsive. Give me your right hand.” Lady Cassandra was already grabbing for it, angling her sickle in the other.

Isolde paled. “What if they catch on?”

“They’ll go for the racing horses first. By the time they notice you’re not with them, we’ll be too far into the garden.” Daniela descended with her, having not let go.

Isolde flinched at a loud branch snap, grateful for Daniela’s steady presence at her back then nodded to Lady Cassandra. “Do it. They’re tracking my scent, right?”

Lady Cassandra’s lips quirked with admiration; both at her gumption and her cleverness. “You and the horses. They’ll go after whatever is hot-blooded and fresh.” She twisted Isolde’s hand palm-up. “Ready?”

Isolde nodded and muffled her scream by biting into her other hand and burying her head in Daniela’s chest. The redhead murmured soothingly as the crossbow fell to the rocky bed they’re standing in.

Lady Cassandra wasted no time smearing Isolde’s blood over both saddles, then handed Isolde a wrap of cloth.

“Hold pressure right above the wound. Yeah, there. Good girl.” Isolde noticed how the huntress’s hands were stained as she pulled back. She idly let the mare lick them clean while removing a hip satchel from the saddlebag.

Another Swarm-conversation occurred while Isolde lifted her hand high, utilizing gravity along with pressure and grit to help staunch the bleeding.

“Cassa’s going to carry you the rest of the way,” Daniela left her to unload her gelding’s saddlebag. As Isolde protested the thought that they’re about to split up, Daniela shushed her with a touch to her cheek. “I’m quicker, and I know the gardens better too.”

“All right?” Isolde didn’t understand the hesitation settling over the pair.

“You’ll see. Just...” Daniela worried at her lip with a fang as another crash echoed above them. “Just don’t let go.”

Lady Cassandra spurred the horses into a gallop away from them and then turned to extend a hand to Isolde underneath Daniela’s soft, watchful gaze.

The expression struck directly at Isolde’s heart as Lady Cassandra drew Isolde into her arms like she was spun glass, or silk; her touch feather-soft as she readied to lift Isolde up — only pausing when Isolde murmured a protest.

“I can walk?”

“Go on Vixen, clear us a path.” Lady Cassandra addressed her sister first. She was answered by Daniela darting forward to hug the pair of them, leaving them both with a parting kiss. It’s quick, but Isolde noticed how sweetly Daniela brushed a kiss against Lady Cassandra’s mouth along with a crystalline song shimmering through the swarm itself before she’s stunned by the touch of Daniela’s lips against her cheek.

Then Daniela melted into the brush, her departure quiet in the still winter air, and Lady Cassandra looked to Isolde.

“It’s not about your walking. Lady Beneviento’s power is hallucinogenic. The Swarm’s immune to the pollen, but you’re not. I can move faster while carrying you and you won’t bolt at the first mirage. Trust me, the sooner we get through the garden, the better.”

Isolde frowned. However, the rustling and cracking of branches above them sounded much larger than the lycans coming after them. She could debate her agency when they were safe.

“All right.”

Lady Cassandra scooped her up with an ease that belied the strength in her musculature, holding her bridal style and one-handedly at that. Isolde expected a brisk walk, or even a light jog.

However, the speed at which Lady Cassandra navigated the stream bed, then the rocky scree and frost-slippery slopes forced Isolde to snap her eyes for a second time.

She’d trust Lady Cassandra to see them safe.

She had to.

Chapter Text

Lady Cassandra ran like she raced the wind itself. Her grip over Isolde was a vice as she scrambled along the slick, rocky cataracts that broke up the mountain stream into a series of tumbling waterfalls. Every hard step was a vicious jolt through Isolde’s bones; and if Isolde didn’t know better -- she’d believe she was running the gauntlet herself. She squeaked when Lady Cassandra landed hard; the huntress swaying to not only keep her balance but to keep Isolde from spilling out of her grasp.

Only when the world stopped tilting from side to side did Isolde open her eyes. The rough bramble and thickets of the mountainside were gone, replaced by the desolation of a winter’s garden overgrown and unattended.

She attempted to envision the unkempt snarled underneath the full bloom of springtime with trellises laden with fragrant wildflowers fails. There was something about the greenery here that left a chill on the back of her neck.

A deafening crack in the air jerked Lady Cassandra about. The instinctual twist to turn toward a threat worked against her with Isolde’s body as a counterweight and a shift in their center of gravity. There was another closer, quieter crack as Lady Cassandra’s foot slanted awkwardly on an upturned stone. She buckled and the world tilted hard to the right. She caught her balance, but her gait was no longer smooth nor steady.

Isolde tilted her head up at the small, pained noise the huntress made with her next step in time to notice the wince pinching Lady Cassandra’s features. “You’re hurt.”

“I’m fine.” The reply was a brusque brush-off. Isolde arched a pointed brow at the next noise that paired with the next step which only served to transform Lady Cassandra’s wince to a displeased scowl.

If Isolde were any other castle maiden, household staff or not… well. That glare would be terrifying. Should be terrifying. The gentle way Lady Cassandra adjusted her so the need to compensate for her ankle won’t jostle Isolde too much, though…

Lady Cassandra caught her again. Scowled again. “Seriously, Rabbit; I’m fine.”

Isolde nodded, and then rather casually stated; “It’s freezing out here.”

“Astute.”

“Which means you’re risking it getting worse with every step.”

There was a flash of wild panic in Lady Cassandra’s eyes. Her steps faltered, her eyes seeking Isolde’s. “How did you…!?” A cold pallor washed over her as realization dawned in her eyes. Her words came softer than Isolde expected them to be. “Dani told you, didn’t she?”

“It came up.” Isolde shrugged. At Lady Cassandra’s look, she sighed. “Since when is this news? I’ve known the entire time, Lady Cassandra.”

“You’ve known about the … Swarm, yes. Which you shouldn’t have.”

“And you spilled the secret yourself! I remember my guide in the tunnels.”

“Different. I know how to keep the Swarm safe.”

Isolde resisted the need to roll her eyes. “I’m surprised you’re surprised. Lady Bela told me that proximity and touch effectively let you share memories and thoughts so— ”

“Bela told you?!”

“I… yes. You knew that.”

From the way Lady Cassandra gaped at her like a mimicry of a beached fish, no. No, she had not known. She recovered quickly, smoothing her expression and taking on airs not dissimilar to Lady Bela’s unaffected mannerism. “You understand that you’re not supposed to know any of this, yes?” Lady Cassandra paused to adjust Isolde’s weight. “It’s a risk to the Swarm for anyone besides Mother to know that we’re different, not to mention that we might have weaknesses too.”

“Who would I even tell?” Isolde struggled with where to set her head before begrudgingly resting it against Lady Cassandra’s chest. At Lady Cassandra’s unrelenting look, she sighed. “I’m not in the habit of giving up my friend’s secrets.”

“Willingly, perhaps.” Lady Cassandra pointed out.

Isolde tilted her head back, unamused at the implication. “Should I expect to be tortured in the upcoming days? Is that why Daniela’s so cagey about the Midwinter festivities?”

Lady Cassandra snorted before remembering that she was in the middle of scolding. “You’re not funny.”

“And you’re not infallible. Let me down, I can walk.”

“I move faster than you.”

“Not when you’re as hobbled as a horse.”

That earned Isolde a dark glare that she met without blinking or flinching. When she didn’t back down, Lady Cassandra growled and adjusted her again, and still didn’t set her down. “I am not hobbled.”

Isolde rolled her eyes and broke the stare in favor of observing the gardens. “Are we on Lady Beneviento’s land now?”

Lady Cassandra took the olive branch without missing a beat. “We are.”

“Daniela must love coming out here during the spring and summertime.”

Lady Cassandra hummed, “She likely would, yes.” Her tone drew Isolde’s gaze back to her.

“Is there a reason she shouldn’t visit?”

“There’s the groundskeeper’s house.” It was a blunt, obvious avoidance of the topic. With shelter in sight, Lady Cassandra finally let Isolde back onto her feet as they approached the building together.

The closer they got, the more obvious the lack of habitation was. Where one expected smoke from the chimney, lights in the windows, or even a sense of noise or movement. There’s nothing.

Then they step into a mausoleum.

The door creaked inward with a groan, the hinges squealing from the ravages of rust and grime as Lady Cassandra pushed it open. It had… been a while.

Inside, dust layered thick over the furniture, and a stale mustiness in the air. Both forced Isolde to take shallow, quick breaths to avoid a coughing fit. Beyond the grit, there are signs of the people that lived here. It shows in the faded photographs on the wall next to an assortment of light-bleached colored drawings annotated by childlike script.

There was a rustic but seemingly serviceable wood stove between the kitchen space and the main living area.

“What are you doing?”

“Starting a fire. I don’t know about your preferences, Lady Cassandra, but I don’t really enjoy being frozen to the bone.”

Isolde wandered by the pantry cupboards and crinkled her nose at the bizarre blend of faded spices and long-rotted produce that reached her with the first cabinet opened. A cloud of tiny black specks scattered about her, disturbed by the intrusion of cold and light.

House flies. Actual house flies. Isolde hadn’t seen one since taking in the three wounded drones. They’re…tiny. Barely bigger than her thumbnail.

Their orbitals about her barely register. She was used to the rumbling drone of creatures that easily sat in her palm, not these dust motes. Still, she was gentle as she waved them away from her face as she continued in her search for matched or kindling to start a fire.

When she moved to the living area, there’s a scattering of books and other small items that spoke to a range of interests.

“What happened to them?” she asked.

Lady Cassandra shrugged from her sentinel post in the doorway. “I don’t know. There hadn’t been staff for the Lady Beneviento for a...while, now.”

There was a story there. Isolde sensed it in the way Lady Cassandra stared at the photographs with a distinct sense of recognition, though the wary slant of her eyes spoke of an unhappy ending.

There was one bright reminder of a life that stood out among the relics of the past. Serving as the centerpiece of a round dining table is a singular blue and white vase overflowing with an inflorescence of small, yellow flowers that glimmer in the weak strands of sunlight that sneak through the gaps in the drawn curtains. They were a flickering flame and Isolde the moth as she found herself drawn to them.

Behind her, a looming shadow crawled over the threshold. Lady Cassandra was almost lost in the gloom as she turned her back on the frozen scene of abandoned domesticity. She was watching the way they came from.

Whether for Daniela or for the lycans on their trail, Isolde didn’t pry.

Lady Cassandra must have the same concern because she jerked upright, pushing away from the doorframe. “I’m going to check the grounds — make sure we weren’t followed.”

Isolde blinked, stirring from her admiration. She made note of the decent stack of firewood. It should still be flammable. “Do you need more than just warmth to recover from — “

“No.” Lady Cassandra sounds pained. “No, I’ll be — I’ll be fine with the fire.” Her head bowed over as she gripped the door hard enough that the wood creaks underneath her fingers. “I won’t be long, Rabbit. Don’t go out until I’m back.”

Isolde frowned, head canting at Lady Cassandra’s behavior. “I ...yes, of course, Lady— “

Lady Cassandra flinched as if the title drop physically hurt her, though she ducked into the garden before Isolde could think to apologize.

A rifling through the abandoned kitchen drawers later led to a yield of matches older than she’d like but Isolde managed a flame after a few attempts. Within minutes the house was warm enough to slip off her outer jacket. Proud at her accomplishment, Isolde rocked to a standing position and admired her handiwork. It was an idle note that Lady Cassandra hadn’t returned; perhaps she needed a minute to compose herself?

Without a partner for conversation, Isolde found herself grasping for things to do that did not include poking her head around the curtains to see if there were lycans or a frustrated heiress stalking about the snowy landscape. She’d read a few stories; curiosity often kills more than just cats.

She tugged her collar; a pang of loneliness stabbing her when the motion didn’t prompt a disgruntled buzzing at the meddling touch. Sure, she was glad that Daniela’s ... self? Is that what the drones were? She paused, hand hovering at her neck while she lost herself falling down the rabbit hole of her thoughts.

She’s grateful they were going to be all right, and that they’d rejoined their colony, or Swarm, or however Daniela wanted to call her collective self, but Isolde couldn’t deny that she missed the company.

She wandered over to the photographs on the wall, a mix of greyscale vintage images next to the child-like drawings that spoke of the family that lived here. The drawings, though faded by time and light, depict a larger family. Three young kids, a mother — a man who’d be Abba.

The term short-circuited her thoughts. A static shock that snapped along her brain and down the base of her neck. She hadn’t associated that word with a father figure in ... a very long time. She shook off the tingling and decided to distract herself with something else when she caught a familiar face in the periphery of her vision.

She bent and pushed aside the drawing half-covering it, expecting to find that her mind’s playing tricks on her but ...

“No.”

The woman in the photograph was young, with features yet to be mapped by trauma or exhaustion. The barest tease of the laugh lines that Isolde knew as well as she knew her prayers are there in the crevices of the picture but otherwise — it was a glimpse into the laughing, joyful woman her mother had been before the Holocaust.

“That’s... how...?” Isolde reeled back, alarms blaring neon bright. She blinked, then blinked again hard enough for her vision to spot. Maybe she’s tired. Yes, that’s logical. Fatigued from the cold, the run, and a bit of blood loss.

She turned her head to the door, desperately hoping Lady Cassandra had returned in the span of time she’d spent staring at the photograph.

The door remained firmly shut; the room was still painfully empty of anyone else.

She had no buffer against the question if this was actually happening — if she’d actually found her mother in the old, abandoned photo montage in an old, abandoned house in the middle of literally nowhere. Logically, she knew it was impossible. It had to be. Her mother had never left Lithuania, and had not had the trauma etched deep into her skin that there were grooves left behind.

The longer she stared, the stranger the woman in the picture became. The  loner she stared, the more the details dripped apart, slowly like too-warm wax.

So she went to the other photos and scoured them for the answer. She found the impossible: pictures of her mother, of her father. There’s her sister, standing proudly with a babe on her hip. Isolde brushed her fingertips over the smooth imagery of a child who had had a candle lit for them more years than days they’d had held breath in their lungs.

Her touch rattled the stock paper. She yanked her fingers back as if burned and stared at the images with a gnawing sense of dread. They couldn’t be real. It’s impossible. It had to be. Right? Yet there was no explanation that brushed the photos aside as coincidence.

Isolde peeled herself away from the photographs with an almost vicious shake of her head. She was homesick. That’s the explanation. She was homesick and she’d been hidden away inside a castle of improbable encounters and truths. Of course, she was going to daydream and spin idle thoughts.

The room started to close in around her. The photographs shift and shimmer like a desert mirage driving her thoughts into a dangerous, tight spiral that left her with fewer and fewer options to escape back to reality. Escape back to what she knew was correct.

Desperate, she opened one of the windows. The cold stung like nettles and grounded her with every painful, greedy breath that scraped her throat raw. It was a needed shock to her system.

With the stuffiness of the landscaper’s house relieved, Isolde returned to her investigations with a new determination to ignore the subtle trickeries of nostalgia and wistful loneliness. She avoided the photographs, though. What if they were still the same -- still presented an impossible proof that her family had been here, somehow?

Standing in the middle of the living area, she tipped her head back high, high enough to feel the pull in her throat with each swallow. The panic set in almost too quickly to take hold, and she attempted to dismiss the pounding of her heart...but it was so easy to picture them there with her.

If she closed her eyes, she heard the burble of a pot on the stove. She heard the rustle of her mother and sister’s skirts as they playfully jostle for position at the counter. There’s the rasp of a blade against vegetables and the scrape of a whisk against the edge of a mixing bowl.

She opened her eyes, expecting to see her mother turning around, a hand protectively sheltering a spoon, mouth pursed affectionately as she ushered Isolde away from the window. “Bereleh, try. I want to know if you inherited my taste buds, mm?”

Her sister would laugh because everyone knew that Mirele had Abba’s sense of spice — which means that she had none to speak of.

But there was no one there. No affectionate chuck of a knuckle underneath her chin, no soft tilt of a head as she looked over; as if any hour outside her mother’s surveillance meant that she’d managed to get into trouble somehow.

She distracted herself from sinking into the hollow ache thrumming somewhere behind her sternum by roaming further through the place. Lady Cassandra was still nowhere in sight, which only fed into the growing pit of worry the longer the huntress remained out absent.

Shame snatched at her when she ducked a little too fast around the photo-lined wall. She ignored the urge to double-check, to be certain she’d seen what she saw. A glint of silver drew her away from the temptation. A delicate chain hung over the edge of a half-closed box. Isolde approached slowly, reaching a hesitant hand to tip the cover back fully. It was a cherished trinket, lovingly cared for in the way the chain’s polish catches the light beautifully despite its supposed age. The chain sat in a pool of twined silver, shrouding a pendant tucked carefully between the plush red jeweler’s velvet. When she pulled it out, her breath came in one harsh blow.

It was the Magen David. A delicate twisting of silver branches that made up the shield and within the center was a spiral ... vine? Isolde tilted her head, looking closer. The tree of life, perhaps?

She hadn’t seen any other evidence that there were other Jewish people in either the Village or on the castle staff but that wasn’t exactly a strong representation of what community may or may not have been here decades ago.

She curled her fingers protectively about the pendant. If the owners were gone, then it didn’t deserve to languish here and though she’d not practiced in years... between the photographs and the sudden wellspring of memories... well...

Who would know?

The thought barely finished when she heard a clatter from the other room. Guiltily, she flinched, and tucked the pendant away in her shirt before turning around to investigate.

“Lady Cassandra?”

Something ceramic — the vase itself — shatters, and Isolde freezes right at the corner. It’s not Lady Cassandra.

The distinct sound of howling winds and the sudden drop in temperature made the hairs on her neck prickle. She peeked around the edge; the front door was open and swinging inward, but there was no one there. Still, something about the scene kept her behind the wall. She went rigid, steadying her breath and heart rate as her eyes darted about the space. The barest shift of a shape — a figure crouched along the end of the table -- made her heart all but stutter.

Whatever it is moves again, rising slowly to its full height. The hair that fell over its gaunt, ghoulish face is matted and caked in grease, hanging in thick limp ropes. She didn’t know what it was, but it must have been human at some point. Its movements were stiff and ungainly, like a marionette at the hands of a child pulling too tight at the strings.

Closer it came, close enough for the stench of death to trickle in with the frigid breeze. Milk-glazed eyes scoured the house from beneath dirty, scabbed brows. They were wearing clothing, or the scraps of what was once clothing with the crest of House Dimitrescu standing out as the only point of reference within the rags.

They turned their head, tilting an emaciated chin toward the window. A sliver of bright gold tangled through the dark, dirt-streaked mass of hair.

She recognized the traces of sweetness and laughter in the thing — woman’s — face. The sweet and laughter that had likely drawn Daniela into the whirlwind romance that it was. Walking on legs she had spent an entire day grinding into meal-powder.

A face twisted and gnarled from a sickle swung violently to catch and to hold still, please!

Brittle, broken nails scratched around the doorframe as she took careful, measuring stepped inside.

“Isolde...” There’s a scratching in the stillness. A shudder in the air, a hoarse note strung over the syllables of her name.

Isolde clapped a hand over her mouth. Smothered the sound of her panic. Closed her eyes and counted to ten. It’s not real. It can’t be real.

Her mental mantra didn’t stop the fact that she heard the scratch of brittle nails against the varnish; the brush of a foot twisted sideways as the owner crossed the threshold. The rattle of stale air in a broken chest cavity.

The hiss of her name through chapped lips.

The thud of the door against the wall. If it wasn’t real, how did the damned door open?

She retreated as quietly as she could, one hand extended behind her to feel for corners or tables — anything that might give away her presence.

Around the wall, out of sight, someone walked further inside.

Taking her eyes off the corner was not an option. She knew — she knew the moment she glanced away is the moment something stepped into view; but if she kept looking then it was just like a watched pot.

The pot won’t boil, the monster won’t reveal itself.

Simple.

Irrational.

She needed a weapon. The idea frizzled as soon as it formed. What’s useful against the undead? Because if those things were real, then they’re undead.

But they couldn’t be real.

Terika didn’t have a fucking body anymore! How was she stalking through the front door and whisper-calling Isolde like this was a game?

Her hand jammed painfully against a solid surface. She fumbled, slowly, trying to figure it out through touch. She failed miserably. She was going to have to look away eventually.

She blindly followed the solid surface behind her, seeking the edge with her fingertips all while carefully backstepping. She found it. She tracked it, mapping it with touch, terror and unfamiliarity combining clumsily. Her fingers slipped against empty air, and her balance went with them.

She jabbed her hip hard against the corner of a cabinet that wobbled against her weight. Pain bloomed outward from the area and it’s instinct. She looked to see if she’d done worse than a bruise.

When she realized her mistake, it was too late.

Terika stood in the transition between the open family room and the secluded sleeping space. Her opalescent gaze was hungry; fixated on Isolde.

Her hands were claws, curved and wicked and flexing in rhythm with the heavy, coarse rasp of her breath.

“You...”

“You’re not real.” Isolde’s voice was a reed, fragile and trembling. “You’re dead. You’re not here. This isn’t happening.”

Terika lumbered a step closer.

Isolde’s ankle buckled as she twisted a hop-step back. There was nowhere else to go. There was the back wall, a bed, the cabinet in the center of the space waiting to be moved to its’ forever home.

Then there was Terika, and beyond her... the dead-eyed stare of another woman.

“You’re not real,” Isolde was babbling now. Terika growled at the accusation as if it’s a personal offense and sidled closer.

Isolde’s knees hit the bed frame. She was out of space. She was going to die here.

Another step closer, another fraction of space closed off.

Isolde’s breath started to catch in her lungs. She forced a stronger inhale. It’s all in her mind. There was still enough space. There was more than plenty of breathable air.

Undead women don’t need it, after all.

“Isolde...”

“You can’t be real,” Isolde pleaded as Terika approached. The floorboard creaked under her weight, and the cabinet wobbled with it.

Isolde’s eye snapped to the rock of the uneven leg.

She had one shot.

She just needed Terika a little closer.

“Fine.” She spoke more harshly than she felt. “You’re real. You’re real and you’re furious with me.” She side-stepped, putting more of the furniture between her and a likely lunge. “What do you want me to say? I’m sorry?”

Terika’s lips peeled away from elongated canines in a wordless snarl.

“Because I’m not. Not like I should be. I’m not sorry that you died, and I didn’t. That wasn’t in my control — you weren’t a choice I could make.”

A little closer...

Just...focus, Isolde.

Isolde rushed the rickety cabinet forward when Terika’s hands stretched forth, claws ready to swipe.

As the furniture toppled, Terika leapt back, faster than Isolde expected a corpse to manage. She snarled and responded to Isolde’s darting escape — ignoring the crashing, splintering wood over her skull.

It did the trick, though. Her talons snagged and tore through Isolde’s jacket, and her skin opened into a bloom of pain and sticky warmth, but she could still run.

The crash startled the second woman, her two-step leap backward granting Isolde the space to keep running, turning into the warmth of the wood stove to yank the door open. She ignored the blistering pain as she grabbed and lobbed one of the fresh logs backward.

She didn’t look but a whine told her she had struck someone. Good.

She continued, out beyond the threshold and back into the garden.

The anxious, oppressive crush on her chest disappeared with the first sting of cold, fresh air. She stumbled but every step brings clarity.

Behind her, the garden conceals a monster. It — she growls and closes the gap with each forward step.

Ahead of her was a figure shrouded in black and hunched over a body. At a distance, Isolde swore she’d seen that frozen, broken face in a picture before.

“Lady Cassandra!”

The figure— Lady Cassandra snapped upright at her name. Her eyes gleamed as if lightning had become trapped behind her irises. She was a statue in the swirling snow.

Something breathed warm and rancid over Isolde’s neck, the electrical shiver of sharp claws millimeters from her skin, and Isolde called out to the Huntress as she’s dragged to the ground beneath the weight of her pursuer.

Electricity painfully slammed through her jawline and her world turned blurry and disjointed as she hit the ground. She scrambled at the damp soil, digging her nails through the snow and slush to find any purchase.

Above her, Lady Cassandra blithely stared on. Unmoving, unblinking. The intensity of her stare was all that proved she wasn’t a ghost in the wind.

Claws hooked and snagged on Isolde’s clothing as something snarled out its frustration.

Isolde didn’t look behind her. She looked up at the woman who had promised to look out for her.

“Cassandra, please.”

Her plea summoned a luxurious blink, and then Lady Cassandra moved to assist.

She yanked Isolde’s attacker up and backward, throwing the woman through a wooden fence. Without missing a beat, she stalked over Isolde’s prone form while idly twisting her sickle in her grip.

Isolde did not look up or move until the last gurgling breath faded, waiting long enough that her hands were frozen, and her teeth chattered. She lifted herself on stiff, sore arms. “Thank you, I...”

Lady Cassandra’s expression strangled the speech within Isolde’s throat.

It was the look that Terika gave her. It was the look of the wolf that knows it’s cornered the deer.

Lady Cassandra, with her sickle dripping with the blood of her kill, stared at Isolde with bloodlust in her eyes.

“You should probably run, Rabbit.”

What?

Lady Cassandra spasmed forward, mouth twisting to a vicious grin. “I said run.”

Isolde ran.

Lady Cassandra’s laugh trilled a series of bright, silver notes that hung in the frigid air.

It was both the most beautiful and the most terrible of sounds she had ever heard. Lady Cassandra sauntered after her, lazily— like a cat nosing after a disappearing sunbeam.

In the thicket, there were heavier noises - the crush of bramble and fence. Three times Isolde heard the clash of the Wolf with whatever else lurked there. Lycan, Maiden, did it matter?

Her side burned; her ribs stretching and twinging with her breathing - even as shallow and flighty as it was. She stumbled, barely keeping her feet underneath her as the world spun about.

“This is how it was always meant to be, Rabbit,” Lady Cassandra’s voice echoed in the garden. “If I had known you were such a good shot, I’d have never let a beast savage you. You deserve to be honored — hunted by someone who’ll respect you during the chase and afterwards.”

Isolde caught her breath against a weathered gatepost. Lady Cassandra was nowhere in sight. “What the hell are you talking about?! You set me up?!”

“Not for any personal reason! I quite like you, after all!” Lady Cassandra protested, offended at the insinuation.

Isolde’s saving grace was the huntress’ inability to swarm in the cold. Lady Cassandra’s build and height hindered her chase through the narrow, tangled paths.

Not that she needed to expend much effort. Isolde’s losing what advantage adrenaline gave her. Exhaustion is winning the war, assisted by blood loss, and pain.

It’s at a rock-strewn crevice that Isolde buckled. Her hands scrape against the freezing stone with a last-second catch.

“There you are.”

Lady Cassandra materialized out of the fog, sauntering closer. Her sickle swung in her right hand, the blade dark from her triumphs. Isolde had nowhere else to run.

So, she screamed instead.

Calls for Daniela at the top of her lungs. She didn’t care if it summoned the undead or the lycans, as long as it summoned Daniela.

Daniela arrived within the length of Lady Cassandra’s strides as if she’d been waiting for a sign. She rounded the rocks, panting and disheveled from her own encounters in the gardens.

“Isolde! …Cassa!?” Daniela tilted her head.

“Dani— please— she’s— “

Lady Cassandra’s sheepish expression might have been comical if she wasn’t threatening Isolde’s life. “Daniela, move. You need to—”

“I don’t need to do anything.” Daniela rebutted, head high as she inserted herself between them. “What are you doing?”

Lady Cassandra flinched with the tone but shame didn’t halt her forward momentum; just slowed it down. She stepped warily, one foot before the other like a prowling beast, looking for an opportunity to strike — with or without Daniela in the way.

“She knew about the Swarm, Dani!”

Daniela’s brows furrowed with confusion. “Of course she does,” she said, with a darting glance between Isolde and Cassandra. “She’s known about us since forever.”

Cassandra replied with a hard, pointed retort; one that set a frigid chill down Isolde’s spine. “Mother isn’t happy about it.”

Daniela’s shoulders became a rigid line.

“Since when have you cared about what Mother thought? And — and — Mother already knew! Isolde met Maică and she had me there!”

Lady Cassandra scoffed, rounding wide to the right. Her attention constantly flickered between them, her probing gaze searching for the moment to strike. “You think that makes a difference? Maică wouldn’t have said a word to Mother.”

“Yes, she would. They’re together, of course, they share everything. We share everything.” Daniela angled her stance, keeping Isolde relatively behind her and denying Lady Cassandra an easy target.

“We’re different.”

That answer didn’t seem to satisfy Daniela. “They love each other,” she insisted. “Maică would never keep something like that from Mother. She knew how important the Swarm is.”

“That didn’t mean Mother won’t dispose of her if she threatened the Coven.”

Lady Cassandra said her piece so simply. Fact. Like discussing blacksmithing techniques. How quickly that brought about a quiet acceptance. How strange and fleeting their loyalties seemed to be; that even the Lady of Thorns — the woman so fondly named Mother in their native tongue — was disposable.

“Did Mother... say something?” Daniela’s voice was starting to lose that steel. Her bristling defense crumbling as she backed up and brushed Isolde’s shoulder to affirm that she was still there.

Isolde wasn’t a fool.

Whatever was developing between her and Daniela was unbefitting the relationship one should have with an employee, but if Daniela had to choose between that potential and the established foundation of her life, her family, her entire existence?

Daniela would make the same choice as her mother would have; as Lady Cassandra had clearly already done.

Not that Isolde blamed her for that hypothetical dilemma. After all, she’d likely make a similar choice; whatever fondness she might have for Daniela she valued her life more.

She fumbled behind her, looking for a loose rock or an exposed root. Something. Anything.

What her hand closed about and yanked free was instead a rusted, barely-together piece of grating metal. There were plenty of underground waterways on the castle’s grounds -- each sealed off from exploration.

She ignored the family drama for the chance to escape. That water was going to be freezing if there was any left in this tunnel. And from Daniela’s break... the Swarm would hesitate to follow right away.

And no lycans.

Just one problem. The tunnel itself.

She angled herself to hide her wriggling and frantic yanking on the bars and tried to pick up a bit more of the conversation, though the sisters were speaking in such rapid Romanian that Isolde barely followed it, and what made matters worse was half of the conversation was the Swarm’s internal communication.

Daniela was upset. Her voice shimmered with bright, manic tones. Tones that grated against the bones of Isolde’s inner ear like she set her hand on a rock tumbler for too long and now everything has gone numb.

Lady Cassandra met her pitch for pitch. Both Swarm-Sisters toss gestures back at her like she was the main event, but as an actual participant in this argument?

Isolde was all but forgotten.

Which suited her, honestly. She didn’t need either of them catching on that she’d already removed two of the bars by wrenching and twisting them against the loosened rock. It wasn’t difficult work thanks to time and the elements, but it wasn’t quick either.

She stuck her arm back, sweeping the space to guess the width of her escape. Not enough.

But she’s out of time.

“Cassa — don’t—!”

They moved faster than Isolde’s eyes could track. Daniela lunged to intercept Lady Cassandra’s sickle, hooking the huntress’ blade with her own. She yanked, twisted, and the force of her sister’s body against the cliff shook free another rod.

Pretense was better served as past tense now. Isolde poured her remaining strength into the last rod. The strain turned her vision blurry, and her breath ached as it rushed from her faster than she needed.

Lady Cassandra shook off the blow with an enraged scream. Her eyes blazed with a zealotry born of duty and expectation. Whatever love she felt for Daniela would always falter beneath that truth. Her bruised ego was more dangerous now than her teeth and claws. “Stop getting in the way! Mother’s word is law!”

“Mother said Isolde is mine to do what I want with,” Daniela snarled back. “If you touch her— then you need to march right back home and slit Maică’s throat as you would to Issy!”

As Lady Cassandra reeled back before she was on the unfortunate end of a sickle, she spied how close Isolde was to slipping the snare. She yowled, grabbing and throwing Daniela aside as her sister swiped at her ribs.

Her prioritization left her open and Daniela repays her with a vicious slash, leaving a horrifying crumbling plaster streak from Lady Cassandra’s shoulder up along her neck. Her skin cracked like an ill-poured mold, leaving the pockmarks of broken wings and shattered thoraxes behind.

Betrayal flashed through Lady Cassandra’s gaze as she forgoes all attempts to play fair. She turned and struck, easily capturing Daniela with her good hand, lifting the youngest Dimitrescu sister and slamming her hard against the rock once, twice, then a third time that left a pale residue that wasn’t snowfall before she threw her beyond the point of intercession.

Then she was on Isolde, snatching her by the collar, pulling her back from salvation.

“No!” Isolde scrabbled her hands up and back over, futilely trying to rip Lady Cassandra off but the huntress’ grip was steel and teeth; and what reserves Isolde had were lost in the slanted grating in front of her.

“Stop struggling!” Lady Cassandra’s breath was freezing mist at her neck. “It’s over. It was supposed to be an accident but you’re too stubborn, aren’t you? I should have known you’d be a fighter. Should have respected that from the beginning.”

“Fuck you!”

“Cassandra, if you kill her, I’ll never forgive you.” Daniela couldn’t stand up. There was something wrong with the position of her legs. As Isolde and Lady Cassandra broke from their struggle to notice it, a chilling noise stopped all of them cold.

A howl. Deeper, closer, and echoed by a chorus.

Isolde swallowed a wheezing, tight breath, and tried to wriggle her fingers between Lady Cassandra’s grip and her throat. “You’re both hurt— “

Lady Cassandra made a sound not unlike the bristling growl of a wolf. “Quiet —"

“There’s a fire going in the cottage— “

“I said shut up!” Lady Cassandra’s hand squeezed tighter about the base of her neck, cutting off Isolde’s air.

But not all of her voice was spent. Isolde gambled her last breath on the small context clues she’d gathered over the months.

“I know you’ve measured my worth against your Mother’s law…”

Lady Cassandra snarled wordlessly. Her fingers flexed, but didn’t tighten further.

“Have you measured Daniela’s, yet?”

The comment struck deeper than Daniela’s sickle. Lady Cassandra’s entire body grew rigid before a horrible scream tore from her throat. “DAMN YOU!”

Lady Cassandra slammed her into the broken grating. The force snapped the final slanted rod in half, penetrating Isolde’s left bicep as she struggled to break her fall — catch herself on something. Anything.

She fell into a cold, dark abyss. A stream trickled a teasing melody somewhere in the velvet black and provided a terrible counter note to Daniela’s shrieking of her name.

Then her head hit stone.

And she knew only oblivion.

Chapter Text

Water dripped somewhere in the dark.

It’s the cold that woke her. A freezing, horrible chill that hollowed out her bones and left behind a deep dull aching. When she tried to move her left hand, pain sliced a path through her wrist, elbow, and shoulder, up into her neck. Her arm was a buzzing, angry hive of stinging numbness.

Her right arm hadn’t fared much better. The self-check of that limb was a dangerous combination of electrical jolts and the concerning grind-and-pop of near-dislocations. However, she was alive.

She had survived. She was here. Aware. That was what counted.

That’s what she told herself as she took an embarrassingly long time positioning her arms to assist her out of her prone position. As she lifted her head, the world spun out into a compass rose. Her vision swam as a dull roar threatened to submerge her beneath its wave. She lost all progress when she overcorrected for a shock in her elbow, slamming back to the cold, damp rock.

Trapped on her bad side, the world continued in a kaleidoscope of motion and noise above her head.

Wait.

She knew that noise.

She followed the angry, keening whine until she spied the rapid movement of a large flying insect. Her eyes adjusted to the gloom as she tracked the flight of a creature that she knew. The fly moved with vicious intent — diving and striking at something it had cornered between a jumble of rocks.

“Adele?”

Adele adjusted her pattern to her name. Furiousness turned to worried, frantic notes in staccato as she alighted on Isolde’s clavicle, only to flee skyward when her weight prompted a whimpered noise. That ... didn’t bode well.

“Hey, it’s ok. I’m all right.”

She wasn’t, though.

Adele circled around, looking for another spot closer to Isolde’s cheek when something sent her rocketing back towards her trapped prey. She hit it with force, again and again; and by the time Isolde could see anything, Adele was in the process of drowning —

A singular drone that looked slightly larger than Isolde’s companion despite the submissive tuck and curl of its legs. Beyond the drone was a drifting mess of shimmering crystalline powder. It looked like snowfall — until Isolde noticed the gossamer tease of iridescent wings and the crumbling ruin of drones much like the one Adele was attempting to kill.

She was the only one left…

“Stop, Adele — stop!” Isolde’s voice rattled in her skull like a church bell. Loud, but Adele didn’t listen. She wrenched her working arm out, throwing her shoulder into a wide arc that left her off-balance and toppled forward with the momentum — crashing hard into the dusted gravel and clay.

Alarming Adele into the air. Blocking Adele from her target. Dragging Isolde into a tunnel that only ends in an insensate abyss.

Isolde heard the patter of footsteps too small and light to be a lycan’s as unconsciousness swept over her again.

A needle bit into her skin.

Not deep, though. There was no need to scoop lower than necessary when one was suturing. The tip’s sharpness stole away much of the sting that came when someone hooked and threaded metal and thread through the layers of skin.

Though she was no longer in either the damp nor the dark, it was still so very, very cold. Her surroundings had been replaced — the Underdark for a professional, quaint workshop with a dark wood crown and molding that contrasts the aged, plastered walls. It reminded Isolde of a hospital’s operating amphitheater. An assortment of tools were split over several wooden desks, each seemingly dedicated to a different craft; one of which had several prosthetic limbs spread over the surface.

Someone hummed an unrecognized tune as they worked the needle with a skill that spoke of experience, but when Isolde went to turn her head to see them — thank them, even — she found she couldn’t.

Her limbs did not listen to her. Her muscles remained limber but unresponsive. She stared ahead, realizing that she couldn’t even twitch her eyes to take in more than the field of view she was already looking at. Her eyes did not blink on her command, but instead, did so when necessary.

She attempted to open her jaw, swallow, speak, scream, and cry and managed a twitch that was more spasm than purposeful movement.

“Did you hit a nerve or something?” A raspy, off-key voice scratched at Isolde’s ears from somewhere below whatever she’s sitting on — likely another table.

“Don’t be absurd.” The words were a soft breath against her neck. Warm, moist, alive.

“Then why is she twitching like that?”

The suturing stopped at the question. Metal clinked against metal as something was set down, the needle? There was a rustle of fabric, linen, and wool and the breeze of someone’s body pulling back from her own.

Isolde’s chin turned left. A woman stood a little way back, studying her like one observed a bug. Her shoulders were narrow and sloped gently away from her neck. Her skin was bereft of almost all pigment, as were her irises, leaving her nearly translucent under the gas-lamp light.

“Hmm.”

There was a twinge behind Isolde’s eye. Something tightened— a corkscrew digging deeper as Isolde returned to facing forward.

“You did hit a nerve.”

“No,” the woman’s voice was a whisper, a shadow of noise. An impression of tone and vibration that should fill a space where one expected sound: as illusionary as an internal monologue. “She woke up on her own.”

Ink spiraled in from the peripheral. Isolde struggled to find a handhold anywhere as she felt her consciousness slipping away from her again under the invisible yoke over her voice, her sight, her senses —

“Wait! Wait, wait, wait. Don’t put her back to sleep yet!”

A frustrated pause as the needle rested on her skin. The tip pinched but hadn’t punctured through. “Why?” The question’s long-suffering as if the answer was already expected and dreaded.

“Because it’s rude to not say hello to guests.”

“She is not a guest, Angela.”

“Oh yeah? Well, I say she is, so right now, she is. And stop calling me that! My name’s Angie. Not Angela.”

The woman sighed in her ear. “It is far easier to repair them when they’re quiet and obedient, Angel — Angie.” Despite the complaint, the chokehold on Isolde’s awareness loosened. For now.

“What, are you losing your touch?” Something’s thrown and misses when it clattered over a brick floor instead. “Hey! You’re the one implying your skills are rusty, not me!”

Another sigh.

Angie took it as permission to continue talking. There was the rapid patter of small feet as she spoke. “So, I’m thinking that she works for the Blood Countess and if she’s our guest, she’ll be able to tell us all about what went on in that creepy castle.”

“Angie, we don’t care about what happens in Castle Dimitrescu.”

A chair dragged across the floor. “Speak for yourself, Donna! If you don’t want to know, you can go right back to stitching her up, but I am going to figure out what happens once they leave! I have a bet going, you know?”

The stitching had resumed in the middle of Angie’s impassioned commentary but paused again. “What do you mean ‘a bet’? Who are you betting with?”

“Matei.” Obviously, went unsaid.

“You are a terrible influence on him.”

“Of course I am. Anyway, if she works for the Blood Countess, then she’s got to know every sordid detail, right?”

“Unlikely. Alcina’s too careful about what the staff knew. She is our link to the outside, after all.” Skilled as the seamstress is, her awareness of Isolde’s awareness did nothing to gentle her ministrations.

“Ugh, you have no imagination.” Angie climbed onto the chair, moving just out of Isolde’s view, only the suggestion of movement and shadow. Then she hopped up onto the back and brought herself in proper, bringing Isolde face-to-face with a marionette nightmare.

A weathered, wooden doll grasped her chin with sharp, pricking fingertips. The thing wore a wedding dress; the sweetness long lost from filth and grime. Too-round eyes watched her unblinkingly from within the carving of sun and moon. Angie’s gaze was a painted falsehood but still managed to convey a cunning, malicious intelligence that no inanimate object had a right to display.

“Hello, Dollface,” Angie spoke, and Isolde’s stomach reeled at the rancid, sallow breath that escaped from that cackling mouth. It was like standing in the middle of a charnel house. Isolde’s stomach lurches again —

The corkscrew tightens behind her eye again. Isolde’s reflexive retreat stopped firing. Her body went limp, unresponsive. She couldn’t even avert her gaze.

“Angie, that is not helpful.”

Angie cackled and did nothing to relieve Isolde of her presence or the woman of her annoyance. “Lighten up, won’t you? It’s been forever since we’ve made a new friend.” Angie leaned over the back of the chair and the train of her veil was spiderwebs on Isolde’s skin. “And you are going to be our new friend.”

“She’s a trespasser. The lycans chasing her made a mess of the lower gardens.”

“It’s the middle of winter; what did they mess up, the snow piles? Where’d you find her anyhow?” Angie continued her assault on Isolde’s personal space by rocking lightly on the chair, keeping Isolde pinned underneath that malicious gaze.

“Matei found her in the aqueduct. She must have fallen in somehow.”

“Or was thrown in! Oooh, hey, new friend, were you thrown down there?” Angie pouted when Isolde didn’t answer — when she couldn’t answer even if she’d wanted to. “Hey, let her talk at least!”

“Why?”

“I’m bored!”

“Be bored elsewhere, then. I’m busy.”

Angie snarled and took a swipe at the needle. Her first attempt missed wide but her second attempt succeeded in sending needle and thread off the table.

“Angela. Enough.”

“We never have any fun anymore!” Whatever warning the woman delivered, Angie heeded with a furious hop down to the floor and out of Isolde’s line of sight. The opening and deliberate slamming of a door announced her exit from the room.

With Angie gone, Isolde was left with her thoughts and the woman’s quiet murmuring as she poked and prodded at Isolde’s other injuries. Something about the image on Angie’s face stuck with Isolde. She’d seen that before but … where?

And what had Angie called the woman? Donna?

As in…

Lady Donna Beneviento.

Oh fuck.

Awareness came in waves.

 Isolde knew time passed but how much time slipped between each fragment of consciousness she’d been allowed to experience?

In the next rush of consciousness, Isolde attempted to reclaim control over her body; she didn’t care if it was simply taking a breath on her own — as long as it was because she decided to do so. As she worked her will against the yoke, the pressure behind her eyes twisted hard, sending her into a dizzying spell.

“Another twist of the strings and you might lose those thoughts of yours,” Lady Beneviento spoke with the calm one discussed the misbehavior of a puppy; having moved on from suturing to working directly on Isolde’s left elbow and wrist. She articulated the joints, noting when Isolde flinched or struggled; likely measuring Isolde’s reaction and using that as a guideline for her work.

“I would have preferred to repair your body the proper way, but time constraints being as they are — this will suffice for now.” Lady Beneviento stepped in front of Isolde and ran a skilled hand along her hairline.

The touch was unwelcome, but it didn’t elicit pain. When Isolde was commanded to stand, and then walk, the movement left her disorientated but the vertigo’s distortion was minimal. Her arms were stiff, the electrical shocks muted along the length of her limb.

Her clavicle hurt with larger motions, and her skin stretched and pulled taut against the sutures there. Her skin pulled against sutures in several places. She was led in front of a mirror and while the realization that she was naked from the waist up was distressing, the stitching in her flesh was worse.

Her left arm spiraled with a spider web of pale thread that reached up to her shoulder and upper chest. Bruises black and blue marred her torso and there were smaller secondary webbings of thread along her hairline, where she thought she struck her head.

However, she was mobile. The pain was there but bearable.

Lady Beneviento glanced towards a cascading thrill of chimes. “... interesting.” She directed Isolde to a fresh white linen shirt, loosely laced in the front and draping over Isolde’s frame. Without a tie, it looked more like a nightshirt, but it was clothing. She wasn’t going to fuss that much. “I’ll send you along to your new room after I see who — “

“Donna!” Angie’s voice carried far for something carved of wood. “Libeluǎ is here!”

“I expected her tomorrow.” Lady Beneviento assessed Isolde one more time. “Well, we’ll make do.”

Isolde followed Lady Beneviento through a narrow hallway that continues the architectural motif of the workshop along a natural rock wall. They were below ground, the cramped stairwell not helping Isolde’s anxiety.

Angie was halfway up a ground-floor staircase, leaning out through the banister rails to be eye-level as she spoke in a quieter, familiar tone with —

“Viscountess,” Lady Beneviento’s greeting was civil and gave nothing away. “I expected you tomorrow night.”

Lady Bela turned away from Angie and tugged her hood down. Dressed in a heavy, fur-lined cloak crafted so finely that it highlights her status not only as a countess’ daughter but as her Heir Apparent; the gold trim and garnet-set clasps accented Lady Bela’s aristocratic grace, and left Isolde perhaps a little more pleased than she should be that Lady Dimitrescu’s most obedient daughter was the one to find her alive.

Lady Bela did not look angry at her presence nor relieved. She was surprised, the shock crossing over her so suddenly that she choked on the greeting she wanted to give, managing a strangled “Miss Ardenlane?” before she recovered her composure.

“I told you she worked for the Blood Countess!”

“Don’t call my mother that,” Lady Bela said rote as if this was a common call-and-response. Before Angie could suck in the breath to speak again, Lady Bela sent a scolding glance toward the doll. “Don’t call her that either.”

“I wasn’t going to say anything.” Angie’s grin suggested the opposite.

Lady Bela looked back toward Isolde, her brow furrowing as she asked, “What are you — how did you even — ?”

Lady Beneviento answered her. “You have a habit of leaving things behind, Libeluǎ. I have a habit of finding a use for them again.”

Lady Bela’s glare could shrivel grapes on the vine. “Forgetting a shirt or two is quite different than finding my companion in your strings.” Lady Bela’s eyes flickered over the spiderweb of thread holding Isolde together. “Quite literally, in this case.”

“Well, you do have a habit of breaking your toys.”

“As do you. Release her.” Lady Bela prowled forward with intent written plainly across her body.

A strange whisper crawled through the house, accompanied by the sound of many shifting bodies, the press of a dozen pairs of eyes on the scene, the cacophony of wooden, creaking limbs. Isolde saw shadows at the edges of her vision and the yoke over her body pressed down firm with each forward step Lady Bela took.

“You’ve never cared about my picking up your pieces before.” Lady Beneviento stood calmly at Isolde’s side, and her voice remained a sibilant whisper. “You know very well that whatever or whoever is left behind on my land fell under my domain as per the Accords?”

“Left behind? Miss Ardenlane doesn’t fall under that definition. She is not abandoned.”

“Oh? And yet somehow, despite not being so— I found her. Half-dead. Broken, battered, abandoned. Discarded like so many others. What sort of care does that show?”

“Whatever happened to her will be investigated and — “

The shadowy motion manifested in the shape of a dozen or so more dolls that move like Angie. Crawling, shambling, slithering closer. It was warmer in this part of Lady Beneviento’s house than in the basement but what sort of outcome could come from the imminent conflict brewing between the two women?

“She was in the Aqueduct, Libeluǎ.”

A worrisome gleam flashed across Lady Bela’s brittle amber irises. Was she thinking Isolde tried to escape; was trying to leave the castle? Leave them? Technically, it wouldn’t be that far off from what happened. She had tried to escape. She wasn’t sure Lady Bela would care to consider the semantics that Isolde tried to save her skin — especially from Lady Cassandra’s hunting prowess.

Lady Bela’s expression smoothed to porcelain. She’d made up her mind. Isolde had seen that look enough times by now; but what had been decided?

“I will take full responsibility for her presence here and any transgressions she’s done, Lady Beneviento — Donna.”

Isolde couldn’t see Lady Beneviento’s face, but she watched the crowd of marionettes and Angie for clues. They paused in their stalking approach.

“Very well. Let us discuss this before we proceed to the business you came here for.”

Lady Bela’s expression shuttered as the horrors retreated into the dark. “As you wish.”

“Hey,” a tug on her hand. “Hey, down here.”

Isolde blinked. She blinked. Over and over until her vision blurred.

“Yeah, Donna’s too distracted right now to keep your strings taut, Dollface. C’mon — I’m supposed to put you away until Goldie-Bug’s done negotiating.” Angie snagged Isolde’s fingers and began tugging in the direction she wanted to go.

Isolde flexed her free arm. The movement caused the thread interwoven through her skin to pull taut and uncomfortable, but she had full range of motion. “What do you mean, negotiating? Put me away?”

Angie paused and peered up at her. “Right now, you’re the Lady’s brand-new doll, and Donna’s never liked to share.” She shrugged a shoulder. “I don’t think Goldie-Bug likes it either, but Momma Dragul’s not here to snarl and bully her way in.”

Isolde frowned and realized that both Lady Bela and Lady Beneviento were not there. “Where…?”

“They’re busy.” Angie’s head bent to a strange angle as she stared into the house. “They’re going to be for a while, so we are to put you exactly where you need to go because I am not a babysitter. I have important things to do, you know.”

That sounded ominous.

Angie moved with a fluidity that she shouldn’t have had. Not with a body carved of wood and articulated joints, with no muscle to provide strength, no nerves to signal locomotive intent. There was just the doll. The moving, breathing, living doll.

“Shouldn’t we — “

“Listen, as soon as Donna’s back, she’s going to pluck up those loose strings and prance you about until it’s time to go back home. Especially if Goldie’s found a way to wriggle you free. Bugs are good at that. So,” she prodded at Isolde’s wrist with painful, bruising jabs. “You get to go out of sight and out of mind until it’s time to go back home like a good little vampire’s thrall.”

“I am no one’s thrall.”

Angie’s laugh was a terrible noise. “Are you sure about that? Goldie-Bug isn’t the type for equal partnerships.”

Isolde had no defense against that. She yanked her hand back with a sharp, “I’m not explaining myself to a knock-off Pinocchio!”

“What’s a Pinocchio?”

“I — really? You don’t know — How…?” Isolde’s astonishment was cut short by the sensation of something crawling against her leg. She waited until Angie’s led them off to wherever the doll’s got a playdate planned, then carefully slipped a hand into her pocket.

She felt the bristling weight of two drones. As her fingers curled slightly, a pair of small limbs tapped along the pad of her index finger. They were sluggish but alive.

“You know what, it doesn’t matter. Just — lead on.”

The same quaint interior decorating carried into the guest bedroom where Angie dropped her off at. If Isolde could forget every single horror and complication, she’d even find it homey and comfortable. Right now, it felt a little mocking. A sense of normalcy meant to lower her guard.

She sat on the side of the bed and carefully retrieved her two stowaways. “How’d you stay out of sight?”

Adele’s wings were crinkled, but she managed flight, taking off in a proud, almost mischievous looping arc before hovering in a loose circle. Isolde offered a hand, and Adele landed with a relieved noise.

Isolde busied herself with fussing over Adele after a cursory glimpse to make sure the other one, the one she would not name — could not name because all she could think of was Lady Cassandra’s composure cracking open into a hundred golden shards — there’s footsteps at the door.

Isolde stood, stepping in front of the drones, and the door opened as Lady Bela stepped across the threshold. The guest room was spacious, more than necessary for the two of them and yet Isolde felt more trapped here than in the underground tunnels and stairwells. Even the dungeon felt more private.

Lady Bela’s hand trailed over the handle, lingering at the door after she shut it with a click. Stalling for time?

Isolde stared at the large bed that didn’t surprisingly swallow the entirety of the room. “Should we play a game of rock-paper to decide the sleeping arrangements?” It wasn’t appropriate but Isolde had to shatter the tension somehow, and Lady Bela had been receptive before to her off-color humor before.

Lady Bela turned with a chuckle. “You don’t want to keep me warm, Miss Ardenlane? I don’t see a fireplace here and it gets so terribly cold at night.” She reflected Daniela’s sense of romantic prose, picking up the humorous thread.

“I kick in my sleep.”

“Really? Daniela said otherwise.”

“Dani — Lady Daniela wouldn’t know.”

Lady Bela’s brow arched at the forced formality. “Daniela has no concept of personal boundaries and seeing that we don’t have that much need for sleep … She’s well aware of your sleeping habits.” Not that she might be aware. Or that Lady Bela assumed that she’s aware. Just that Daniela’s aware. As if it was common knowledge that Isolde’s slumber was an audience participation event.

“That — “ Isolde let that go. For the moment. There were more important things at hand. Like giving Lady Bela the drones.

Lady Bela’s demeanor shifted instantly. Her hands trembled as she cradles both drones within her palms. “Little Ones, shh — shh, settle down.” At least a dozen of her own swarm broke from their collective illusion to land and fret worriedly over Adele and the nameless tourmaline fly. As she checked them over, both on a macro and a micro scale, she spoke to them, answering their distress calls with soothing noises. The two drones shivered and huddled as miserable as a pair of neglected kittens. “It’s all right, it’s all right; sora ta ce mare esta aici.”

“There were, uh, more of… Lady Cassandra’s… but —” Isolde changed course. “You could protect them better than I can.”

“What happened?”

“It was pretty cold — “

“That isn’t what I’m asking, Miss Ardenlane,” Lady Bela’s gaze was insistent and sharp as she narrowed it on Isolde. “What. Happened. You were out with Cassandra …” she looked to the drones she held, then up to Isolde.

Isolde swallowed. “I protected her,” she gestured to the nameless drone. “Adele — or the cold — killed the others.”

Lady Bela confirmed that with a forced connection between several ruby eyes and the two. She concentrated on that bridge, eyes closing as she emitted a nearly inaudible hum. “Adele’s — furious. Murderous, even. We haven’t displayed this sort of territorial aggression since the early years.”

“Can she tell you what happened?”

“Not to the extent I’d want. I have to speak with my sisters.” Lady Bela crossed to sit on the edge of the bed. The mask of the Heir Apparent slipped from her like streaks of color, puddling at her feet until the woman underneath was exposed. Fatigue bent her shoulders; worry sharpened her features.

“They’re alive. When I … “

“Were you actually trying to escape?”

“Would your mother have me killed if I were a threat to you?”

Lady Bela chuffed at the question. “In a heartbeat. She would drown the castle in the blood of the staff — from her boon-companion to the newest laundry wretch — if that’s what it took to protect us.”

“Would she order you to do it instead?”

Lady Bela picked up on the strange thread but answered regardless. “Not likely. Mother is … direct, I suppose. She prefers to personally attend to something as intimate as defending the Bloodline.”

“What about Lady Cassandra?”

“Having you killed?”

“On the orders of your mother.” Isolde clarified.

Lady Bela squared herself as she faced Isolde. “Miss Ardenlane, would you kindly tell me what happened to my sisters and you?”

And Isolde told Lady Bela everything — well, almost everything. She began with the departure from the castle, the woodland chase, and the encounter within the house and afterward. By the end of it, she shook from adrenaline or anxiety. She wasn’t sure which.

Had she given Lady Bela the same command to turn open season on her? She didn’t dare look up, instead staring down at her shivering hands as she clasped and unclasped them. Lady Bela’s quiet as she stood.

“Little one,” Lady Bela said. Isolde felt a careful hand cup her chin and tilt her neck up until they were eye to eye.

Isolde’s breath shuttered against the back of her teeth.

“Daniela… hungers. So strongly that Cassandra could not help but be interested, and it leaves me feeling … possessive.”

“Of what?”

Lady Bela stared at Isolde as if the answer was as evident as the rise and fall of the sun. “You. When you disobeyed in the corridor, I saw red. You were — you are — mine.” Lady Bela shifted her grip to clasp Isolde’s chin delicately between her fingers, stopping any protest before it could begin. “Ignoring the contract, ignoring the fact that you do hold dangerous leverage — none of that matters. Mother is not the only Dragon who has perfected coveting into an art form.”

Lady Bela’s eyes tracked the motion of Isolde’s throat when she swallowed, suddenly feeling parched. Her gaze flicked back up and she cleared her throat with a polite noise. “So, you must believe me when I tell you that I am very, very aware of any trouble that might threaten those whom I covet; and while there are indeed wolves at your door, Miss Ardenlane; they wear collars of gold and heel well to their mistress’ commands.”

“But Cassandra —"

“Lady Cassandra,” Lady Bela’s small smirk at Isolde’s exasperated look was telling.

“Lady Cassandra said that she was following orders.”

“Cassandra doesn’t know what obedience even means,” Isolde’s look had Lady Bela sighing, though. “That sort of command concerning you would have — should have been given to me. I have the final say when it comes to a… messy break-up. Cassandra’s usually too devoted to Daniela’s happiness to listen without causing even more trouble. And since you, Miss Ardenlane, are currently a significant part of Daniela’s current mirth…”

“She still tried to kill me.”

“I believe you and Adele and the guilt-laden pup when you say that, but you must believe me that Cassandra wouldn’t do so without … reason.”

Isolde smothered the urge to pry underneath the surface of that statement and focused on the unspoken instead. “What about now? What about Lady Beneviento? I don’t seem to have a choice in the matter of where I wind up, do I?”

Lady Bela’s lips twitched. “Considering the terrifying fact that Donna is not particular if her dolls are living or dead flesh…?”

“Didn’t need to know that.”

“I am merely making you aware that one of those potential options is in actuality: a non-option.”

“There’s also just letting me leave the valley. There’s that on the table.”

“Impossible. Daniela’s mood would be unbearable.” Lady Bela didn’t resist when Isolde pulled her chin away and mimed an air of indifference. She returned to sitting on the edge of the bed, fussing lightly over the two drones.

“That sounds like a House Dimitrescu problem, not a me problem.” Isolde took a tentative seat next to Lady Bela, smiling when she’s handed Adele who immediately brttzs! when Isolde hit her sightline. “Adele’ll come with me.”

“Absolutely not. In the hypothetical that you leave us, I would be left with a distraught Daniela. I at least need all her brain cells to be front and center.”

“Again — a you problem, not a me problem.”

Lady Bela’s smile didn’t quite reach her eyes as she bumped her shoulder against Isolde’s, then leaned lightly against her. “Daniela’s spoiling you if you think you can get away with such cheeky retorts.”

The contact was welcomed, despite the complications surrounding their situation. “And yet, Lady Bela, you are just as lenient.”

“Shush.”

“I’m merely stating an observance.”

“I’m ordering you to stop observing, then.” Lady Bela quipped, then truly looked at her. “I should let you rest.”

Isolde yawned and decided to ask for forgiveness after. She leaned her head against Lady Bela’s shoulder and closed her eyes for a moment. She missed Lady Bela’s question at first.

“I asked if you were all right? It looks like yesterday was not a pleasant experience for you.”

Isolde shrugged. For some reason, a conversation with Ms. Fields took center stage in her thoughts. “I can’t go home ever again, can I?”

“After your contract— “

“I think we’re past that, don’t you? After all, my knowing what I know? And you’re right, about Daniela. It wouldn’t be an amicable departure.” Isolde sighed, suddenly feeling homesick. “Not that there’d be much to return home to.”

“…we aren’t that terrible a fate, are we?”

Isolde turned so her chin rested on Lady Bela’s shoulder. She easily met that honey-warmed gaze with confidence she’d not had a few weeks prior. “Well, when you take away the attempted murder — and becoming an accessory to murder, no. I suppose you three aren’t that terrible a prospect.”

“How reassuring.” The tone was dry, but the glimmer in Lady Bela’s eyes said enough.

The conversation lulled again. Isolde yawned intermittently, remaining tucked against Lady Bela’s side.

“They’ll be fine, you know that, right?”

Lady Bela snorted. “There’s not a functional sense of logic between the pair of them. We’re going to find them curled up in some lycan’s chest cavity.”

“We?”

“I am not going to allow you to remain here. Tomorrow, after I’m done preparing the Beneviento tithe, you and I are going to leave, together, and collect our wayward sisters.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I don’t, but you don’t deserve to become one of Donna’s playmates. At least Daniela feels something for the girls that she … well, you’re aware of that little complication now.”

Isolde nodded. Lady Bela shifted to tuck an arm about her as if they actually were sisters-in-arms, or something closer to friends than the confused tug-pull of predator and not-quite-prey.

Whatever. Lady Bela was right. Compared to alternatives, this wasn’t that terrible. And so, she yielded to the quiet request for comfort and let them lapse into silence as the midnight oil burned down.

Chapter Text

Isolde woke in the center of an inferno.

Suffocating, stifling, the heat drove her to wriggle out from underneath a collection of quilts and blankets. She moved and her skin felt alive — she hurried to escape and was caught immediately by a band tightening about her waist.

Panic fluttered on fragile wings at the back of her throat. Her vision swam in the dark of the room and tendrils coiled about her body. They were slack, though, and buzzingly protested when she pushed at them.

Wait.

Understanding flooded into the gaps that sleeping terror cracked open, and Isolde slumped back against the cloying, claustrophobic heat to look closer at her entrapment.

The tendrils were still there, yes, but as she looked at them and traced their shape with her eyes squinting just so — that was an arm locked about her ribcage. That was a leg, ivory and bloodless, tangled betwixt hers. That was a shoulder, curved and angled tucking against the cradle of Isolde’s body. The woman she held must have sought shelter sometime during the night.

Even in repose, Lady Bela’s features pinched tight as if sleep couldn’t banish the thoughts that plagued her waking hours. She was at once lithe, slender-limbed, and soft, and yet her body rippled with the glimmering wingbeats of hundreds of chitinous bodies, all gently trembling to keep their sisters warm.

Bees murdered intruders by overheating them in a massive swarm, didn’t they? Isolde swore she’d read that somewhere, and it felt like she’s going to confirm it as sweat matted uncomfortably along her hairline.

Isolde tore herself apart debating how to extract herself, how to wake the heiress currently using her as a literal bed warmer, and how to do both of those without causing either one of them undue embarrassment when her body twitched out from her control and the decision was made regardless of her wants.

Isolde sat up, pushing through the swarm. Behind her, Lady Bela regained consciousness in a startling blink, but Isolde didn’t turn to greet her, didn’t pause to linger on how golden hair framed the angle of Lady Bela’s jawline and softened the predator into the woman.

Whatever Isolde’s thoughts on the matter, they’re not what drives Isolde to the door, unlocking and opening it, leaving Lady Bela to swarm upon her feet and follow closely behind so they both meet Lady Beneviento as one force.

Lady Beneviento’s impassive stare took in their state and the state of the room behind them. Her gaze returned to Isolde’s neck and stuck like the humidity of a summer’s storm. She was looking for something.

Lady Bela realized it too, and she gave an offended scoff as she stepped forward to crowd their hostess back out into the hallway. “Please. I have better manners than that.”

“It’s been a while. You cannot blame me for forgetting.” Lady Beneviento’s eyes left Isolde’s neck and the strings relaxed by a twist. “They’re ready for inspection.”

“Lead us, then.”

“Us?”

It was unnerving when both women turn to look at her. Lady Bela’s hand came to Isolde’s elbow, cupping it, but she remained quiet. The radio static that disturbed the air between their bodies, though, suggests that her thoughts weren’t quite so placid.

Time passed in fractals of clarity.

They must have paused to take breakfast, as the taste of warm, buttery scones melted on Isolde’s tongue in the space between thoughts — only to be replaced with the tartness of tea steeped just a minute too long and drank without a brush of sweetness to cut the bite.

Isolde didn’t remember partaking in either.

Lady Beneviento and Lady Bela spoke around her, and Isolde picked up impossible-to-piece fragments from the staggered conversation.

When Isolde blinked again, she was faced with an iron-wrought window that exposed the valley. She oriented herself to a room that was as open as the greenhouse, perhaps could be easily have been repurposed into such a space, but where Daniela’s passion cultivated a garden of a thousand blooms — here, Isolde stared into over two dozen sightless gazes.

The dolls had no rhyme nor reason for their positions, nor seemed to have a common theme among them. Isolde saw men, women, and even children. Some of the dolls were elderly, with a century drawn over their bodies, while Isolde noticed a few dolls with the youthfulness of the cradle shaping the roundness of their limbs.

It was hard to look at just one of the several tableaus arranged around her. There were men sitting at the tables, with frozen smiled and silent laughter, captured in mid-conversation. A few young girls lounged on the dusty couches with books loosely in-hand and gazes set to the world beyond as a daydream stole their attention. Children giggled and leaned over a game of marbles, though the glass beads have long since rolled to rest against the damp rot of the window frame.

“Are they…?”

Lady Bela shrugged and looked around the room as if she’d seen this a hundred times already. “I’m not sure. Donna’s skill makes the difference between living and deceased difficult to notice.”

“You sound like you approve.”

Lady Bela’s gaze slid to meet hers. “I admire artistic talent.”

Isolde swallowed the bitterness that brought her. She looked through the throngs and could not help but wonder where she’d have fit within the canvas. Reading? Conversing? Dancing? There was one scene that she skirted away from as soon as she spied the two women behind a faded partition. Somehow Lady Beneviento had managed to capture the urgency of passion, and although there’s no motion, no brushing of hands, no sighing, Isolde felt like she was betraying their intimacy.

“You’re upset.”

Isolde glanced back at Lady Bela. “Where do you think I’d be placed?”

That took the heiress aback. Lady Bela’s surprise was a balm for Isolde’s temper, and the urge to be contrary disappeared at the reaction received.

“You will not — “

“Forgive me, Lady Bela, but I don’t quite believe you.”

“As I said, Miss Ardenlane, I will not — “

“Allow me, yes, I know,” Isolde pushed past the displeased shadow that crossed over Lady Bela. Something about the immediacy of the predicament she faced dulls the ability to care about the way she should be speaking to her employer. “What does that entail? A duel for my honor? Shared custody?”

“Miss Ardenlane…”

“No? Am I to return with you but come whenever Donna crooks a finger?” Isolde badgered further as anxiety pricked at the need to run, to flee. The Solarium was wide and spacious but right now the walls pressed inward, and the expanse of the fall beyond the windows was a chasm that trapped her here.

Her chest hurt, and she wanted to — her hands flexed with the need to do something — fight? That didn’t feel right.

“Isolde!” Lady Bela stepped forward, trapping Isolde’s chin between her hands. The contact made her want to bolt, but if she was the nervous, panicking filly — Lady Bela was the steady, experienced groom who knew how to calm despite the tether.

Isolde yanked her chin. Lady Bela allowed the loss of eye contact but not personal space. She held her with only her fingers and stepped in closer again; and Isolde only felt worse. She struggled harder, then harder still until Adele flew up, agitated herself, and struck Lady Bela on the nose.

“What the— ?”

The panic shattered into glass shards. It was absurd, absolutely bizarre but that hiccup of inanity worked. Lady Bela released her to capture Adele before a second attack could happen.

“You little brat,” Lady Bela groused as she stared into the makeshift cage of her fingers. Adele buzzed and twirled in a figure-eight that prompted a gasp and a ‘how do you even know how to say that?!’ from the heiress.

A giggle bubbled out of Isolde at the sight, a little hysterical, but she’d always preferred laughter to fear; even if that laughter was a little bit mad.

Lady Bela looked from the troublesome drone to her, and then cracked a smile as well.

“Now, where were we?” Lady Bela tilted her head, and a small frisson of foolishness ran through Isolde. She won’t give into embarrassment, though. Not when she had a good reason to be so upset.

“Your grand plan?”

“Ah.” Lady Bela released Adele and watched her alight back on Isolde’s shoulder. “It’s not going to be ideal, but I can assure you that Donna will lose her hooks within you. Most of them, I think. I’m afraid your ill-mannered jest about shared custody might not be all that joking, however.”

“How?”

Lady Bela’s gaze directed Isolde back to the drone on her shoulder. “There isn’t enough time to explain the details, but I believe there’s a way to sever Donna’s threads with the Swarm.”

“The Swarm … your Swarm?”

“Yes.” Several ruby-eyed drones appeared along Lady Bela’s upraised arm and crawl along the planes of her hand before disappearing within the shadow of her palm. “Mine, Daniela’s…” here, a lonesome tourmaline drone shimmered, so out-of-step with the others, at her shoulder. “Cassandra’s.”

Isolde watched it as well. “How?”

“The actual theory would take… quite a while. However —” Bela scrunched her nose as she thought, “I suppose it’s not inaccurate to describe it much like how Daniela manages to graft one species of flower with another to produce an entirely new bloom.”

That was … not what Isolde expected. “How does… what does that even…?” Her eyes flicked to the lonely drone and back.

“Again, there’s no time to explain the theory, but what we are — what is currently inside you right now — is a connection to a god that is older than the mountains that shelter us.”

Isolde’s ribs grew tight against her lungs. “There is no —”

“We can debate the nature of divinity later.” Lady Bela stepped close again, eyes luminous. Something — Isolde herself, maybe— had captured her attention. Lady Bela’s hands were cool, but her eyes blazed an inferno. “You wanted another option — this is it.”

They both heard the opening of a door in the distance. They both heard the click of heels. There was no time.

“All right.” Isolde said. Anything was better than the glassy-eyed stare of the dolls standing in perpetual ambiguity.

“I need you to actually say it, Isolde.” Lady Bela’s use of her first name snapped Isolde from their hostess’ proclivities. “Say ‘yes’. I need to know you understand what I’m asking of you.”

“I don’t. Understand, that is,” Isolde muttered as she strained to hear how close the Dollmaker was. Between that creeping anxiety and the pressure of Lady Bela’s gaze upon her neck like a guillotine, she didn’t think she’d have the luxury to understand. She’d experienced puppeteering, though, and knew she’d rather go through anything else but that. “I accept the Swarm.”

A smile flickered across Lady Bela’s lips, but Isolde couldn’t address it. Not now — not when time trickled away grain by grain. Lady Bela called the tourmaline pup, and with it one ruby-eyed drone with fluttering wings of gold. Adele joined them as Isolde took them into her hands.

“Where did she stitch you?”

Isolde exposed the broken, carved mess of her shoulder, and the hatching thread there. Lady Bela set the drones upon the broken skin, speaking softly as she guided them to —

“AH!”

Mandibles pierced her flesh, severing thread, and tissue, and nerves — a maddening pain burned through her. Her thoughts twisted and tangled through fevered troths until she experienced a startling clarity.

They carved a space for themselves in her flesh, beneath her muscle, somewhere between bone and otherness and she felt every single step of the way. She couldn’t see properly now; a smear of tears stained her vision. She couldn’t scream, she’d lost the ability to breathe. She stood there, knees buckled, weight supported by a crooning, attentive heiress until the drones struck lightning directly into the base of her skull.

They were there. Crawling, invading, devouring her… but then they were not.

What was there was a rippling of pain, no — not pain. Not exactly. It was more like pressure; the dull ache at the back of one’s sinuses — the exhaustion that dragged on limbs like weighted netting. The pressure rippled like a pebble had been dropped into the center of a lake within Isolde, ebbing and rising less and less until the pressure became so faint that she thought she’d imagining it more than experiencing it.

And in the hollow of its absence was a blossom of cognizance that evaluated the world through vibration, light, shadow, scent. It was a language she didn’t know and yet… and yet…

“Steady now,” Lady Bela wet her lips with a pink dart of the tongue, fixated on the cruelty she’d wrought. The wound she split open underneath the slant of Isolde’s collarbone was now a dark hollow.

The drones burrowed further, widening the gap between it and her scapula.

Isolde gently grasped Lady Bela’s wrists, pinning them between their bodies. She’d been hyper aware of each daughter’s presence before but never with the intensity that bloomed within her now.

She met that golden gaze. She was panting from the exertion — from the pain, but she felt… she felt —

Lady Bela’s smile rivaled the sunrise, and she remained there until Lady Beneviento was just on the other side of the door. She broke their connection as the doors open and turned to observe the entrance of their hostess.

The Lady Beneviento walked at the head of a line of seven men and seven women, all dressed in shapeless gray shifted that swished about their legs as they follow along. They marched in one tandem beat and when they lined up, the way they all turned at once to track Lady Beneviento crossing the room sent a chill down Isolde’s spine.

Would that have been her?

She locked eyes with the Dollmaker and — there was a twisting snap in her mind, and the bloom of a headache. She couldn’t quite move; her limbs were stiff and unresponsive — but her mind was hers.

Lady Beneviento’s gaze swam with a troubled expression. It disappeared when Angie toddled in at the head of a collective of small porcelain dolls, each carrying several file folders. Business took priority over the curious nature of Isolde’s stubborn sentience.

Isolde stumbled to follow the conversation that Lady Bela and Lady Beneviento have as they each plucked file after file, discussing it before each of the candidates. realizing between the rapid Romanian and the strangest sensation that she’d been registering Lady Bela’s contributions in another layer altogether.

Her blood turned to ice. These people were the harvest for Midwinter. Judged on merits such as birthplace, talents, knowledge … as if they were thoroughbred horses, only Isolde didn’t think eugenics played a role in the endgame.

Lady Bela’s lips thinned to white as Lady Beneviento bid nearly all the women back a step, and two of the men. Her hand twitched and an incessant buzzing whined in the air, but she didn’t protest audibly.

Isolde tried to listen further, but something kept stealing her focus; her senses buckling to accommodate the onslaught of information that felt impossible to translate into coherent thoughts.

She was being thrown off-balance by seemingly-opposing stimulation, a nudge of awareness here — the brush of a whisper there. The air shifted and swayed in minute spirals as Angie skittered behind her. She tracked the movement by sound and touch — turning to confirm that she wasn’t not going mad.

Angie half-scampered, half-clambered on a desk and reached up towards a light fixture that swayed precariously underneath the weight of a creature made of twine and twisted fabric. As if she sensed the eyes on her, she turned that unblinking gaze to meet Isolde stare-for-stare.

Unnerving.

Isolde’s senses were already moving on, though, to chase down the subtle pulsing of a noise that wasn’t quite sound. It ran just below the surface of her ability to translate but she understood and with that spiraled a whirlwind of emotions —

Danger. Worried. Not Safe Here. Not Safe Here. Colony? Lost.

Anxiety crawled along the threads of her mind and left her stripped and shivering in its wake. She glanced towards Lady Bela, noticing the placid — almost serene expression as the heiress walked alongside Lady Beneviento as they conversed about the offerings.

Offerings.

People. The line-up of people. Men, women — human beings standing in silent compliance as two dangerous women discussed their potential as sacrifices. As if it were an honor. As if there were no greater fate to be bestowed.

As if they are playing through the Akedah, fully aware that this time there was no Angel from On High to stay the descent of the knife. Just as there had been no messenger forty years prior — not for the countless who died without purpose save cruelty, and those who were sent into the war by their Abrahams. Sacrifices — all of them.

“Miss Ardenlane?”

Isolde blinked. She’d set a hand against Lady Bela’s arm. When had she…? She pulled the limb back as if it had personally offended her — acting of an accord all its’ own. Perhaps it had.

Though, the anxiety had vanished — replaced by a sense of familiarity.

She glanced up to see both women staring at her, though their expressions were as different as night and day. Lady Bela watched her curiously, almost intrigued. Her eyes flickered about Isolde’s face, searching for some secret that only she’d be privy to.

Lady Beneviento stared at Isolde like she intruded on something sacred. The whispers and creeping, skulking noises returned, though without the tendrils of ink at the edges of her vision. Which, as she noted the arrival of small, makeshift bodies stalking along the periphery of the room, was the visual manifestation of the Lady’s control over her mind.

The yoke was still there, though, but stuck somewhere in the depths — like a well-worn concern that she’d grown accustomed to. In its place was a buzzing, flighty attentiveness to every single movement.

“What did you do?” Lady Beneviento turned that accusation onto the golden heiress, who merely returned the look with careful neutrality.

“As I said before, Lady Beneviento: Miss Ardenlane belongs to the House Dimitrescu.”

“You say that, and somehow I missed noticing Sister Alcina’s brand upon her yesterday.”

Lady Bela did not rise to the bait. “I cannot say what you did or didn’t miss. I am simply stating what is true.”

That statement was a catalyst. All at once, the very air around them collapsed inward like a pressure front burst wide open. Three demands tore themselves into Isolde’s consciousness. Her own, the Lady Beneviento’s strings which now sliced like razor-wire, and the steadying curl of Lady Bela’s hand at her waist.

It was a vicious stalemate. One that Lady Beneviento broke with a quiet puff of air that felt like ‘later’ — felt like ‘this isn’t over’. It’s not a victory but Isolde knew a reprieve when it presented.

“I suppose I’ll have to speak of this with my Sister come Midwinter then.” Lady Beneviento stepped back, leaving Isolde wary and pressing closer to Lady Bela. The action didn’t go unnoticed. “If there’s nothing else, then I suggest you hurry home. The weather looks to be turning for the worse.”

Adrenaline spiked in Isolde’s — no. Not Isolde’s, in Lady Bela’s … Swarm?

Threat. Retreat. Threat. Danger.

“Until Midwinter, Lady Beneviento.”

The threads binding Isolde bit in, coiling and tightening with a dark malice until they dropped, slack and limp. They were like loose ends, but the tension’s cut from them. For now.

Two powerful specimens of the Dimitrescu herd stood, proud and pawing at the ground in front of a carriage of dark wood and metal that swallowed the light. Lady Bela escorted her within the compartment and settled in herself. At Isolde’s look at the obvious empty driver seat, she chuckled.

“They know their way home.”

“Oh.” Isolde leaned her head against the chilly glass as the carriage departed. Lady Beneviento hadn’t lied — the sky was as dark as if it were evening. The weather was turning for the worse, and the snow-laded gardens teemed with secrets and hidden enemies. This was no winter’s wonderland.

Though, was this even real? Or was this Lady Beneviento’s insinuation at work?

“Both, if I’ve learned anything about how Donna’s gift works.” At Isolde’s second wide-eyed glance, Lady Bela laughed. Softly, like they’d shared a joke. “Sorry, it’s — your expression and your — the little sisters, I mean — I’m used to noticing —”

Isolde didn’t want to think about what Lady Bela meant so she redirected the conversation. “How are we going to find your sisters?”

Lady Bela stared at the white-out falling outside the windows. Her lips pursed as her reflection glared back at her. Upset at her limitations? “It’s too cold. None of us can risk exposure in this temperature. We’ll have to —”

“I can. If you’ll tell me how to — maybe I can?”

“Haven’t we put enough on your shoulders?”

“Still, I’m offering.”

Lady Bela’s resistance crumbled quickly when it came to her sisters. As the horses navigated the treacherous, winding path, she taught Isolde the basics of listening within the Swarm. There was a strange beauty in the vibrations and pheromones — for little other explained how she could pick up emotions and requests before they were voiced.

As Lady Bela instructed her, they traveled near to the ruined snowbanks Angie had mentioned the night before. There, Lady Bela leaned as far out as she dared, then nodded. “They’re here. Somewhere.”

Isolde peered at the blizzard-battered snowbanks dubiously. “Is there anywhere they could have sheltered here?”

“They won’t have gone far from where you last were. If Cassandra was that wounded, they’d need shelter, and a meal — I think there’s a stable… to the southwest.” She pointed and Isolde decided to trust that confidence because she couldn’t make headed or tails of the landscape.

“What if I get lost?”

“Well, I recommend that you don’t become lost.” Lady Bela ducked inside, her skin already pale to the point of translucent. The impression of the Swarm within her pressed against the cage of her corporal nature like water paint.

She removed her cloak and set it around Isolde’s shoulders. “You’ll be able to manage with this. And I’ll be fine — I will!” She said at the look Isolde threw her. “Honestly, I’ve done this before.”

“Have you, now?”

“Shall I send you out with less attire?”

Which is how Isolde found herself wading through the calf-high snow. The angle of the trees and the overhead branches prevented much of the downfall, but the wind still cut through the woods and drove the powder up into high drifts.

In the end, it was a scream that led Isolde to the half-buried root-cellar that she nearly tumbled into. It was crumbling, falling apart and likely long-since abandoned by anything but whatever screamed down there, but … the twitch in her hand that made her think of Adele came and went and —

“Really? Down there?”

Another twitch. The taste of summer wheat, and golden afternoons.

“Just once, just once — I want to rescue someone from the middle of a sunlit, open field with no boundaries or caves. Just the horizon and the sky in sight.”

A third twitch. This one gave her wine and an aftertaste of rust. The creak of wood, the pumping of scarlet. Bela.

“You understand? When Bela gets into trouble, and it looks like that’s an inevitability — I demand a field.”

It’s almost like the trio within her laughed. She hoped they understood that she wasn’t joking. Not this time. Not as she descended carefully down cracked, narrow steps into a pit lined by packed dirt and hand-placed stone.

It was dark down here.

She made out a large mass in the center. Shapeless as her eyes adjusted. A blob became a… cow? A sheep? No. A horse. A draft horse, thick-legged and full belly. A mare? Had they brought down a mare?

But then — where were they?

Isolde stepped off the final step and froze at the soft whuff of breath.

The creature was alive. How was it — how had it even gotten down here? She stepped closer, curiosity overriding fear or survival instinct when —

The horse’s belly bulged and undulated into itself. The beast whinnied and futilely kicked out against the pain —

The sound of flesh splitting open would haunt Isolde’s nightmares. A terrible noise — blending the scrape of a tanner’s tools over a hide with the snapping of greenstick twigs soaking from a spring rain —

Isolde smacked against the earthen wall to avoid being struck — there’s little margin for error in the cramped space. Her hands slapped along the packed, damp earth to find the path out from the coffin she’d found herself in.

Her fingers curved about the rounded stone towards the crude-cut stairwell — the belly burst, and out poured a dark, writhing mass of… flies. Hundreds of them, covered in the warm viscera of their chosen shelter. They whirled into the cool air, agitated and alarmed at an intrusion — Isolde’s intrusion.

Oh. She knew this monster.

Isolde stopped backing away to tilt her hands up as the Swarm descended. They landed on her and left blood stains when they took flight again. She stepped fully into the dark underbelly of the cellar, with an eye still warily on the horse. The other watched the swarms split into two figures.

Lady Cassandra’s dominant hand was a mangled mess, twisted and gaunt like a skeletal prop to scare children. She hid it against the tattered fabric of her shirt when she noticed Isolde’s staring.

Next to her, Daniela could barely keep together. She blurred at the edges like a photograph gone wrong. They’re both covered in the horse’s bodily fluids and stand like two chastised children.

Whatever Isolde felt about the two women? That could be managed later. Later — within the relative safety of the castle walls. With the warmth and space to talk without the two so close that electricity fuzzed in the space between their bodies, like Isolde’s nervous system wanted to fall into their orbits.

“Lady Bela is absolutely furious with the two of you and —” Isolde’s words disappeared as two bodies impact hers, nearly knocking the wind out of her. They coiled, drawing her into an embrace that shivered lightning under her skin.

Lady Cassandra pressed against her, nuzzling her hair as she murmured apology after apology.

“You’re alive.”

Daniela caught her off-guard.

She was spinning, turning from one set of arms into another. Her world filled with copper, from the framing of Daniela’s hair as she cupped Isolde’s face to the way her lips tasted as she bent to set her mouth against Isolde’s own.

Chapter Text

Lady Bela and Lady Cassandra argued between themselves in a blend of low thrumming interspersed by the occasional Romanian. They looked at her often, then at Daniela fidgeting next to her, before they resumed the heated debate that caused their respective colonies to drift into dark clouds at their necks. 

It didn’t help that Daniela wasn’t even looking at her; refusing to meet her gaze like they’re the ones in the middle of a fight.

The redheaded heiress was all but turned into the window, her head tilted up and away as Isolde attempted to explain, again, why she’d pulled sharply away from the vixen down in the root cellar. The silence between them was deafening, and neither one of the other sisters was a reliable (or favorable) source of reinforcement.

Mostly because Lady Bela was too busy lecturing her sister, and though Lady Cassandra met her gaze, the intensity left Isolde worried about her safety — that she’s another heartbeat away from being tossed out into the snow and hunted again. 

“... and I’ll handle Mother, all right?”

The two elder swarm-sisters swapped back to Romanian as Isolde gave up on trying to get Daniela to look at her, the act quickly becoming a lesson in misery.

“Oh, sure, gladly.” Lady Cassandra’s conciliatory tone set both Isolde and Lady Bela aback. They watched as the huntress released the curtain she’d been peeking around. The fabric swayed against her hand while she turned a golden amusement onto the woman sitting next to her. “You have a plan for that, right?”

Lady Bela scoffed, offended. “Of course I have a plan.”

“Good, because you’re going to need it, like now.”

“What?” Lady Bela hissed as she leaned past her sister to yank the curtain aside and look out for herself. She immediately released it and slumped back, eyes closing as she groans, “Perfect.”

Isolde risked a glance only to pale at what she found. 

The Countess herself stood halfway up the steps that led from the intimate courtyard for the family’s carriage, the shadows of the castle stretching long and ominous over her ivory cloak, granting her the impression of even more height. Not that she needed it.

“I appreciate you stepping up, Bels. I’ll gladly leave you to ‘handle it’,” Lady Cassandra said cheerfully, clapping a hand on the blonde’s shoulder.

“Shut up, Cassa.” 

“She looks mad,” Daniela commented, having leaned over to see out Isolde’s window.

“When doesn’t she?” The huntress quipped

Isolde peered through the gap in the thick velvet curtains of the carriage like a nervous child cast upon the outside world, peeping in increments as the carriage came to a stop, and as the Countess sighed and perched a hand upon a voluptuous hip. How the wind carried that resonant timbre even before Bela pulled open the door—

“—trust there is a very good explanation as to where you’ve been these few days. And not a single word was sent along to me! I’ve been worried sick—”

Like a trio of guilty schoolchildren, the daughters descended from the carriage; heads ducked low, eyes downcast. Isolde hesitated to follow until Daniela’s hand curled about her wrist and yanked her along after them. She landed awkwardly on her right ankle and hissed as it inverted painfully underneath her weight.

The lecture died in mid-breath.

Isolde glanced up to see that regal expression shift from bright surprise to a cold, hard fury; a predator sighting a threat in its territory. The Countess prowled forward — there was the impossible ring of metal somewhere — Daniela shoved her back into the carriage, stepping half-in herself, blocking the door. Blocking her.

Lady Bela lunged forward, risking the cold to her swarm as she blurred quicker than a human should be able to intercept a titan. “Mother!” She cried, reaching out, grasping one of Lady Dimitrescu’s hands between her own.

There was a terrible weight to the air, like the pressure front of a storm that hadn’t burst. Isolde struggled to look past Daniela as Lady Cassandra pushed her way between Countess and Heiress, speaking such rapid-fire Romanian that Isolde couldn’t keep up.

“Mother, please.” Lady Bela whispered far more delicately, more softly than Isolde’s ever heard. “Allow me to explain.”

Lady Dimitrescu’s brows furrowed deeply a moment longer and then smoothed out with a long, heavy sigh of defeat. There was the sound of something dense and solid scraping and slithering along the ground between the pair — a blade dragging — then the Countess stepped back as Lady Bela released her hand.

“My study. Now.” That terrible molten gaze found Isolde even behind Daniela’s sheltering form. “As for you … make yourself scarce.” She turned and ushered her three daughters inside, eyeing them as the women scrambled to obey without further delay.  The door rattled from the force of her closing it.

And Isolde was left alone.

If she hadn’t been confused before… hadn’t the Lady Bela said—

No. Isolde shook her head hard, stopping the cascade of thoughts. She didn’t have the luxury to ruminate on what had happened — what had just happened… what might happen.

She gave it a measure of time after the ladies of the house’s departure before she followed, listless. She didn’t know where to go.

 She didn’t want to go to her room — isolating and lonely as it was, and likely lined with questioning eyes from the Pride and other household ranks. She might go to the infirmary — but the thought of more hands on her left her recoiling in disgust.

Instead, she roamed aimlessly until she found herself in the comforting warmth of the greenhouse, the humid heat sticky sweet in her lungs as she inhaled fragrances from lands without the threat of murder around every corner. 

She meandered to the repaired windowpanes and found the dripping fog a momentary relief from the building tempest inside her; the inches of glass that protected the fragility of the flowers in Daniela’s greenhouse from the killing frost just beyond echoing the growing chasm in Isolde’s mind.

Less than three nights ago, she’d been standing in the very same spot; now she was back, and it felt like she was a stranger.

How had she become the intruder in her own life? Even with the evidence of her hobbies and work spread out all around her — there, the plants that need to be repotted and placed on their sequestered benches; there, the clippings drying on the twine; there, the scattering of pencils and charcoal across the desk’s surface — all shards of her presence here, yet still she felt misplaced. Off-balance and just left of center.

The sensation languished in her chest until the cold grew too uncomfortable to remain by. She stepped back from it, no longer able to bear the chill. She glanced hopefully at the door, but it was still firmly shut; not that she expected Daniela to find her after that awkward ride home but...

No. Stop. This wasn’t the time to fret over a kiss. Not that it was —

She still tasted the blood if she thought too long about the cellar; heard the dying squeal, felt the heat of the creature’s fading warmth as the swarm swallowed her —

“Ow!” She jolted back a half-step away from the corner of the potting table. That was going to bruise. It snapped her out of her spiraling thoughts, though. Painfully, but job done. She scowled at the offending edge, then purposely widened her circle around it to reach the warmer spaces of the greenhouse.

The cold clung to her wake, the chill burrowing deep into her bones, so hollow and aching so deeply the thought of it left her in pain. In sharp contrast, her shoulder burned like a red-hot poker was lodged within it, had done so since she’d stepped out of the oppressive atmosphere of the carriage.

Oppressive being an understatement.

She set her hip against the corner of the main work desk, looking over the projects left unfinished, and frowned. Something was… different.

She tilted her head, curious at a barely distinguishable alteration in the fine layering of dust where the particles should have settled uniformly over the oak grain of the desk.

She turned, angling off her perch for a better look. Something had been moved.

But... what?

She prowled closer, adjusting her perspective by altering between standing on her tiptoes, or lowering into a crouch to level her sightline with the surface itself. She reached out only to snap her hand back before she touched the wood; a mote of confusion bubbling up to break her focus.

What had she been trying to do...?

She straightens up, feeling a little foolish when it struck her.

Her sketchbook was missing.

She’d left it there— right there — she knew she had! She’d been in the middle of working out a series of sketches for Daniela to look at when the heiress had been summoned to a meal, and Isolde to the welcoming arms of sleep, and that had been the night before the horrors of that fateful ride and —

Her breath snatched on a hook of pain as the muscles of her chest contorted and realigned themselves without her say-so.  Her left shoulder spasmed, her hand jerking and twitching like she’d been struck and then a bolt of blinding-white pain lanced the canyon below her clavicle, down beneath the cage of her ribs, and then, somehow, further down until there was only a churning, roiling pressure.

It couldn’t escape. She couldn’t escape. It just built more, and more — pushing against her again and again until she let out an ugly sound and dropped to her knees, hitting the floor hard enough to rattle her teeth as a furious truth awakened inside of her.

No, her sketchbook wasn’t missing.

Someone had taken it. Someone had come into the Greenhouse, violating her space — violating Daniela’s space — and then left with something that did not belong to them.

As that thought scratched into the fabric of her reality, another chased it without pause.

And she was going to make them pay.

The vehemence of the thought wrenched her back to herself. She struggled against the overwhelming sensation of being trapped, forcing her breath through a series of shaky patterns and before she stood back on her feet.

The viciousness wasn’t gone. It was there, underneath the veneer of Abba’s teachings and the lessons of discretion being the only part of survival that didn’t come with bruises and dark reminders to never rise to their bait.

She hadn’t been.

She knew she wasn’t supposed to — that’s not how one survived to see the next morning. Yet here she was doing just that. Grinding her teeth as she chewed on the theft like a starved dog with the last gristle on a bone.

Her room? That had been one thing; the scrawled words, the spike of fear through her belly, and of a mocking, isolating cruelty and — no, there’s anger, frustration even — but all of it ash and embers compared to the intensity she felt now. Over a book.

Her thoughts, her talents, her way of navigating the castle’s maddening hierarchy and plots.

And even still — be it just prose, or poetry, or just a string of numbers — it was hers.

She leaned her weight on the desk, then straightened up. She had a theory — more than a theory — on who’d been behind the bullying before, and she wouldn’t be too off-base thinking they had something to do with this too.

After all, Rowena had eyed her over dinner several times, making commentary about Isolde’s lack of awareness, or common sense — always retreating before one of the Pride maidens who weren’t as seemingly unaffected could intervene.

And it wasn’t like petty theft isn’t an uncommon symptom of hostile, competitive working environments, either. Forcing another staff member to lose their cool to appear more level-headed was a practical, brutal strategy.

Well, it was what it was.

Her sketchbook was missing.

She wanted it back.

She prowled through the corridor toward the servant’s annex before another consideration against outright confrontation could stop her. She moved with determination that wasn’t solely her own violation.

She found the thief in the hall between the common parlour and the main thoroughfare on the ground floor, laughing at something said in her departure from the room. Tucked underneath her arm, a blackbird swayed on the end of a red ribbon. Isolde’s page marker. 

The woman — Isolde didn’t know her name, not really. She’d seen her in passing before, but they’d never had the same shift or the same company. She was petite, with wispy straw-blonde hair escaping from the day’s plait. Her eyes, when they caught onto Isolde’s, were the shade of the sky just after noon, blue and brilliant and utterly laughably wide as she recognized whom she was about to run into.

“Isolde?”

“That’s mine.” Isolde moved into the woman’s space, gesturing to the book. “Give it back.”

Later, Isolde would rationalize that it’d been an accident, that she’d meant to finally give a bit of what she’d been given and had miscalculated.

That’s not what she thought now, as she continued to invade the other woman’s — Rozil, right — space, crowding her back against the swinging door. She grabbed for her book, but Rozil yanked it back.

A high-keening drone filled Isolde’s ears. She straightened, studying Rozil the way she might one of Daniela’s plants under the magnifying glass, then lunged forward. She headbutted the thief at an angle, sending them both toppling. Rozil stumbled backward, striking her temple against the doorjamb — and Isolde after her.

They land tangled in the other’s limbs.

She had only precious seconds before the crowd behind the door rushed to see what’s happened and yanked them apart. She was thrown back, divided from Rozil and struggled against the hands pinning her back.

She looked up, snarling in frustration at Chloe’s terrifyingly firm grip on her shoulders. “Stay down,” she commanded. “Just —”

“Move, Solomon,” Rowena was suddenly there, loud and brash and demanding. At Chloe’s sharp glance, she stepped closer — throwing her weight to force the American woman back.

“Lydia’s already gone for Miss Cassandra,” Chloe said as if that meant anything.

Rowena didn’t seem to think so. She scoffed, hauling Isolde up by the torn shirt collar. “That’s plenty of time.” She turned on a heel, deliberately keeping Isolde scrambling to keep her feet beneath her. “I don’t know what the hell has crawled into your mind, but I am so grateful for the excuse.”

At least Isolde struck first. Sure, her hands slapped uselessly against a woman toughened by skirmishes with beasts as Rowena drug her back to the gathered pack.

At least, it all happened quickly. The Pack’s retribution was as rough and violent as expected; Isolde vaguely thought she should be hurting more than she was when a threatening pressure filled the air.

 A pressure that she tried to crawl to for safety.

“What the hell is going on here?” Lady Cassandra’s question was a dangerous, low-octave demand.

The tide of women fell away from Isolde, leaving her to kneel on all-fours and spit dark blood onto the carpet. She ran her tongue along her gums— nothing’s loose, thankfully. She struggled up onto her knees when a hand cupped behind her elbow in assistance.

“I have you,” Daniela murmured as she slipped her arm about Isolde’s waist and Isolde’s arm about her own shoulder. She entered the area before her sister’s menacing stalk.

 The look on Lady Cassandra’s face as she took in the brawl is nothing short of murderous. “I will not repeat myself.”

Rowena was at Rozil’s side, holding a steadily-reddening cloth to the woman’s temple. “Ask her— she came to us, accused us —”

Daniela tucked Isolde closer to her side at the blame being hurled. “What did you do?” She asked Rozil, not Isolde. She glared at the pack of women opposite them, keeping Isolde behind her when Rowena answered in the injured woman’s place.

“She didn’t do anything. We didn’t do anything!” Rowena gestured around them. “How could we have; she’s been missing for three days!”

Lady Cassandra was at the Pack’s feet now, staring down at the wounded woman with cold apathy. She crouched and brusquely pulled the cloth away from her temple to reveal the matted, broken gash from the table.

She turned her head slightly, and asked over her shoulder, “Isolde?”

Not Rabbit. Not Miss Ardenlane. Isolde’s given name.

Rowena sputtered a protest. It died in the withering look Cassandra deigned to give it.

Isolde wheezed against something sharp at her throat. It was hard to speak, as if the words caught along the way. The way she choked on the sentence has Daniela and Lady Cassandra looking at her, and she flushed, embarrassed.

She pointed, instead, to the book flung onto the floor.

Rowena’s brows rose sharp. “This is about a book? We have a library full of them —”

“Shut up.” Lady Cassandra snapped. Her hawklike gaze darted from Isolde back towards Rowena, then she looked at Daniela.

Daniel must recognize the little wooden blackbird on a spiral of red ribbon tucked out between the pages as a marker. “What were you doing in my garden?” Daniela’s softness turned to sharp, brittle edges against Isolde’s body. Her grip tightened and that low-whine crept into the world.

When there’s no forthcoming response, Lady Cassandra spoke up.

“My sister asked you a question. I suggest you answer it.”

“I was looking f-for answers, La-lady Cassandra,” Rozil, barely above a whisper, responded.

“Answers about what?”

“You! A-and Lady Daniela. Lady Bela had asked us to find you and neither of you were anywhere in the castle.”

Lady Cassandra blew out a long breath and rose to her feet. She absently sucked on the edge of her bloodied index finger as she approached Daniela and Isolde. “It’s a legitimate excuse, Dani —”

“I don’t care.”

Lady Cassandra paused, then stressed carefully; “If Bela gave them an order, they had to obey it. You know that.”

Daniela’s lips peeled back in a sneer but she didn’t object. “That doesn’t explain why she has Isolde’s journal with her.”

Lady Cassandra turned a look back over her shoulder. The answer came quickly.

“I didn’t know it was Isolde’s, Ladies, honest. I just…I was going to return it to the library.”

Rozil’s heart beat as loud and as fast as a summer’s downpour. Her eyes were white and wide, and her face nearly matched them in the shade though that likely stemmed from the blood loss. The puddling of crimson was so thick that Isolde felt like she could taste it if she breathed hard enough.

Lady Cassandra frowned, continuing to glance between both parties before she settled on her decision. “Take Rozil downstairs —”

“What?”

“No!”

“Lady Cassandra, she didn’t do anything —”

“Question my decision again and you’ll be her company for the stay!” Lady Cassandra spun to jab her finger at the nearest protester — Odette, it looked like. “When Bela’s done with her meeting with our mother, we’ll see what she thinks of this mess.”

“Isolde attacked us first!”

Lady Cassandra twitched at being interrupted but conceded the point about the house rules as they were. “Fine. Daniela, take Isolde downstairs too.”

“Cassa, no!”

Lady Cassandra’s nostrils flared. She stood as still as stone, but the swarm agitated and writhed underneath her flesh. Isolde sensed them, the scurrying and scuttling bodies. The huntress was annoyed — this was politicking, and pointless politicking at that.

Still, whatever talk they’d had with Lady Dimitrescu had seemingly put all the daughters to the task of obedience because it only took a sharp look from the huntress for Daniela to drop her head, frowning.

“Fine.”

Isolde’s stomach dropped at the thought of being down in the dark, but she’d pushed her luck as far as she’d dared, already. She turned with Daniela’s assistance and started down the hall.

“Wait.” Lady Cassandra picked up the book from the table, handing it to Isolde. Then nodded to her sister. “Remember, downstairs, Daniela.”

Downstairs meant exactly what Isolde dreaded as Daniela took her on a dizzying walk through the castle, past an intimately small tasting room, down a set of stairs that left Isolde’s mind trembling, and then back into the cellars.

Isolde had hoped to never see the inside of the rusted damp and dark complex, but here she was, walking hip to hip as if they were sharing a stroll through the woods, not a march to death’s row.

“Daniela —”

“Don’t.” Daniela shook her head, not looking Isolde’s way. “You know the house rules. You drew blood, Isolde, and Mother’s furious as it is. I can’t break the rules for you again. I won’t. Not after you —”

Isolde drug them to a stop, forcing Daniela to hop a step back so as to not trip. “Not after what, Dani?”

“Don’t call me that.”

Isolde lifted a brow, incredulous. “What, Dani?”

“I said don’t call me that!” Daniela yanked them forward, and Isolde couldn’t resist, stumbling to catch up. She lifted her head and strained to hear the low Romanian Daniela murmured.

“Daniela —” Isolde’s blood turned ice as she realized where exactly she was meant to wait for Lady Cassandra and Lady Bela. Her vision tunneled onto the suffocating maw of a cell, and panic trapped the air in her lungs just as she was about to be trapped within iron and stone. “Daniela — what —” She didn’t understand. Daniela had just been kind to her. Had swooped in like a knight, almost and —

She set all her weight to stalling her imprisonment as much as possible. Daniela’s name became a plea, a bargaining chip, a prayer. Whatever it would take to delay the inevitable.

Daniela’s hand braced against her shoulder. She was going to shove Isolde in. She was going to —

Daniela’s grip slipped higher, her fingers curling above Isolde’s shoulder while she gently pulled. With Isolde’s bracing, it toppled her into the heiress, who wrapped her firmly into a hold. The woman’s hair tickled Isolde’s cheek as she looked around.

“Here,” she said, escorting Isolde to a pile of discarded stools; one of them, she righted, and guided Isolde to sit. She stood nearby, flickering at the edges of her form, picking at her fingers. Her eyes were wide and dilated, and she pulled up another stool.

“Cassa just said ‘downstairs’. This counts as ‘downstairs’.”

Isolde nodded, too busy staring at the cell Daniela had about shoved her into. She tilted her head, realizing that Daniela was still talking.

“— even though you spurned me, I remember that we vowed to be friends, so I might be… hurt, but I won’t break a promise.”

“I… when did I spurn you?” Isolde looked away from the cell. Daniela was nodding to herself like she’d made up her mind on an important decision. “I didn’t spurn you.”

Daniela tilted her head to the side, brow furrowing. “Yes, you did. You just did.”

The comment that what she just did was a struggle against being thrown into a cell danced on the tip of Isolde’s tongue. She smothered it with a long, heavy sigh, then stiffened. “Wait. Are you talking about the root cellar?”

“When you swooped in, rescued Cassa and me, and when I went to thank you — you — you —”

“Freaked out because you were covered in the still-beating bits of a horse you’d been hiding within for at least a day or so?”

“Yes! That!” Daniela beamed, seemingly glad that they were on the same page. Her smile dimmed immediately afterward. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Daniela, you were covered in horse… horse-ness.” Isolde did not wet her lips and did not try to think of the coppery touch to her breath. “You’re still covered in it. I’m still covered in it.”

“And?” Daniela’s gaze shuttered tight as she drew her arms about her middle, folding them close as she reassessed Isolde sitting in front of her. “I already know that?”

For the love of… Isolde closed her eyes, counted her breathing, ignored the way Daniela huffed and muttered about always having to be the better person in every relationship. For some reason, she didn’t feel the urge to correct Daniela on that last bit because, well, they’re not not in a relationship. … right?

Great, now she was confused.

“Daniela…”

“What.”

Isolde’s eyes snapped open at the tone. She swallowed the need to snap back and reached to take Daniela’s nearest hand between her own. “Daniela, look at me.”

Daniela stubbornly did not look at her. She buzzed and Isolde swore that she heard the rude comment in the pitch of the droning. Isolde squeezed her hand tighter, and when the buzzing — which had to be Daniela’s version of muttering under her breath — happens again, Isolde squeezed again in time with the noise. Finally, Daniela glanced back to her, gaze shuttered still.

Another deep breath. Keep your cool, Isolde. “I’m sorry — I didn’t mean for you to think that I was spurning you. I — Daniela, you’d just exploded from a horse’s belly. It scared me. It would be like —” She struggled for a good analogy, then nodded. “Like if I’d tried to kiss you while holding one of the big house spiders —”

“Oh, ew, no! Why!? You know they’re evil, right?!” Daniela leapt up as if by speaking, they’d summoned one of the spiders directly to them.

“But I’d want to kiss you, though?”

“Not when you’re holding a spider! That’s just mean, I’d be so worried that it’s going to eat me and…” Daniela’s words slowed. “Oh.” She slumped back onto the stool. “Oh, I was a cad, wasn’t I?”

Isolde gave a mild shrug, “you were excited, and we hadn’t talked about … flesh —”

“No. No, no,” Daniela leaned forward, silencing her with a finger to her lips. “Don’t make excuses for me. Here I am, supposed to be a proper Lady as Mother tells me and I … acted a knave. Besides, blood isn’t uh, isn’t… kosher, right?”

Isolde’s heart thumped hard. If Daniela would stop being so endearing, she’d have a clearer head about this entire mess. “I — haven’t practiced kosher for a long time, Daniela, and I … don’t know if it actually applies to kissing but thank you.”

“Well, of course. I need to make — ugh, no wonder you didn’t kiss me back. Sometimes, I can be —”

“Excitable.”

“That’s a nice way to say it,” Daniela smiled faintly. The agitation at her fingertips and shoulders settled, the swarm became flesh again. The patrols seeking out the reason for the earlier alarm returned to the colony, dropping from orbit into the protection of the many. She adjusted their hands until their fingers entwined, looking between that and Isolde herself.

Then she stood up, and with a laugh, tugged Isolde up with her. “Well, then, we should have a redo.”

Isolde allowed herself to be led back toward the stairs. She wasn’t going to complain that she didn’t have to stay down here, but she still couldn’t help herself. “A redo?”

Daniela tossed a bemused look over her shoulder. “The kiss, silly. Because you’re right. We’ll have to scrub up,” her nose crinkled at the thought of water, but it’s gone as her thoughts sped forward. “Definitely change, for sure. I think the balcony is like… the best view?”

They were halfway up the stairs now, and there were voices ahead of them in the tasting room. As they crested the final step, Daniela nearly crashed into her sisters.

 “Oh, sorry!”

“Dani?” Lady Cassandra caught her easily and kept ahold as Daniela attempted to continue past. “What are you — why isn’t she downstairs?”

“Ladies don’t kiss when they’re covered in horses or spiders!” Daniela answered as if it explains everything. Both older women look to Isolde to translate, she shrugged, letting Daniela take the lead here. “Knaves do that. Cads do that, Cassa!”

“All… right? Sure, but, uh Dani —”

“So we’re going to go wash up, and change and I think I really want the north balcony to be the site because the woods are so pretty, and — do you think we should have music?” Daniela addressed that to Isolde, then looked back to her sisters for their opinion.

Lady Bela looked bemused, though she smothered the smile as soon as Isolde noticed it. She offered a silent lift of her shoulders when Daniela looked first at her.

Then she turned that bright, sweet-eyed gaze onto the huntress.

“I… suppose?” Lady Cassandra looked overwhelmed. “Dani, listen—”

“You think? Aw, Cassa, you are always such a romantic.” Daniela darted in, pressing a kiss to Lady Cassandra’s cheek before smiling when she’s released. Likely from shock. She turned and set her hand about Isolde’s wrist again, tugging her lightly to resume their trip.

“What just happened?” Lady Cassandra asked the eldest.

“Daniela happened,” Lady Bela sounded amused at how Daniela sweet-talked past the two of them, “What else? Now, Daniela —” Lady Bela called after them, “That’s enough, Daniela, stop.” Her tone was firm enough that Daniela shut the door ahead of them before she likely realized what she’s doing. 

“Damn it,” Daniela muttered, looking to Isolde in apology.

Isolde found herself smiling back and patting her arm lightly. “You tried.”

“I still really think music —”

“Daniela.” Lady Bela was not as amused now. “Look at me.”

Daniela turned around.

“ Both of you.”

Isolde turned around as well to meet an inscrutable gaze. 

“Mother will see you, Miss Ardenlane, in her study.”

“But—”

“Now, Daniela.”

“Yes, Bela.”

With that, Daniela tucked her arm about Isolde once again and the two of them were escorted as one toward whatever awaited them in Lady Dimitrescu’s study.

Chapter Text

To say that Lady Dimitrescu was an imposing figure would be a laughable understatement. If not for the ever-present aura of authority and haughty indifference that seemed to exist in all aristocrats, then for her height.

Even seated, the Countess was a formidable woman, broad-shouldered and full-figured. The wide-brimmed hat she favored aided in swallowing the light of the fireplace, casting the Countess in an eerie silhouette.

The Countess turned her head at their approach, glittering eyes flickering between each daughter before at last they alighted on Isolde. Prior to crossing the threshold of the baroque-styled study, Isolde had often seen her at a distance, or from the difference of stairs between them.

But something was different tonight. A growing pressure pressed at the nape of Isolde’s neck that told her that she was walking directly into the den of the most deadly predator she’d ever face, and she didn’t understand why her limbic system wasn’t collapsing over itself to convince her to run, to just run for once in her life—

And then Lady Dimitrescu stood, and Isolde stared as the woman straightened to her full height without the illusion of perspective or distance or a seat to hide the sheer fact that she was a Goliath among women.

 Alcina Dimitrescu towered above them all, a looming figure of elegance and deadly poise. A predator beneath the pelt of prey.

And the terrifying implication of that thought locked Isolde in place. She was the rabbit, and Lady Dimitrescu’s molten gaze: the snare. Isolde wanted to run. Needed to—the urge dug hard enough that she jerked against Daniela’s curling grasp. Her shoulder jabbed against the other woman; she’s trapped here.

She’s trapped.

“Hey, hey hey.” Daniela widened the space between them, keeping her arm loosely wrapped at Isolde’s elbow. “Everything’s all right.”

No. It wasn’t. Couldn’t Daniela sense that?!

Alarm plucked at Isolde’s nerves like a violin, leaving a distressing undercurrent that wouldn’t let her settle, wouldn’t let her relax. She’d trusted her instincts so far and she’d survived; but then again, she didn’t have to choose between two warring consciousnesses before.

Something was frantic under her skin. Her wound twitched and bristled with legs prying at her flesh, anxious to tear free and flee. Clashing against the gentle, beguiling calm that Daniela tried to instill in her.

 Both demanded complete attention and the battle left her paralyzed with indecision.

The daughters flanked her, Lady Bela stepping up to her other side, though a sharp glance from Daniela kept the blonde heiress from lingering too long, stepping away within a moment of arrival.

She appreciated them giving her space, and the semblance of protection but the tension was thick and setting fast.

Lady Cassandra remaining behind her, out of sight, didn’t help at all. The huntress blocked the only exit—the net spread and the only escape was stepping forward into the jaws of the trap itself; toward a woman who defied all physical laws.

Toward a woman that echoed the horrific legends that should have stayed buried in Isolde’s nightmares—not standing in front of her, sneering, with a gaze crafted of liquid-fire threatening to burn her to nothing—

“Bring her here,” Lady Dimitrescu said.

Lady Bela attempted a second intervention. “Mother—”

“Do not ‘Mother’ me, Bela,” Lady Dimitrescu’s voice slashed apart her daughter’s words before they properly formed. “I should have trusted my instincts when you returned with her. Instead, I indulged you.” She sneered as Lady Bela’s head bowed with shame. “It has not been an hour passed and already I am dealing with trouble that we cannot afford.”

The why of everything caused the question to spill from Isolde before she could help it. “Will she live?”

Four predatory pairs of golden eyes landed on her at the same time.

Lady Dimitrescu frowned, irritated as she asked, “Who?”

“Rozil.” More blank looks.

Honestly, did any of them notice the women who served them with a loyal undeserved? “The woman who stole from Lady Daniela. The one I … assaulted.”

Lady Dimitrescu’s lip curled with disdain, eyes flicking over her youngest heiress. “Daniela, is this true? The maid stole from you?”

Daniela glanced sidelong at Isolde before nodding. “Isolde and I were writing down our theories and discussions about the Swarm—"

“Daniela!”

“Well, you never talk to us about what we are! Isolde’s the first person who cared! What am I supposed to do? Pretend I’m not what I am?”

The murderous blaze in the Countess’ gaze turned to an inferno that swept over the both of them before she blinked and took a long inhale off her quellazaire, likely suppressing her temper. When she spoke, her voice was a tightly-wound mockery of a debrief.

“Well then, to answer such an insipid question: Madame Esther has informed me that she is effectively out of commission for the foreseeable future, and useless to us. I was advised if I cared about her survival that I would seek out a doctor.” Lady Dimitrescu’s eyes glinted as she looked down her nose toward the four of them. Her attention landed last on the middle daughter. “Do I care about her survival, Cassandra?”

“No, Mother,” Lady Cassandra murmured in rote, her voice lowered with deference.

Isolde considered the gilded, floor-length windows. If she leapt from them, with whatever the hell is going on with her, would she be too hurt to continue running? Not that she would run, not anymore.

Where would she go? With what she knew? With what she was now?

She noticed Daniela watching her in the reflection of said windows, her expression muddled and worried as if she heard Isolde’s thoughts. She squeezed Isolde’s arm before she stepped forward, and now Isolde faced two barriers to her flight plan.

“No. I do not.” Lady Dimitrescu flicked the ash of her cigarette off and exhaled; the smoke billowing about her face like a mourner’s veil. “Have we ever cared about the survival of any of our staff?”

Lady Cassandra said nothing. Neither did Lady Bela or Daniela.

Lady Dimitrescu’s gaze scoured her three daughters a second time. Once she was seemingly satisfied with their silence and obedience, she looked upon Isolde with almost malicious gratification. Her point had been made.

Her position was secure.

 Isolde might have captivated their interest, but their loyalty belonged to the Countess herself. Isolde hadn’t realized there’d been a competition, or even that she’d been a threat. If she survived tonight, she’d keep that in mind.

“Well, my daughters are uncharacteristically quiet tonight. As you’ve been brought in so intimately into our family’s affairs — tell me; does House Dimitrescu care about the survival of a single staff member?”

Isolde flinched as she met that cruel gaze. She knew what she was expected to say. House Dimitrescu does not care. That was the right answer. The anticipated answer. The cowed, knowing her place answer.

But Isolde didn’t know her place anymore. Not since she’d been shoved into the darkness and stitched back together.

“Considering the risk, Lady Dimitrescu,” Isolde said. Each of the daughters stiffened around her; Daniela’s hand tightening to the point of bruising with her nails cutting along Isolde’s upper arm. “Perhaps House Dimitrescu should revisit that sort of callousness towards the staff.”

Lady Dimitrescu’s look turned murderous. “You impudent —!” She stepped away from the mantlepiece. Towards them — towards her.

“It’s — Mother, she’s not herself!” Daniela shoved Isolde behind her, trying to shelter her within the Swarm, between the three of them. “Something happened at Lady Beneviento’s like Bela said, and she’s not herself! Please!”

Daniela’s pleas fell apart before her mother’s terrifying advance. She trembled alone, scared and nervous despite her façade of bravado. Threat. Danger. Threat. Mother-strike-claws.

Isolde registered the fear just as Daniela collapsed into her viridian multitude, darkening the room as she fluttered and broke apart into piecemeal, then back whole, then piecemeal again. The undercurrent of static noise grew; an alarm call, and the other two responded to it as they shifted warily, closing the gap between them.

Isolde responded as well, with a horrible pressure at the apex of her shoulder that shot lightning up into her skull and down along her spinal column. Run. Run, and run, and don’t fucking look back and — panic had her tongue sticking to the roof of her mouth, her knees locked and her eyes wide open.

She needed to become a smaller target; if she’ll only just — what? She didn’t understand — smaller! She needed to be smaller. Hunker down, fold her arms and her legs and her wings —

Her wings?

Lady Bela moved with hands up as if to soothe and cajole; flinching when Lady Dimitrescu’s ire snapped at her like a cat noticing a wounded bird. A second strain of terror picked up.

Isolde backed up into the solid barrier of the middle daughter. She didn’t look away from Lady Dimitrescu, avoiding eye contact. She stared forward, frozen. She wished she could blame the weird threads, but she wasn’t paralyzed. Just overwhelmed and scared to death.

She wanted to cant her head, show the other cheek; expose her throat and beg for forgiveness. Any apology would have to suffice because there’s nothing to do right now but apologize—

Her thoughts had a distinct tannin taste to them— not hers. Whose—

Someone shouted, and there’s a ring of metal unsheathed.

…

A force hit her, knocking the breath completely from her lungs; then keeps the air at bay.

Her legs spasmed and she realized, offhandedly, that she was dangling in the air. By what, she can’t tell—her vision blurred and darkened until there was only Lady Dimitrescu staring her eye-to-eye. Which should have been impossible—

Oh. Someone screamed. There was a roaring in her ears.

The daughters shout over one another, their voices blending and break apart as they alternated between too-fast Romanian and a sonorous vibration that she felt in her bones.

They were panicking. Scared — no. Terrified. The Swarm was under attack — they were under attack, and they were hurt and —

Something had a vice-grip at her waist, pulling her back and away from Lady Dimitrescu’s grasp.

“Mother!” The Swarm wailed in perfect, terrible synchronization.

Lady Dimitrescu lifted Isolde away from the colony, shaking her free like she was little more than a ragdoll. She turned partly away, giving Isolde a good view of the heiresses as they struggled against one another. Turning on each other as they tried to reach her?

Isolde’s jaw was turned back to meet Lady Dimitrescu’s gaze; the razor-wire gold of her irises widening as she studied Isolde like a misbegotten stray. She flexed her hand, and Isolde felt the motion inside her chest, just as she could feel the heat of the fireplace leaking past her skin.

Look down.

She should not look down.

She looked at the Swarm instead. Daniela was a streak of fire as she hauled on Lady Bela’s shoulders, ripping the blonde away from their mother— away from Isolde. There was a valley of shadows between them as they rippled between an abyssal whirlwind and the abstract of two women.

Daniela lunged again — caught by Lady Cassandra’s deft pouncing, snatching her bodily up so her strikes had no leveraged force behind them. Daniela’s mouth was a maw; her nails curved and sharp and blackened at the tips.

“You knew!” Daniela wailed, eyes a pair of twin suns, maddened with grief. “You knew Mother would kill her!”

“No—! No, I swear! Dani —” Lady Bela’s face was ripped at the cheekbone. She cupped her cheek with a hand, ignoring the oozing black ichor that dripped around her fingers as she alternated her stare between her sisters. “It was just to talk. Mother said it was just— I swear I didn’t know—!”

“Liar!”

Lady Cassandra’s grip tightened as Daniela’s words disappeared into a terrifying, piercing yowl that Isolde didn’t have the right to understand as easily as she could.

“Daniela —! Please —!”

Lady Cassandra tried. “Bela didn’t mean this, vulpea mica— c’mon, you know her better. She’d never hurt you like that.”

The answering snarl was lost in translation, and a second attempt to break through the huntress’s grip to strike at Lady Bela.

Something about the phrasing struck Isolde oddly. Kill her? She wasn’t dead. Certainly, if she’d been murdered, she wouldn’t be aware that she was currently dangling meters off the ground, or listening to their howling desperation.

Right?

Look down.

She ignored the urge. Kept her gaze angled up and away from whatever penetrated her chest. She would just wait for the chaos to settle.

Look down.

They were always going to kill you.

Lady Beneviento’s voice was a cold, emotionless echo in the distant chambers of Isolde’s mind. She was there, just out of sight. Waiting.

Daniela’s driven further into the whirlwind even as her sisters tried to pacify her. She is a maelstrom of jilted, anguished fury. “Liar! She always does this! If she couldn’t have Isolde, no one could!” A wave of emerald drones crashed over Lady Bela, determined to buckle her down under force. Make her submit. “She’s always done this! You always ruin everything!”

“You stole her from me first!” Lady Bela raged back, patience ripping away piece by piece.

Lady Cassandra bit out a harsh growl, her grip slipping to keep the majority of Daniela’s swarm contained. “Not. Helping!”

Lady Bela scoffed.

Amidst the cacophony of voices, Lady Dimitrescu remained a statue; unmoving save for the faint twitch of claws embedded deep within Isolde’s chest cavity. She finally brought her eyes up to the Countess’ face—met that unnatural gilded gaze with her own wide-eyed bewilderment. She should be choking on her own blood, swallowing her own tongue—

Look. Down. Now.

She felt the curl of metal within her, felt the shift of the air and ground lifting further away from her feet. Lady Dimitrescu bent as she was lifted even closer, and—

“Are you smelling me?”

Lady Dimitrescu gave her a look at the question. Murderous intent checked by a calculated bitter resignation. She made a noise, a rumble deep in her throat, then tilted her head towards the skirmish happening to her left.

“Enough.” Lady Dimitrescu commanded

The whirlwind died and reformed within the cage of Lady Cassandra’s arms. Daniela slumped forward, exhausted and resigned, and stared at Isolde with an unreadable expression before she turned and burrowed her head against her sister’s shoulder.

The puppet strings pulled taut and yanked Isolde’s head down, wrenching her gaze to see what had become of her.

Or to see what was left of the mess that had been made of her. There was… supposed to be more blood than that in the human body, right? Not that there wasn’t any—the dark, sluggish ooze escaping the edges of four metallic blades piercing the protective barrier of Isolde’s ribs like she was made of clay, not bone and muscle.

She inhaled and felt the vacuum as her lungs struggled to fill against the pressure pushing against them. But there wasn’t pain—as if there weren’t blades curring through the meat of her body. She was in shock. Had to be.

Lady Bela arrived with gentle, supportive hands to take Isolde’s full weight as the blades retracted—retracted back into the Countess’ hands as if they were never there. Isolde’s knees buckled as soon as her feet found their footing, but she’s held carefully, manipulated towards—

“Not the couch. I don’t want her blood staining my fabrics.”

“... yes, Mother.” Lady Bela kneeled carefully, laying Isolde out on the hardwood, not the carpet.

Isolde sputtered, struggling to sit up. When she inhaled, a sucking sensation collapsed her chest. She couldn’t catch a breath; it was escaping elsewhere. Panic spiraled at the fringes of her awareness, growing worse now that she knew what had happened. Knew what happened and—

She tried to speak. Nothing came. Only a rasp of a sound. Her eyes widened, gaze shooting up to Lady Bela’s honey-gold stare. She tried to sit up again; she can’t breathe flat on her back but she’s kept pinned down.

Lady Bela’s face was carved through one side, a testament to Daniela’s fury. She didn’t react to the steady slither of sludge down her cheek, collecting on the line of her jaw and dribbling onto her chest.

“Shh, Little One,” Lady Bela said. With a hand, she peeled Isolde’s shirt back until there was enough space for the Countess to sweep several fingers along the oozing blood congealing there. They both watched Lady Dimitrescu straighten again, bring the blood to her mouth, and taste it.

If Isolde wasn’t so worried about the new gaping holes in her chest, or the lack of air she’d be offended at the look of disgust that marred the Lady’s features before and after the tasting.

“Vile snake,” Lady Dimitrescu spat. “I should have known.”

She retreated to sit on the very couch she denied Isolde. She lit a new cigarette as she stared down at Lady Bela’s ministrations over Isolde’s body.

“You need to stop struggling,” Lady Bela said, both hands back on Isolde’s body; effortless in keeping her pinned down. “Please. Just —”

“Let the miserable thing fuss. Donna’s Cadou will repair what’s been done.”

Lady Bela lifted her eyes up; facing away from the Countess, she looked across the way to her sisters. “Daniela.”

Daniela growled, a mixture of her voice and the angry flight of her drones.

“Mother’s right. Lady Beneviento’s Cadou will do everything it could to stitch her together, but we don’t want her to recover with an arm bent off-angle because she’s struggling. Do we?” There was a directive in that casual question.

Broken wings. Weak. Need Swarm.

Tannin-rich thoughts ran across Isolde’s mind, jolting her out of her panic. She looked up to the woman gently pressing her into the floorboards as Lady Bela stared over her towards her sisters.

Beyond Lady Bela, the Countess looked at her other daughters as they kept their distance. After a moment, she sighed. “Speaking of that woman… I will need to speak with her on this matter. I’d rather have saved my yearly quota of her company for tomorrow night but needs must, I suppose.” Golden eyes flitted to her again. The Countess waved a hand disinterestedly, then hummed offhandedly as if she’s just remembering a minor detail, “Oh, and Bela? She is not to die, understand? Inferior that Donna’s lineage might be, she is still one of the Lords and it will be up to Mother Miranda to decide what is to be her fate.”

Isolde’s gaze shot to Lady Dimitrescu, accusingly.

Lady Bela nodded deferentially. “As you will it, Mother.”

“Good. Patch her up, then. I need to make a call. Consider this a blessing, girl. Your execution’s stayed yet again.” Lady Dimitrescu looked down on her, disapproval that she’d somehow survived, again, radiating from her. She continued past, and though Isolde couldn’t see her leave, the pressure in the room dissipated as soon as the woman ducked out towards the hallway.

Here-hide-heal-help.

“We don’t have much time before Donna’s threads are too thick to snip. Cassa, Dani, I’ll need you two as well, we’re strongest as a single colony.” Lady Bela ripped the rest of Isolde’s shirt further, exposing her from clavicle to navel as she beckoned the other two.

Isolde tried to turn her head to watch Daniela and Lady Cassandra. She couldn’t move. It’s not pain, it’s not injury, it was — pressure twisting behind the hollow of her eye —

Stop struggling, you’ll only choke yourself, Like Lady Beneviento was there in the room with them. A lurking menace in the shadows that the fire couldn’t burn away, watching her struggle, a brow quirking at the helpless, futile attempt to snap the strings before they wrapped securely around the lattice of her nervous system.

A rustle of movement and suddenly there were two other women hunched over her form. “Here, Dani,” Lady Cassandra said as she set Daniela’s hands about Isolde’s. “Rabbits can die from stress, so you need to help keep her calm.”

“Isolde’s not really a rabbit,” Daniela mumbled with a vicious glare at her eldest sister. She squeezed Isolde’s hand, though, and the sensation of her swarm served as an anchor.

Colony where? Dark, wet, sisters-safe.

The tannin taste came now with a rush of metal over the back of Isolde’s tongue. The thoughts came instantaneously, burbling over themselves; not like a river, but more like a wellspring bubbling forth from within. All sense of cause-to-effect disappeared, and there was a slight tugging at her clavicle.

“You’re fucking insane,” Lady Cassandra hissed as she took up the position at the crown, lifting Isolde’s head into her lap. She glanced beyond Lady Bela, to the door, and then back. Regardless of her protest, she ducked her attention to Isolde and instead of pinning her down as their mother might have expected of her, she issued a low, crooning note instead.

Isolde stopped struggling at the first tickling sensation. Soon, a dozen tiny bodies crawled over her, congregating over the wounds. She futilely tried to capture Lady Bela’s gaze, knowing exactly what the heiress was doing.

At Lady Bela’s command, the other two assisted her to establish more of the Swarm within Isolde’s body and — if the furtive glanced between the three were anything — without Lady Dimitrescu’s approval or notice.

Well, not like Isolde could say anything on the matter right now.

The kaleidoscope of sensation returned. Pain blended into pressure and expanded outward, leaking from her body until she swore she was outside it looking in, but that’s impossible —

“Shh, shh, we need to do this properly, Little One.” Lady Bela’s voice gently guided her focus, as several drones moved with the delicate sweep of butterfly wings against Isolde’s cheek.

“I don’t understand. You’ve always broken them before…” Daniela whispered, hands squeezing right as two tiny familiar drones appeared at her wrists. The broken, clipped wing almost waved in hello as the runt made her way down to Isolde’s broken flesh.

“She’s different,” Lady Bela both explained and apologized in a soft, sweet brush of words. “She saved you.” She looked over to Lady Cassandra, “Both of you.”

Lady Cassandra was too busy staring down at Isolde to respond to that, stroking a finger over the original wound, dipping just beneath the edge. The callouses on her fingertips caught and snagged, leaving throbbing aftershocks that turned into a series of bites that drew tears to Isolde’s eyes.

Grounded?

Tannin-rush thoughts — oh, wait, no that’s Lady Bela’s presence. The taste of iron-tinged wine was the blonde’s calling card. The eldest swarm sister tilted her head, listening not to Isolde’s panting, or whimpering, but —

Isolde closed her eyes, then opened them again. The corkscrew around her nerve was now a distant pressure, and though Lady Beneviento was still terrifying, she was only a memory now. Not a tangible presence. She nodded, and the three nodded with her simultaneously.

Lady Bela tilted her head the other way, and Isolde found herself echoing the motion, as did Lady Cassandra and Daniela. All of them blinked as one, and then a wave of relief set them all to quiet laughter.

Cassandra’s hands eased from her shoulder but remained hovering just beyond. As if anticipating a sudden, violent need for her grip. There was, thankfully, nothing but a soft twitch.

“There you are, no more painful than a splinter removal, mm?” Lady Bela adjusted to sit alongside her on one side, with Daniela on her other.

No more than a splinter—!

Isolde struggled upright, coaxed along the way by fluttering anxious hands, but she’s not in the mood for romance and grandiose expressions. It took her a moment longer to find her voice. Hoarse and sputtering, the first thing she could think is—“what the fu—”

Bela minutely shook her head and turned the conversation to the youngest swarm sister. “Daniela—”

There was buzzing, and a back-and-forth shadow-play until the dam broke and Daniela leaned forward to rest her chin in the cup of Lady Bela’s hand. Her eyes were bright with unshed, angry tears but she took the offered comfort with an aggressive nuzzle against the eldest’s palm. “You’re really not gonna take her back?” she asked, shy as a day-old fawn.

Lady Bela’s smile was a secretive, mischievous thing. “Who said I haven’t already?” She stroked her thumb over the corner of Daniela’s mouth, smiling when Daniela ducked her head.

The redhead tried to hide her mirrored smile even as it brightened her expression by busying herself smoothing the last of her swarm into the skein of Isolde’s flesh.

Lady Bela then tapped her sister’s nose as she stood up again. “I have to speak with Mother. I trust,” she said, with an air of finality that had all of them looking up at her, “That we will not discuss what happened here with anyone?” She looked at her younger swarm sister as she inquired about their secret-keeping.

Lady Cassandra’s brow furrowed as she grappled with her conflicting loyalties but eventually, she nodded.

“Good.” Lady Bela smoothed out the wrinkles in her skirt, then left to find where the Countess has gone.

Without Lady Bela and the threat of dying, Isolde found more of her own thoughts coalescing. The panic dwindled down to the trickle of an adrenaline crash, and she was suddenly overcome with exhaustion, with a need to be asleep in a dark, warm space, surrounded by a mass of quiet, buzzing kin.

She blinked and shook herself free of the thought. Glanced behind her instead to the huntress with a bewildering revelation.

“Is it…weird that I think I’m getting used to this?”

“That’s the spirit, Rabbit.” Lady Cassandra clasped Isolde’s shoulders as she swarmed to her feet. After hesitating she extended a hand for Isolde to take.

Isolde eyes it, and then her before standing up under her own power. She paused at the flash of hurt that crossed the brunette’s gaze but shoved the guilty thoughts down, hard. She had every right to be upset. The mercurial pendulum of Lady Cassandra’s assistance wasn’t an endearing trait. Especially not right now.

Lady Cassandra’s respect for her space did not carry over to Daniela who nearly sent her back to her knees with the force of her hug. Shivering with emotion, Daniela repeatedly murmured apologies into Isolde’s hair, though halfway through she stopped speaking.

Not with a voice, at least.

And Isolde clung back almost as desperate. Daniela trembled beneath her fingertips, too anxious to settle appropriately into flesh, twitching underneath Isolde’s touch, less with each passing stroke of her fingers.

The same need that drove Isolde to find the sketchbook, and reclaim what was hers was now telling her to—

She didn’t understand. She felt trapped, though when Daniela’s grip loosens, she only held on tighter. “Don’t you dare.”

“But—”

“Don’t go,” Isolde pressed her cheek against the floral notes of Daniela’s perfume, closing her eyes. “Please.”

Daniela stopped and wrapped herself further until they were as flush as they could be, body to body. “I’ll stay right here.”

“Swear it.”

“I swear it. An undying oath of friendship, or loyalty, or… maybe a little bit of whatever else.” There came the soft touch of lips to Isolde’s crown and the soothing pet of a hand down the length of her spine.

Isolde nodded. Her breathing slowed and steadied out with the closeness, and the exhaustion prickled at her though she knew she wasn’t going to be able to rest. Not yet.

Chapter Text

Lady Bela and Lady Dimitrescu’s conversation extended long into the night. Long enough to turn Isolde knees numb. Long enough that Lady Cassandra disappeared as well, leaving Isolde and Daniela alone. That was fine. Daniela was strangely the only anchor in this maddening tempest.

Since then, Daniela had shifted only once, to better cradle Isolde against her; angling them to the hearth to ward off the chill from the bare windows. She had already curled Isolde inside the loose cloak she hadn’t yet shed from their return to the castle.

It helped with the cold but not with the sense of exposure that set Isolde’s teeth on edge, and kept her head hidden away.

Daniela stirred when Lady Bela opened the door again; the shadow of the Countess behind her. Her haunted gaze took in the pair of them before she turned and murmured low to her mother.

Whatever Lady Dimitrescu said in return was with a hand of dismissal. “Do as you will, Bela. You tend to do that regardless, mm?” She turned to leave, her footsteps slowing a few paces beyond the door.

Isolde couldn’t see her, but she could hear her.

“This will not delay the completion of our duty, do you understand? Should you desire my… intervention on your behalf, my little lioness, I suggest that your new… pet does not deter you from your tasks tonight.”

“Yes, Mother.” What else could Lady Bela say?

“Your ‘pet’?” Daniela glowered at her sister, having the wherewithal to wait until the footsteps receded beyond hearing. She stood, still holding onto Isolde. Before she escalated further, Lady Bela grabbed her firmly by the elbow and marched them both out.

When the door shut behind them, Daniela yanked free— her glare even darker. “Yours?”

“Mine,” Lady Bela said, continuing to usher them away from the study. “Might you wait until we’re down the stairs and out of her hearing before you start?”

Daniela flicked a look behind them, then nodded resolutely. “Fine,” she said and moved to place herself between Lady Bela and Isolde. Blatantly announcing what she thought of her sister’s claim; which was that she didn’t think highly of it at all.

Lady Bela rolled her eyes at the redhead’s antics. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

“Welcome— ?!”

“This is the third time I’ve stepped in—”

“Fourth time, actually.” Lady Cassandra met them at the corner. She quickly took in the tension between the two, intervening by hooking her arm about Lady Bela’s, forcing her into lockstep away from Daniela’s likely lunge.

At their respective looks, she shrugged. “Counting the carriage, I mean.”

“Ah. Thank you, Cassandra.” Lady Bela leaned forward around her swarm-sister’s body to meet Daniela’s furious gaze. “That makes for four favors you owe me, Daniela. Again. You’re welcome.”

Isolde pulled on Daniela’s arm, tugging her off-balance just before the redhead decided to strike. She coiled her arm around Daniela’s, keeping her steady as she switched the subject, quickly.

“So, I have a stay of execution because…?”

All three looked at her, then between themselves with a subtle current of conversation, a back-and-forth about what to share and how much of it occurs simultaneously, before Lady Bela spoke.

“To put it in simple terms: there are Accords between the four Houses that are meant to keep the peace. However, Mother has been dying for an excuse to undermine Lady Beneviento ever since Mother Miranda took her side in a Claims dispute.”

Lady Cassandra let out a distinctly unladylike yawn from beside Isolde.

Lady Bela didn’t miss a beat as she turned a sidelong glare at the offending huntress. “Something to say, Cassandra?”

Lady Cassandra launched into her rebuttal as if she’d been waiting for the go-ahead. “I do, actually. I think that Mother allowed you to get away with this because she’s still upset that Lady Beneviento almost convinced you to run away.”

Lady Bela rolled her eyes, her stance stiff and closed-off against her sister’s commentary.

Which continued on as an aside to Isolde. “She’s been waiting decades to repay the slight.”

“You ran away?” Isolde asked.

“I did not ‘run away’,” Lady Bela muttered.

Isolde confirmed that with Daniela, who also peered over at the eldest swarmling. She caught Isolde’s glance, then returned it with a conspiratorial nod. Using a stage whisper, she further elaborated, “It’s true. They almost eloped. It was a little romantic—”

“Will you two stop?” Lady Bela whirled in mid-step onto the pair of them. She glared first at one, then the other. “First: I did not ‘run away!’ And I certainly was not going to elope!”

Lady Cassandra sent Isolde a sidelong smirk when their eyes meet; and with a sudden explosion of drones replaced Daniela with herself, hooking an arm back around Isolde’s waist before she could step away.

“Cassa!”

“What? While we’re here, Rabbit and I need to have a talk. One on one.”

Isolde tested the grip. Firm, but with a strong enough yank, she could probably overpower the regenerating limb. “That’s a poor metaphor for ‘I’m sorry I tried to kill you.’”

Lady Cassandra rolled her eyes, seemingly bored of the accusation already. Which was a little offensive. It hadn’t even been more than a few days! Isolde’s well within her rights to still be upset. “It was one time.”

“That’s one more than I’m comfortable with! You realize that don’t you?”

“And? I’ve tried to kill Bela a dozen more times.” Lady Cassandra jerked a thumb towards the glowering Heir Apparent. “She still likes me.”

“That’s under a hard review right now,” Lady Bela muttered.

“Ugh, what is with all of you? All right, I promise the next time I attempt to kill you, it will be because I want to, and not be under orders. Deal?”

Isolde halted, relishing in the way it caused Lady Cassandra to stumble; and had the sense to have her expression smoothed to neutral when the huntress turned a glower on her. “What do you mean next time?”

“I know you’re better at Romanian than that, Rabbit,” Lady Cassandra recovered smooth as silk, and presented a dazzling smile as she tugged Isolde back into line. “Black Earth, hell, next time, you might even have a chance to fight back. Turn the tables.” Her eyes blazed bright as she was hauled back by an exasperated Daniela. “Wouldn’t that be fun?”

They were met at the base of the stairs, though it was a miserable welcoming committee.

Rozil’s arms loosely curled around a stone pillar that seemed to be holding her up as much as it supported the cellar they’re walking into.

Isolde’s medicinal knowledge wasn’t the best but it didn’t take much to determine that Rozil looked terrible. Madame Ester’s assessment seemed apt: the woman needed to see a professional or she’s unlikely to have any sort of quality to her recovery; not with how she stumbled after Lady Cassandra nudged at her like a presented prize; or the way her eyes kept focusing slightly off-center, glazed and distant.

“Her?” Lady Bela looked fit to protest.

Lady Cassandra nodded, eager to share. “Hear me out, Bels.”

Lady Bela folded her arms, standing at the base of the stairs, slightly blocking Isolde from moving forward or backward. Which was fine. It’s fine. Really.

“I think the best way to back into Mother’s good graces and convince her Rabbit’s not a liability is to teach Rabbit here how to make herself a personal guard dog.” Lady Cassandra’s bright gaze inspired visions of blinding snow and malicious laughter.

Lady Cassandra materializes out of the fog, sauntering closer. Her sickle swings in her right hand, the blade dark from her triumphs. Isolde has nowhere else to run.

The scrape of wings against her nervous system snapped her back to the present. She closed her eyes against the thundering increase of her heartbeat, trying to block the way Rozil’s breath rattled in her chest. She looked away from the scene towards the room.

Lady Bela’s tour of the winery and the wine cellars had skipped this section of the castle’s underbelly. The wide, stone-arched ceilings gave the illusion of space, but it didn’t fool her. Isolde was too aware they’re too far below ground for her to feel comfortable.

Add in the nervousness that Rozil’s unexpected, unexplained presence represented, and Isolde fought off the shiver from a cold, dreadful sweat chasing down the back of her neck. She pushed forward because there was nowhere else to go, but couldn’t help but worry that the castle’s too old, the structure’s been left to founder. Hell, the windowpanes had shattered with just a gust of wind, what would these—

“Stop that.” Lady Cassandra growled, suddenly at Isolde’s side. She kept averting her gaze above their headed as if she’s suddenly thinking about how far beneath the surface they were; the weight of the stone and dirt and—

“I said stop, Rabbit.” Lady Cassandra shook her. Hard. “I know it’s you.”

“What is? What’s wrong?” Daniela stopped in her tracks, looking back at the two of them. Next to her, Lady Bela continued, intent on one of the wide, low racks with four casks upon the wooden rim and sparing only a single glance to the chained woman.

“The urge to break into a panic attack, you seriously can’t feel it?”

Daniela tilted her head. “No?”

Isolde yanked away. “It’s not like I’m claustrophobic on purpose, Lady Cassandra.”

“Mhm.” The huntress’ doubt was practically a physical manifestation between them.

“Cassandra,” Lady Bela called. “We’re already behind.”

“I apologized for the snow hunt already, she’s deliberately doing this just to pick at my wings, Bela!” Lady Cassandra grumbled; still, she hustled over to catch up to her sister after a final look directed at Isolde.

“What if it’s me?” Daniela fired off, prompting an eye roll.

“Because I’ve worked with you for decades and you don’t think about how many tonnages of— stop that!” Lady Cassandra whirled on Isolde again, almost bristling for a fight. “It took decades to balance out our issues already—”

“You’re going to be fine once the little sisters settle in.” Lady Bela directed the pair to work the largest of the casks towards the edge. “Not to mention, your wings deserve a little tug on them now and then.”

Lady Cassandra adjusted her grip a few times, shaking out her left hand with a frantic snapping motion more times than she’d like; snarling when Lady Daniela offered to lend her own hand. “Go get the pry bar.”

Daniela rolled her eyes and held up her hands as she retreated. “Fine.” She side-stepped past Isolde to do as told; patting her shoulder as she passes. Isolde inched closer to the other two swarmlings, close enough to hear the slosh of wine within the container. As the pair rotated the cask, there was a thud.

None of the daughters seemed to notice or care that there was more than wine within the oak cask. Something large, about the size of a human, struck against the side as they tipped it down off the rack and upright on the floor.

“Speaking on that…” Lady Cassandra looked from the noise, over to Isolde, then to Lady Bela, brow arched.

“You should have told me when Mother gave you the order. I didn’t know she’d been tasked for disposal.” Lady Bela flinched, angling a little towards Isolde as if she felt the sting of her own words. “I … don’t know if I would have made the same choice.”

“That’s fine.” It wasn’t. Not really—

“The thought of you caught in her threads isn’t a pleasant one. I know Mother is… protective… ” Lady Bela’s defense faltered at the end.

“Possessive,” Daniela muttered as she approached them, carrying a pry bar and frowning at the cask.

“To a dragon, those are one and the same,” Lady Bela murmured with care, almost apologetic as she deferred the pry bar with a gesture towards Isolde instead.

The three daughters watched her as she took the tool; hefting the weight in her hands, feeling like a lost child when she stared across the way to Lady Bela. “I’m supposed to crack this open?” She knew the answer but wanted to know the why. “Wouldn’t that waste the wine?”

Lady Bela shook her head. “Not when we open it over the reservoirs, this way.” She led Isolde to a divot in the masonry where the floor had been smoothed into a subtle concave bowl with three boreholes at the bottom.

As if in response, the weight within the wine cask shifted again. Isolde froze. Waited for— she didn’t know. Lady Cassandra shifted behind her, yelping when Daniela struck her lightly in the ribs with an elbow, hissing ‘give her a moment!’

“Lady Beneviento nourishes the Black God’s desire for worldly affairs, preparing the glory of far-flung memories to be savored.” Lady Bela stood with her hands folded like she was explaining a point on the tour. Maybe she thought she’d help by being clinical. She wasn’t. “We offer nourishment of the body.”

Isolde set the tool at the first iron band. “How? The wine?”

“And blood as well. That feeds the soil.”

“So, it’s a macabre fertility ritual.”

Lady Bela smiled bloodlessly. “Much more than that.”

The first band snapped surprisingly easily under leveraged force; the iron springing apart like an opened bear trap, the wood beneath groaning as the vice disappeared. Isolde watched a slow leak of dark crimson liquid at the creases and cracks, beading, but not yet spilling over.

Daniela took her arm, gently, as she went for the second of the three rings. “Careful of the oak. We reuse these.”

“You do?” Isolde looked at the container and decided it’s better not to ask. She worked to pry the second band off carefully from the bottom and flinched when the wine pushed against the groaning, straining wood, pouring freely into the basin and down through the boreholes.

She left the last band at Lady Bela’s discretion. Isolde handed over the pry bar, rounding the basin as Lady Bela opened the cask with mindfulness to keep the wood intact. She set the lid aside, handing it to Daniela.

There were black stains on the inside, but wine didn’t require charring like oak like other cask-liquors. She leaned over, only to be stopped by Lady Cassandra’s good hand keeping her in place. “Nope, we’re keeping you far away from that part, Rabbit. You’re already a bit of a mix-and-match as it is.”

“Really?” Daniela scowled.

Lady Cassandra shrugged. “What? It’s true?”

“Shouldn’t you be fetching—”

“I will. After I see what we’ve got here.”

“We have a vessel this time.” Lady Bela kneeled, peering into the darkness. “You heard the movement. Purposeful. This one’s going to be…” Her voice trailed off. The pry bar creaked under her grip. She straightened, expression frozen, gaze burning.

Anger crushed the air from Isolde’s throat. She found that she needs to— needs to—

Lady Bela’s body frayed at the seams, kept together only by her will and the temperature.

Next to Isolde, Lady Cassandra shuffled from foot to foot. Flexed her shoulders. Rolled her neck. They’re trying to bleed the tension away because they couldn’t risk Swarming right now.

Daniela moves in a jerking stop-motion as she set the lid aside on a stone table, coming around to kneel by Lady Bela’s left side. “Another one?”

“Of course, it’s another one, Daniela,” Lady Bela growled, snapping out of her thoughts. “Have we ever had a successful one?”

“Ingr—?”

“Was not successful or she’d not have tried to run.” Lady Bela’s demeanor hid the cold fury that crackled through her words. She turned on a heel, yanking her arm from Lady Cassandra’s outreached hand, and came to a stop around a meter away from the basin.

Lady Cassandra moved into her sister’s space, neither deterred by the brush-off or the snarling defense. She swept an arm about the other woman and held her tightly. “Ingrid wasn’t your fault.”

Lady Bela slumped into her supportive arms, unfurling her own to snatch and cling to the huntress tightly. “Wasn’t she? I did— I do everything that Mother’s journals mention. Every single detail, to the letter, and we still end up with…” She waved a hand in the direction of the opened cask.

Daniela straightened up by then, frowning with one steady eye on the thing inside the dark space. “What if Mother isn’t telling us everything, though?”

Her question hooked Lady Bela’s attention like a perfect snare. “Don’t be an idiot, Daniela. Mother might not trust you but I’m her Heir, I’m her —”

“Bela,” Lady Cassandra admonished, surprisingly gentle. It was too late, though, the words out there, hanging like a blade between the three.

Daniela went stiff, her back rigid and swarm gone eerily silent. She stared at each of them in turn before she disappeared up the stairs.

“Really, Bela?” Lady Cassandra whirled on her older sister as the sound of Daniela’s footsteps turned to a furious buzzing.

“I didn’t mean—ugh— it doesn’t matter right now. We’re behind schedule and without a suitable replacement.” She gave Rozil a pointed stare. “We’ll be short.”

“We have plenty in the reserves. We’ll tap into them and who’ll know? Mother Miranda doesn’t give a—"

As Lady Cassandra spoke, more noises emanated from within the opened casket. Isolde knew she shouldn’t investigate further; should stay right where she was at while the two bickered back and forth, but sheer morbid curiosity brought her closer.

She should have listened to her good sense.

A pair of reflective eyes stared out of the barrel and latched onto her as she entered the creature’s line of sight. There came a loud shuffling and then something pulled itself out hand over broken hand.

Once upon a time, the creature crawling out of the cask had to have been human; now the flaws and discrepancies only highlighted the flimsy varnish of what looked human. The details were there, but the fundamentals were wrong. Corpse-pallid, the thing was drained of pigment as if an artist sculpted it from chalk.

The limbs were a little too long, and the joints were a little too angled. The hand that gripped the rim was too large, with owlish talons instead of fingers. The face was distorted, caught in a frozen snarl; mouth over-stretched but still too small— needle-thin and needle-sharp teeth spilling over thin, bloodless lips.

Isolde backed up, the pry bar clattering to the floor. The thing ambushed it in a blur.

“Wha— damn it, Rabbit. I told you to stay back!” Lady Cassandra scolded her with a painful wrench of Isolde’s arm. She pressured the thing backward, snarling when it snarled, crowding it against the barrel.

It snapped, giving Lady Cassandra the opening to capture its jaw with a hand. She squeezed hard enough that cracks skittered along the brittle skin, but then tilted it back and forth; a woman inspecting a prized hound.

“There’s some fight in this one. I’ll set it in the cistern— let her chew on a lycan or several.” Lady Cassandra didn’t let go of the creature as she dragged it away from the barrel toward the middle of the room.

In the meantime, Isolde tried to give Lady Bela’s composure the privacy it deserved but looked over when the blonde heiress made a frustrated moue.

“I thought you’d cleared the mutts.”

“Did, and then more poured in. There’s likely an outbreak in one of the outlying villages, and nothing to do about it until the weather’s cleared. That’s what I was going to use—well—” Lady Cassandra glanced guiltily over Isolde’s way, then back.

“That would explain numbers, but not boldness,” Lady Bela said worriedly as she stepped next to the huntress to study the creature. “Isolde, can you read off the cask’s label?”

Isolde blinked, already moving to obey out of habit. She rattled off the identifier, then circled around to where Lady Bela’s continued on, now running her index finger over a series of binders on a high shelf.

“... five years casking time would be—”

“That thing has been in there for five years?”

Lady Bela glanced at her with a raised brow. “Why would it be instantaneous? A butterfly requires months.”

“I know that. I just—” Isolde collected her thoughts as Lady Cassandra escorted the creature with a boot towards a distant corridor. “They’ve been alive that whole time?”

“No,” Lady Bela plucked a binder off the shelf, flipping through it casually, and with the occasional glance to Isolde. “They have to die for the crucible to work.”

Isolde knew she’d asked the wrong question, so she rephrased it.

“How long does it take them to die?”

Lady Bela traced along a line of elegant handwriting. “For…ah, here we are, Brianna, she succumbed after … one year and three months.” She hummed as she tapped the page. “I remember her, she lasted a long while, longer than expected. I’d been sure that’d meant something at the time.”

She gave the empty cask a sorrowful glance before shaking her head and noting a comment on the page before setting the binder back. She gave a gave a cursory look toward the stairs as she returned to upright the cask.

“If your Mother had told you to kill me,” Isolde said, startling the blonde who looked over at her with an arched brow. “I’d have been the next occupant of that cask, wouldn’t I.”

“The bloodletting requires all three of us, so it would have thrown Daniela into such a fit but … more than likely, yes.” The barrel’s hollow thud rang that statement in. “More than likely, you would have endured the crucible, and made anew into a vessel.”

Isolde’s mouth twisted with the offered compliment. “I’m sorry to have disappointed you.”

“That’s— Miss Ardenlane— Isolde.” Lady Bela crossed over to cup Isolde’s face within her palm. Her thumb soothed Isolde’s cheek while her fingers gently pressed along her neck. “I already told you—”

“I remember what you said.” Isolde knew she was being irritable and knew that Lady Bela  swallowed her reflexive reprimand. She also… didn’t care. Didn’t have the energy to care.

What’s the worst they could do to her now?

She pulled her face away; put space between the two of them and looked at the stairs, studiously ignored Lady Bela’s stare. When she didn’t give in, the heiress turned her focus onto the other occupant of the room. Well, the unsteady, pale occupant.

“Cassandra…”

“Give me a second,” Lady Cassandra was too busy hoisting the corpse onto its’ feet, leading it to an open cell, and shoving it none-too-gently inside. “Stay,” she said, with a small indulgent smile.

“Cassandra, I don’t know if the girl will even last long enough to be remade into one of the Moroi…” Lady Bela sounded— well, not uncertain, but detached, almost. Clinical. Gauging the calculations and finding them unworthy of investment.

Lady Cassandra hummed her agreement as she wandered back to the wounded woman’s side. She lifted the dazed woman as if she weighs nearly nothing, setting her on her feet in the cask.

Rozil swayed in place as something squelched wetly beneath her feet. Her eyes were glassy and unfocused, staring just past Lady Cassandra.

An unsettling pit of horror opened somewhere below Isolde’s stomach. A bottomless expanse that she was dangerously close to falling into.

“Stop. That.” Lady Cassandra’s eye pulsed with the creeping doom— twitching in tandem. The huntress whirled on her, glowering ferociously enough that Isolde stepped back from sheer instinct.

Warning given, Lady Cassandra methodically stripped Rozil of her clothing. “The fact that Rabbit serves a petty swipe back at Lady B isn’t going to be enough to convince Mother to leave her alone. And you know if Mother asks me again I can’t—I won’t disobey her.”

Isolde’s heart stumbled into the lip of that empty, gnawing hole inside of her. It’s not like she expected differently, but to hear it put so plainly hurt.

“So— instead of fighting impossible odds, I’m going to take a page from your playbook, Bels, and shift them into my, well, our favor.”

Lady Bela blinked, taken aback. “You’re… inspired by me?”

“Don’t let it get to your ego too much, all right?” Lady Cassandra’s smirk was a lopsided thing as she turned to extend a hand out to Isolde. “Rabbit, come here.”

Isolde didn’t want to. Her feet moved on their own, her body lurching forward as if she’s still on strings. She wasn’t, though, but she’s too numb, too frozen to do anything but obey.

Lady Cassandra took her hand and curled her palm around the handle of a sickle that’s surprisingly lighter than it appeared. She chucked Isolde’s chin up with two fingers, bringing their gazes together. “We are going to make you worth more than Mother’s laws, do you understand?”

Isolde’s eyes widened, and there’s a sharp intake from Lady Bela. She looked beyond the huntress to see Rozil standing there, braced only by her hands set on the rim, and Lady Bela’s grip on her shoulder.

“Lady Cassandra, I—”

“You are going to measure your life against Mother’s laws. Daniela said something concerning back in the study— apparently, that sketchbook had some secrets in it.”

“Vague ones, perhaps—”

“I’m not finished,” Lady Cassandra sounded a lot like her elder sister as she picked up Isolde’s hand still holding the sickle. “I’m afraid that you’ll have to protect those secrets as if your life now depended on them.”

That pit grew a little wider, a little deeper. Isolde’s gaze flickered to Rozil, then back to Lady Cassandra. Somewhere, Isolde heard Daniela’s return. Somewhere, in the roaring torrent, Daniela’s perfume kept her steady, though not by much. Somewhere, there was a shift of movement in the damp, a low growl in the dark.

The press of the ceiling above her was nothing compared to the chasm she struggled to keep out of. She couldn’t — she can’t. She looked at Lady Cassandra, mouth slightly ajar with her wordless plea caught behind her teeth.

“Hey,” Daniela gently entered her personal space, when had she come back— curling a hand about Isolde’s waist, and cupping her wrist with the other. “I’ll take it from here, Cassa.”

Lady Cassandra assessed the two of them, how likely it was that Isolde might bolt, then nodded. She stepped back, leaving Isolde in Daniela’s hold. “Did you fetch her?”

“Yes.” Daniela shifted them until she cradled Isolde against her chest. Isolde shouldn’t take the comfort, but she turned to tuck her head into the quiet dark of the taller woman, breathing in her scent and feeling the hum of their bodies together.

“This isn’t just your responsibility,” Daniela murmured into her hair, sounding so soothing that for a moment Isolde forgot what it is she’s being soothed from. “Let me help you.”

Isolde started to pull back, suddenly trapped against the stiffness of Daniela’s arm. “Daniela, no. No. She doesn’t deserve to die.”

Daniela hummed in a noncommittal fashion as she then asked; “Don’t you deserve to live, though?” She lifted Isolde’s head up and met her gaze with a steady, warm honey that promised sweetness and companionship. A delicate lie that everything would turn out all right.

“I can’t—” She said, hoping Daniela would understand.

“You can,” Daniela answered, with that same gentle light in her gaze. “You will. You survive, Isolde. That’s what you do.”

Not at this cost, she thought. Not when it’s them or me. “You promised you’d never kill another woman because of me.”

Daniela frowned; cupping her face, stroking Isolde’s cheeks in small circling patterns. It wasn’t soothing, though, more like a spider’s web over her skin. She trembled from exhaustion— frustration— desperation.

Daniela let her go before she thought about squirming loose and watched her with a bright intensity bordering on zealotry. The torchlight shimmered through her form at the right angle, she’s that—

Hunting. Bring low, strike fast-hard.

Isolde felt the spasm as she snapped away from the eager riptide beneath her skin. She sent Daniela a sharp, warning glare but knew she didn’t have the energy to muster anything behind it.

Daniela’s gaze sharpened to leonine-gold as she reached out to stroke two fingers over Isolde’s cheek. “You’re so exhausted, soarece mic. I know Cassa’s asking a lot right now.”

Isolde knew what Daniela was doing. Not just the crooning voice but the corresponding thrum in the center of her chest that wanted nothing more than to curve forward and be held again. There was too much empty space here. Too loud, too bright, too many lightning strikes—

“Isolde,” Daniela called her back. Tugged at her wrist to bring her closer to where Rozil swayed and drifted. “Isolde, she’s going to die tonight regardless.”

Isolde yanked back. The flash of frustration in Daniela’s eyes was nothing like the surge of indignation that flared in her. “Yes, I understand. Either I do this or you, or one of your sisters will—”

“No.” Lady Cassandra interjected. “No, you struck her good, Rabbit. Poor thing’s going to have a miserable time as she bleeds out into her skull. If she’s lucky, she’ll lose consciousness before the pressure gets too bad.”

Daniela nodded. “There, see? It’s a mercy, Isolde. Not only because you already struck the killing blow.”

Guilt sunk Isolde like a stone—

“However, there’s another mercy. She’ll never be alone. She’ll be within the cradle of the Black God—”

“There is no—”

“Before you agreed to court me, you believed there weren’t a few things that you later learned were true, didn’t you?” Daniela stepped forward, trapping Isolde between Rozil, and her.

She’s trapped, she needs to move, she’s caught, she’s—

“Hey,” Daniela’s voice rang around her, through her, within her and something listened. Answered. Rose up to and snuffed Isolde’s panic like an errant fire.

She didn’t resist when Daniela placed the sickle back into her hand. She didn’t remember when she let go of it. She allowed herself to be turned until Daniela’s curled behind her like this is some intimate mockery of a lesson.

“It’s so easy, Isolde,” Daniela whispered against her ear, lips brushing her skin with her name. “Almost like instinct, really. You don’t have to fight it. You already know the steps.”

Isolde wanted to shake her head. She’d never killed someone, hell, she bore the bruises of the last fight she lost. Miserably, even! And yet, there was a part of her that did know the steps.

She could fight. She should fight. Resist. Struggle. Try to remind Daniela how painfully Terika’s death had sent her into an episode, but there wasn’t enough left to struggle past the soothing, droning lullaby in her veins.

And wasn’t Daniela right? She was exhausted. Bone-achingly so. If she just lets go—

There’s a live wire under her skin, racing and eager. It makes her want to stalk, to hunt—

It wasn’t like she’s alone in this mess anymore, right?

If she just relaxed, if she trusts in the Swarm. The Swarm protects. The Swarm survives…

She had the others. They’ll take care of it. Just trust them. Trust Daniela. Trust—

“Dani, stop.” Isolde was gentler about retreating, though there was nowhere to go. She twisted enough to repay the capture of Daniela’s chin between her fingers. “Stop. Please.”

Daniela frowned, and for the first time, genuine frustration crossed her gaze. “You’re hurting— I want to take the pain away. If I can—”

“No.” Isolde paused then restated herself in a more level voice. “No, I … no. Daniela, that’s not how this works.”

“I don’t understand.”

Isolde’s mouth twisted into a bittersweet smile. “You never will.” She felt Daniela stiffen against her, her hold loosening as if Isolde’s struck her as bitterly as Lady Bela had earlier. She didn’t pay that too much heed, though. She glanced down at the sickle, testing its weight, sucked in a breath, then looked up to Rozil.

She really did look like she wouldn’t last through to the end of the year.

Isolde looked over to Lady Cassandra, almost desperately. “There’s no other option?”

Lady Cassandra sighed, stepping forward herself. She slotted herself easily between them, blatantly touching Isolde. As if it was natural to want to be close, to feel the stroke of flesh-to-flesh, wings thrumming in harmony.

It’s not natural at all, if Isolde thought about it.

“Honestly? It’s the kindest option,” Cassandra said. “If not this, then we’ll need to find another way to make you appealing enough to Mother that she deems you worth more than her laws, and Rabbit…” the look in her eyes spelled the fate that would befall her if that didn’t happen. “You don’t want to find out what that means.”

The cold taste of iron on the back of her tongue and the sucking wound on her chest was more than enough reason to agree with Lady Cassandra’s measurement of what Isolde might want when it concerned the terrifying Countess.

She rolled the sickle in her hand again, then nodded. Her entire existence here had been a path of the lesser of two evils, what was one more fork in the road? Objectively, she knew there should be more of a battle within her. Objectively, she knew what she was choosing was anathema— better to die with one’s principles than…

Before she could move, though, there was a flurry of motion. Daniela rushed towards the stairs— clashing hard against a body. Isolde heard a struggle, a scuffle, and then a soft cry of human pain.

She blinked, realizing that Daniela’s crowding and manhandling Rowena down the stairs before her; pinning her arm up at a painful angle behind her back and lightly keeping the sickle just shy of her neck.

Rowena’s gaze was the wild white of a doe noticing the hunter, constantly flickering to the sickle at her throat. Isolde decided she’d keep the truth of Daniela’s swarm control being strong enough that Rowena could fall, and the blade remain the same distance. The woman needed a bit of her own medicine for once.

After all, Isolde experienced first-hand how terrifying any one of the daughters could be when they pulled off the mask and stopped pretending they were human. Maybe Rowena needed that as well.

Lady Bela also noticed, arching her brow in silent question at the sudden change in plans. “Are we to have two new Moroaică tonight?”

That shifted Isolde’s thoughts. Should she plead for Rowena’s life? Did she want to? “Daniela,” Isolde didn’t know what to say.

Daniela shifted her grip on Rowena’s arm at the sound of her name. “This little snake spilled your blood. I can’t do anything to her because of House Rules but,” she leaned in, teeth dangerously close to Rowena’s earlobe, “I can bring her downstairs so she can be reminded how important it is to know. Her. Place.”

With a twist, she brought Rowena to her knees and kept her there.

Daniela looked to Lady Bela, daring her to disagree.

Lady Bela approached them with a frigid expression. She looked over the maid once, then sniffed disdainfully. She sounds much like her mother when she said, “House Rules are House Rules. Striking against another staff member warrants a trip downstairs.”

Daniela’s smile tinged with a touch of manic gratitude. “Don’t worry, mutt,” she said as if she and Rowena shared a fun secret. “Nothing is going to happen to you tonight. Your immunity to the Ravaging is worth keeping you around for a little while longer but you seem to think that means you’ve got status to spare.”

If Rowena breathed too deeply, she’d bleed.

Isolde heard Rowena start to speak, only to stop with a sharp cry, followed by a hissing threat.

“Make another breath too loud and you’ll be stuffed in there with her. Together forever.” Isolde had never heard Daniela speak like that before, not with such highwire tension holding back a bubble of glee.

Lady Cassandra sighed and stepped away from Isolde to where Daniela held Rowena. She kneeled to eye level, and tilted Rowena’s chin up, though there was nothing endearing about the touch.

“A shame Daniela’s right about you, micul meu vânător— but you’ll have a chance to redeem yourself.” Her nails dug into the woman’s skin as she leaned in close, speaking loud enough for Isolde to hear as well. “I am not going to assume Rozil kept that little journal all to herself, so you better hope that whoever she spoke with is dealt with before I find them.”

“La-Lady Cassan—” Rowena whimpered as the hold tightens.

“Ah, no, no speaking. It’s time for you to listen. If I find out that anyone knows something I don’t want them to, I will cull the entire Wolfpack beginning with you.” Lady Cassandra tilted her head, smiling like it was a silly game between them. “Understand?”

Rowena said nothing. Whimpers when she’s hurt again. “Ye-yes, Lady Cassandra.”

Isolde watched a single drone appear on the backside of the huntress’ arm and crawl up and out of sight beneath Rowena’s lapel. Well, that was telling enough about the trust the huntress had in her own hounds. Lady Cassandra wanted to personally see that her instructions followed to the letter— or to prepare against a mutiny.

“Good talk.” Lady Cassandra pat her cheek, then straightened up and back over to Isolde. “Now, as for you, Rabbit.” She stared pointedly at the woman in the cask. The silent demand rang as loud as a bell.

Silently, Isolde took Rozil by the shoulder, turning and lifting her head away, exposing the long, fair column of her neck. She felt the tickling of another’s consciousness - summer heat and wheat — before she shrugged it off.

“Don’t.”

Lady Cassandra rears back as if physically struck but pulled her influence away, leaving Isolde alone in her own skin for the moment.

“I’m sorry,” she said as she brought the blade to Rozil’s throat. Her arm shook, her hand’s sweating. She can’t seem to do the motion she knew needed to be done.

Daniela encircled Isolde’s hand with one of her own over the sickle. When had she…? Who has a hold of Rowena?

Lady Bela had taken over pinning the woman in place. Her mere presence was more than enough to prevent any bravery attempts, but the gleam of her sickle provided a warning all its own as it rested against the lead Hound’s throat.

“Let me help?” Daniela asked, drawing Isolde’s attention back.

“What? No. It’s my mistake, Dani,” Isolde’s words rasped; when had her mouth get so dry? “My responsibility.”

“Silly little mouse.” Daniela’s breath ghosted across her cheek as she readjusted the angle for the pair of them. “Remember what we promised each other?”

She pulled, and Isolde’s hand followed. A bright, gaping grin split open Rozil’s neck like a crimson cravat and weakly pulsed blood. It splashed on Isolde, warm and thick against her face and arms, but they kept going until Rozil slumped over and Lady Cassandra lowered her down into the dark.

She waited to feel something, anything. There was only a stark absence of emotion, a hollow space where she thought she should have some response. She wanted to accuse Daniela of taking the pain, but her companion shook her head before Isolde could muster the words.

She reached for what she knew she should be experiencing but came up empty-handed, more frustrated at the lack of reaction than the actual deed itself. There was nothing to do about it, though. Perhaps she really was just that exhausted; perhaps it was hard to muster up a damn when you’d experienced the slip of death’s fingers more than once. Perhaps—

“What now?” Lady Cassandra interrupted her thoughts with a question directed to her elder sister.

Lady Bela released Rowena now that there wasn’t a risk of a foolhardy savior attempt. and returned to the stone basin and the cask that the huntress worked a lid back on. “Well, we’re a bit behind schedule, but if we work through the night and into the afternoon, we should be prepared for tomorrow’s service.”

Lady Cassandra groaned at the prospect, prompting a sympathetic coo from the blonde heiress. “What if we… don’t.”

“Cute,” Lady Bela said, dry and drawling. “Now, come along. Daniela, take Miss Ardenlane upstairs. See that she’s taken care of, then back down here to help.”

“Come on, Isolde,” Daniela said, gently prying the sickle from her hand and steering her backward from the stone basin.

Isolde allowed herself to be half-carried back towards the stairs. She felt the slow trickle hit her eyelid but didn’t think to wipe it away. Just blinked rapidly.

They stopped by Rowena, still kneeling, still staring in mute horror at what had just occurred. She turned her head up, expression locked in shock as Daniela leaned down to speak.

“For your sake, you should pray that Rozil didn’t have the time to share that journal with anyone else.”

As she led Isolde away, threat given, Isolde risked a look back. The hate that burned into her was a sight she’ll not forget for a long, long while.

She thought about what Daniela said and hoped silently that Rozil had kept the journal to herself.

If only for Isolde’s sake too.

Chapter Text

Distantly, Isolde knew what she should be doing. She should be cleaning herself off, washing away the grime and the blood—all the horror of the past few nights down the drain. She knew this. She would get to it. Eventually.

What she was currently doing; sitting on the edge of the bed and staring down at the wood grain beneath her feet, helped no one, especially her. It wasn’t even helping her feel better.

A rapping at the door startled her, and her body rocked slightly to the bed’s dip and shift as Daniela stood to answer it. She returned after a brief, murmured conversation carrying a basket of oils and soaps, along with a plethora of dark-threaded towels.

Setting them aside, she almost returned to her position. Isolde’s gaze stopped her in her tracks, though; eyes widening at whatever she saw. If Daniela was hesitating at the sight, then she must look a mess— like something out of a macabre novel.

It stirred her enough to have the inkling to let Daniela know she could leave.

What she said is:

“Your sisters are going to wonder where you’re at.” Her voice sounded like sandpaper in her ears.

The sentence broke Daniela of her indecision. She shrugged, deciding to lean her hip against the dresser directly opposite where Isolde sat. “Bela and Cassa have it in hand, they’ll be fine.” She bit her lip to blood, watching Isolde like she might be worried. “You shouldn’t be alone right now.”

It took Isolde a moment to realize the harsh, broken noise that followed was her own laughter. She swallowed back bile as she tilted her head, voice saccharine. “Why? Because I killed someone?”

Daniela’s brow furrowed at the hostility. “Don’t be rude. You’re hurting.”

“Said who?” Isolde’s questions struck with every syllable. Gone was the saccharine sarcasm, leaving only a bitterness cracking around the edges of her throat. “You? Bela? ” The crinkle in Daniela’s forehead at the deliberate drop of the Heiress’ title only set Isolde to full-spite-ahead. “I know Cassandra won’t care if I’m damaged—”

She was ready to pick a fight. She wanted to, for the first time, push the boundaries of Daniela’s human veneer just to see the cracks form. She wanted to bring her hands to the edges of that mask and yank it back to reveal all the horrible truths underneath it. She wanted to know if she looked in the mirror she’s thrown a sheet over— would she see them in herself.

Daniela’s eyes flicked pointedly to her shoulder and Isolde saw red —felt as if she was being ripped open and stitched together all over again. Only this time, she was tearing apart from within. Tiny little needles poking through her skin, wanting, needing to feel—

“Stop. Doing. That.”

“I’m not doing anything?” Daniela had the audacity to look confused.

Isolde snorted, waving a hand vaguely in the direction of her wound. “It’s like a spider trying to crawl out of my skin, Daniela, and it’s only happening when you’re doing whatever it is you just did.”

Daniela tilted her head, curiosity driving her to stare at that mess of broken skin and sinew. That previous came flaring back, along with a curious buzzing.

She’s looking for something. She’s reaching out, despondent when there’s only silence where there was once a chorus that filled the world with—

“That! Right there. Stop .”

“I can’t.” Daniela seemingly took offense at the accusation. At Isolde’s scoff, she scowled. “I can’t . You have a part of me in you now—”

“Don’t say that.”

“—and she’s going to want—” Daniela’s voice lilted dangerously as she spoke over the interruptions.

“There is no ‘she’ , Daniela.”

“— to find comfort with her sisters.” There’s that bright-fire mania that promised trouble to anyone who disagrees with what Daniela’s telling them. 

Isolde let the final sentence hang for a minute or so, before she said with bitterness. “Why would they seek out you, then?” Knowing that she’d sought comfort not even an hour earlier, didn’t matter— she was lashing out just to see the blow land.

Hashem, if it was true. If there were piecemeal and snatches of the daughters now shoved somehow into Isolde’s psyche— her very writ essence, then was this even her anger? Or was it the harsh woodsmoke and summer-heat of Lady Cassandra’s maliciousness? The cruel chill of Lady Bela’s haughty arrogance, perhaps? Daniela’s whimsical apathy? Or was this truly hers to own and she was still trying to pretend she’s somehow more moral than any of them? Protesting her virtues while blood stuck to her lips when she spoke, and gore flaked under her nails and over her cuticles.

Daniela didn’t push back beyond that firm, deterministic statement, leaving only silence and static pressure between them. The weight of the negative space gnawed— one of them needed to end it; shamefully Isolde broke first.

“Outside of the weird, hooking pain in my chest, I don’t feel anything. At all.” Isolde jutted her chin up, daring Daniela to contradict her. She didn’t, and so Isolde continued. “I mean it. I’m not angry, or scared, or— or sad.” Her gaze dropped back to her hands, and she felt like she spoke so there was noise to drown out her thoughts. “I don’t even feel like I’ve just murdered someone.”

The hooks in her chest tightened and yanked— before they could set, Isolde pushed to her feet, clenching her hands because she needed something to do. “And this?” She ripped the shirt further in her exposure. “This is the worst thing about the night. You have not earned the right to what I’m feeling, or not-feeling, or to any single part of me!”

She ended that with a finger jabbing into Daniela’s chest, then stumbled back, aghast at her behavior— and that she didn’t remember crossing the room.

She yanked her hand back before Daniela could touch her, but what ws personal space to a colony? 

Daniela’s grip was cool, her voice reedy but steady. It was the darting, dangerous gleam in her eyes that warned Isolde that she’d walked into the lion’s den. “You’re exhausted. You’re upset, and you’re tired and this always happens.”

What always happened?

“Lovers always fight, and people say things they don’t mean—”

“We’re not lovers, Daniela.”

Daniela’s grip tightened. “Especially when something really scary has just happened to them—”

“Your mother almost killed me.”

“But she didn’t!” Daniela insisted, as if it were some sort of minor inconvenience. As if she wasn’t nearly disemboweled at the hands of the Countess. “We wouldn’t have let her. It was just a misunderstanding. It’s all fine now; we’ll take care of you. I’ll take care of you.”

“I don’t need to be taken care of! I’ve been taken care of by you, your sisters, by—Lady Beneviento. I’ve had enough of people taking care of me .”

The mention of the Lady Beneviento made something in Daniela’s face twist, harden. The coldness in her eyes came with the curl of a lip, the baring of white, sharp fangs. “They’re different ,” she hissed, swiping her hand sharply between them. “They don’t understand you like I do. They don’t love you like I do. Like you love me—”

“I don’t love you, Daniela!”

The frost in Daniela’s gaze shattered, wrenching Isolde’s heart along with it. It was hard to breathe against the horrible, crushing agony under her ribs. It was a struggle to even find the ability to speak— to level her tone because she needed— she needs Daniela to listen.

“And if you’d stop for a second and think, you’d realize you don’t love me either.”

“What? Of course I love you. I saved you, didn’t I?”

“No. You really don’t. You didn’t save me, I survived because Bela’s upset that someone else stole the toy she’d forgotten all about until it went missing. Maybe you’re feeling some sort of guilt—.”  Isolde shook her head over Daniela’s rising protests. “No, Dani, I saw you before Cassandra threw me away. You would have let her kill me.”

Daniela reeled back, horrified at the mere suggestion. “I—no, of course not .”

“I understand, but stop lying to—”

“ I’m not lying to you !” Daniela nearly broke apart with the shriek.

In the ringing aftermath, the frenetic buzz faded, though it didn’t disappear; tangled in her mind as if it were her own thoughts. Always in the background, muted at times— but never gone. Not anymore. 

Isolde took a steadying breath. “Then stop lying to yourself.”

The accusation hung between them like a physical weight. It felt like she’d thrown that physical weight from her shoulders. She felt lighter saying it, her temper rapidly cooling with it out there between them. Even as Daniela’s hand twitched towards her shoulder, towards the easy method, all Isolde mustered was a dusting of irritation. The fire had died out, and all that’s left was—

“Isolde…”

“Can you just leave?” Isolde snapped, and didn’t care that Daniela flinched, or the flash of hurt in her gaze. “You’re rather experienced with pretending, so just make an excuse for Bela, I just … really want to be left alone.”

Daniel flicked a glance towards her wound as she stepped forward. Isolde braced for the Swarm, thinking back to whatever Lady Bela did that one time in the glass corridor and—“Then let me at least help you get into the bath first.” Daniela guided her by her good shoulder and the silence was as deafening as if she’d been shouting. She was suppressing her swarm, Isolde realized with a dull jolt.

She trailed after as Daniela ushered her into the bath. It was a waking dream; like walking through a cloud of dense nothingness. Vaguely, she heard the faucet turn and welcomed both the damp heat of it permeating the space, the almost sickly-sweet smell of bath oils.

She let herself be set upon a stool. Undressed by gentle hands that belied the talon-tipped fingers as Daniela peeled back each piece of soiled, ruined clothing until Isolde was naked; exposed. As bare and raw as she felt inside.

“You’re shivering,” Daniela said.

She looked down at herself—yes, she’s trembling. Gooseflesh prickled over her skin. Isolde blinked, like she stared down at someone else’s body. Anyone else’s.

A quiet scrape of wood against stone—Daniela pulled the stool up by her head and sat upon it. A memory came to mind then; of the last time she’d been in the same space with the youngest Dimitrescu daughter. The last time one of them had been caked in gore and grime with a dead girl in the dungeons. The ridiculousness of it all made Isolde giggle.

Daniela paused, hands hovering uncertainty by her shoulders. “Isolde?”

“We have a pattern, that’s all.”

Daniela tipped her head, and the adorably naive gesture made Isolde laugh that much harder.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” Her shoulders shook, unbidden, even as she shook her head. “I just remember us doing this. Exactly this.”

“Oh,” Daniela looked at her as if she was on the verge of breaking, and perhaps she was. “Well. You took care of me the last time. So now I’ll be the one to take care of you.”

“I don’t need to be taken care of.”

Daniela’s smile didn’t reach her blazing eyes. “I want to. You deserve as much, don’t you?”

Deserve. What did she deserve at this point? There was a time when they thought she deserved nothing more than a slow and painful death. Now, she was deserving of bloodshed in her honor; of care ?

“Stop asking me that question.” Isolde closed her eyes against that imploring, sweetheart look. The last defense she had against the vixen curling at the edge of the tub because she was out of reasons to not give in.

“I don’t want to.”

“I don’t care. I want you to. I want to forget this night ever happened.” She felt Daniela’s stare over her skin. How scalded was she right now, she wondered? How blistered and tender-red from soaking in the near-to-boiling water?

Fingers skimmed her shoulder as the confession tumbled out. “I want to close my eyes and stop feeling like I’m balancing on a razor’s edge.”

With that out in the open, she scrubbed a hand over her face. “I want this fucking blood off me.”

“I can help with that.” Daniela shifted closer, washcloth in hand. She dipped it into the water, wringing it out moments later. She paused then, expectant, and Isolde nodded defeatedly.

The cloth was soft and warm and smelled of flowers. Daniela dabbed it across her cheek and neck gingerly, as if she couldn’t bear to scrub any harder, and the thought stirred something fond in Isolde’s chest.

The acrid smell of dried blood and gore washed away eventually; her skin felt softer, less crusted in grime. It was easier to breathe now, barely. 

“Why are you really doing this?”

Daniela took her time to wring the cloth out again. “Bela asked me to take care of you.”

A strange emotion trickled down her throat, too new and foreign to try and understand. She fell back on her tried-and-true, instead. She repeated herself, she knew that. “I don’t need to be taken care of.”

That drew a huff, and the touch of cloth to her shoulder. “And again, I want to take care of you. You deserve to be spoiled sometimes.”

“Stop telling me what you think I deserve.”

“What if I don’t?” Another prodding attempt, to see where the fox could slip underneath the watch; hidden by the subtle stroke at the ruin of her shoulder. As if she truly cared. As if Daniela instinctively knew how to bridge a connection that shouldn’t exist but did.

And God help her, but Isolde’s body betrayed her— she couldn’t think of anything more than to lean into that tenuous tether. There were no protests left, no reasons to deny herself a crumb of softness. Nothing but the craving for something that ran deeper than she could explore. She’d heard the English idiom of butterflies in the stomach, but this? This was a thunderstorm underneath her ribs.

The thought of crawling out of the tub and back into Daniela’s lap struck her, and what was wrong was it felt normal. Easy. She was tired and hurting, of course she wanted to be—

“What did you do to me?” She whispered, defeated finally. The battle’s lost, and all that’s left is to surrender to the inevitable.

Daniela answered her with a cup of her chin, and the softest of brushes of a thumb over her lips. Isolde risked eye contact, hoping to find the answer within that soft, buttery stare, but…

She couldn’t keep the connection, had to dart her eyes at Daniela’s lips, her nose, the lights shimmering through the steam above their heads. Anywhere but the bright, hungry gaze threatening to devour her reaction like a starving man at the last feast. She was the rabbit under the hawk’s circling shadow, and she was so tired of running out from beneath it. What would happen if she just… gave in?

Maybe Daniela’s right, maybe she deserved some warmth. Some gentleness. God knew she’d not had it for … far too long, now.

She turned her head into the stroke of Daniela’s thumb, letting the weight of the digit drag against her lower lip; she tastes iron and earth as she purses her mouth against Daniela’s skin, and felt the shudder as if it’s her own. Lifts her gaze to the inferno ready to devour her…

Fuck it, maybe that’s exactly what she deserves. 

She startles Daniela, suddenly seizing the woman’s wrist and holding firm when Daniela seemed to snap out of the intensity, blinking and shaking her head as if clearing a fog. That won’t do. “You were right. Ladies don’t kiss other ladies covered in blood.” Daniela flinched as Isolde gripped tighter at her wrist. “But given that neither one of us can be considered ladies—”

It was a clash of their mouths moreso than a proper kiss, what with the violence bleeding into their bodies, but neither one of them cared. Not when Daniela tilted her chin up and licked away the smears of blood over her cheek, her jaw, and drank of her when she returned to her mouth. 

All Isolde could do was hold on, hands pressing hard enough to distinguish the multitude beneath her fingertips as she leaned back into the water, taking Daniela with her. One moment, the heiress is clothed, then she was ephemeral and shadows in-hand. She reformed without a stitch of fabric over her body.

“That’s so fucking unfair,” Isolde sighed. “Why couldn’t you have given me that skill, too?”

Daniela laughed at that, unaware how her mirth collected and warmed in the pit of Isolde’s belly. Or perhaps not, as she braced her fall with a hand against the far rim, arching sinuously, simultaneously bowing to steal another kiss and to slot herself between Isolde’s thighs. She effortlessly lifted Isolde into the welcoming curves of her body with just the delicate tip of a hand.

Isolde was a moth rising to the flame, and the burn wicked through her thighs as she accommodated Daniela’s powerful frame settling between them— she wanted more. Flush from chest to hips, skin slippery from the bath oils and Isolde still craved more. Needed more.

They kissed until that soft laugh disappeared into a shaking, tremulous sigh; exploring the velvet heat of Daniela’s mouth and not blinking once at the faint taste of iron and earth she found within. 

She stroked her fingers along her lover’s shoulders, relishing the way Daniela shivered in the wake of it. There was the barest trace of soft, delicate gossamer beneath the press of her thumbs, and she pushed until the flesh yielded to something tougher, sharper— more. She was rewarded with teeth to her neck; a fierce nuzzling that drives her head back, her eyes rolling heavenward as Daniela licked a soothing apology for the bruise she’s left behind.

The water sloshed over the rim as Daniela settled Isolde over her lap, rocking to sit back on her calves. She’s devoted herself to a self-serving mission: collaring Isolde with bruises— more than bruises; with bites that stung and set her nerves singing .

Isolde took it all, panting out praise that stuttered against curses directly into Daniela’s ear; emboldening the redhead to touch her further, trace her breast with a hand until Isolde had to grab her wrist and bring Daniela in from the periphery to finally touch her, damn it.

Daniela’s delicious chuckle fell over her pulse, as did her tongue and teeth; each sensation blooming anew over until Isolde whimpered, desperate for relief. She rocked low, wanting a pressure release, and whimpered again when she was denied.  

Daniela’s coos were absolutely infuriating as she kept Isolde pinned and steady with a single arm like a band about her lower back. No matter what she did; every buck, every protest, every whine was countered by a smug, rumbling purr that pleasantly buzzed across the atoms that divided their bodies.

She hated it.

She loved it.

In the end, though, Isolde discovered begging was her key to the kingdom as her first whimpered request sent Daniela’s playful resistance crumbling away to ruin. The teasing ended. With permission given, Daniela moaned as she entered Isolde with two fingers. “S-so warm…”

It wasn’t like this with Tissa, or with that one boy behind the grocer’s storeroom. This was fire and heat chasing towards a horizon she wanted to dive over. When Daniela’s fingers curled within her, when her teeth found Isolde’s breast, when her strength sent the water in tidal waves over the rim as she stroked the universe into Isolde’s nerves until the world was fractals and then even more fractals. Time slowed to nothing, leaving an eternity ahead of her as Isolde’s senses rippled through a tangle of lightning that wasn’t hers alone, but before she could chase that thread— the world snapped back. Sound, sight, taste — touch . 

Especially Daniela’s touch.

She vaguely registered pain, of teeth splitting skin, nails cutting against her flesh. The smell of blood was a cloying, heady thing, and Isolde’s mind swam with a liquor-high she hadn’t felt in years. It shouldn’t feel as good to have been bitten; been hurt , but the rush of being consumed, devoured —it made her knees tremble.

It must have been Daniela’s desire, as Isolde’s never experienced such hedonistic pleasure, but that didn’t explain the shuddering, soul-breaking crash when Daniela suddenly yanked herself away, babbling apologies like a swollen river. She shivered as badly as Isolde did; pulling back with wide-eyed wonder— no, no, even within the afterglow, there was a terror pushing the halo of Daniela’s irises to the edges. 

This close, the left eye had a spool of sapphire within the golden spiral. She’d never noticed that before.

“Daniela?”

“Are you hurt? Oh, no…” Daniela practically manhandled her, brushing her fingers over the deep, painful bites aching over Isolde’s breasts, down over the trailing welts at Isolde’s hips. “I’m sorry, I tried— I didn’t want to but you felt so good and—I’m sorry, I’m so sorry , please don’t—”

Isolde gripped her hands, stilling her movements. “Daniela, I’m all right. I …” she swallowed the admission that she liked it.

Daniela stared at her hard, searching for the truth only to collapse against Isolde in sheer, giddy, relief. They clung to the other as they came back to the present; to the lukewarm, half-filled tub they were in. 

“You’re shivering again,” Daniela observed, slightly humming her words before lifting them both effortlessly out of the tub. She handed Isolde a towel, then turned to see where she’d put the basket last. “Where’d that healing paste go…?”

“You set everything on the left shelf.” Isolde wrapped the towel around herself, checking her reflection. Even through the steam, the mirror detailed the massacre made of her body. She’d have an easier time explaining this as an interrupted lycan attack than having survived an encounter with Daniela. 

Daniela— hunching over her like a beast, teeth and tongue claiming her as thoroughly as her touch. Shuddering as she lapped away at Isolde’s flesh, stiffening as if warring with some internal desire to work her jaw harder, press a little further— 

“Am I the first one to survive?”

Daniela paused in her search, then looked back over a shoulder. “It’s rude for a Lady to kiss and tell.”

Isolde rolled her eyes at the pithy retort. “You know what I’m asking.”

“I don’t want to answer that, then.” Daniela shrugged a pale, pristine shoulder, flushed from the bath, but flawless. No bruises. No raw, oozing bites ringed with purple and red. Nothing proved it happened.

The thought that she’d go back downstairs and there’d be no evidence of Isolde save a knowing grin and a story didn’t sit right. She refused to be the only one with the aftermath written into her body.

Surprise turned Daniela compliant, yielding as Isolde shoved her against the counter by her hips. She lolled her head back at the splay of fingers at the column of her throat. 

Isolde needed Daniela to remember more than sighs and whimpering delight in her ears. That she wasn’t just the little rabbit Lady Cassandra kept calling her; something more than a morsel. She repaid each bruise, each bite with one of her own; stealing Daniela’s resolve little by little with each stroke of her fingers; discovering a silk-slick heat that delivered a covetous confidence driveing her to drag her teeth over the facsimile of a pulse at Daniela’s throat.

After all, there was power in the taste of Daniela’s skin beneath her mouth; the bite of Daniela’s nails against her scalp, the sighs that spilled as wantonly as the arousal pooling around Isolde’s hand.

The warbling, broken keen as she carved her fingers within Daniela was going to haunt her dreams, as would that golden, melted pleading as the rhythm turned their breathing ragged.  She might not be as strong as Daniela but there were tricks Isolde learned through her fumbling years that she was finally putting to use.

Like the emphasis of her hips behind every thrust, juxtaposing the fierceness of the strokes with a circling, sweet pressure from her thumb. She may be the one panting against Daniela’s shoulder as a steel grip closed about her neck; but Daniela was the one mewling; encouraging her— begging her for ‘more just a little more, please’ until the vixen ascended with Isolde as a litany on her tongue.

Her ears rang with the sound of Daniela’s breathing. The solid thud of a heartbeat under her cheek. The strange static buzz of a thousand wings fluttering as one. 

She mouthed the sweat-slick skin of Daniela’s throat, closed her eyes and felt the coiling connection reaching out, tangling her further into the woman’s web. For a moment, she didn’t know who she was without the synapses circulating through the soul of the woman she held.

Then the world closed back to the claustrophobic quiet of her own body. She pulled away to check in and couldn’t help but smile at the dreamy expression she found.

“That’s nothing like the stories…” Daniela murmured, a little dazed. 

Isolde huffed out a laugh. “Thanks?”

Daniela’s melodic giggle rumbled against her ear and cheek. “I’d say ‘you’re welcome’, but I think we’re pretty even on that front.” She nuzzled against Isolde’s hair, a hand slipping languidly against her waist, and for a moment, Isolde let herself pretend that their relationship was something soft and true.

But it didn’t last.

Somewhere in the middle distance, a clock chimed the hour. Daniela lifted her head, going stiff as she sighed before she reluctantly peeled away. “I need to go.” She leaned back against the counter and reached out a hand to caress a cheek, apologetic. “I still need to help with the bloodletting. Mother’s already upset with everything else, and Bela will make herself sick trying to prepare everything on her own.”

Isolde stepped back, allowing her the space to slip away.

“Are you bleeding more girls?”

“No.” Daniela stopped in the middle of slipping into her shift. She raked her teeth over her lower lip, and made a small nose. “Maybe? It depends on the tithe. We might not need more, but Bela has final say.”

“What are the odds of you having enough?”

Daniela offered no response. If Isolde thought about it hard enough, she could imagine the weight of a sickle in her hand. Well, that won’t do.

She moved to gather her own clothes. Dried herself and dressed. As she reached for the buttons of her waistcoat, Daniela’s eyes burned into her back.

“What?”

“What are you doing?”

“Getting dressed.” She smoothed down her blouse and tailored trousers. Offered up the emerald ribbon like a favor to Daniela, who took it even though her brows arched with questions. Still, she gently turned Isolde about and braided the ribbon as if they’d done this a hundred times.

“I can see that, but why?” 

 Isolde drew in a deep breath. “I’m going with you.”

Daniela’s eyes widened in their reflection. “But it’s downstairs. You hate downstairs.”

Isolde huffed again. “Well, I hate the thought of being alone right now even more. So.” She shrugged helplessly. 

Eyes soft, Daniela said as she turned Isolde about again, “I’ll keep you close.”

“It doesn’t matter who I’ll be with,” Isolde muttered. “I just need something to do other than think .”

Daniela went quiet, averting her attention down to buttoning her own blouse. She brushed her hair back primly, swept it off her shoulders. She drew in a slow, deep breath, and when she looked back to Isolde, her gaze was blank, and distant.

“Let’s get to it, then.”

Chapter Text

This entire mess is her fault. The truth beats against her composure like a storm surge battering the shoreline. There’s easily three nights at the very least of work ahead of them— of her, and the horrific outcome that they’re going to be short starts to settle on her shoulders.

And it’s her fault.

The setback with Do— with the Lady Beneviento hangs over her like the sword of Damocles; and she can sense the thread fraying with every slow, insidious twirl of the blade. If she's smart— if she's at all worthy of the title of Heir Apparent and even more importantly— Mother's approval; she'll find a way to ensure that not only will she meet the quota for the Feast, but exceed it. 

If she doesn’t, well—

The idea that Mother might be disappointed in her is almost as agonizing as bearing the brunt of her wrath, and Bela refuses to feel the emptiness within her should Mother’s gaze turn away from her, should she frown — that Mother’s going to realize that she’s once again failed and there'll be more than just a simple punishment should Mother find out— her back spasms.

Her gloves slip over the rim of a cask—

“Shit!”

The barrel cracks against the stone; the staves creaking and straining against their bands— the container barely holding together. She drops to a knee and rolls it over, hoping against the Black God’s Mercy that—

“Shit…”

There’s a fissure driving through the widest stave. It’s not leaking now but once the weather warms and the wood naturally start to expand…? She knows the seal’s ruined. Great . That’s exactly what she needs right now. On top of everything else. On top of the looming deadline less than a night out.

On top of telling Mother that they’ll have to break into the stores meant for Mother Miranda to ensure an adequate offering—

“I left you for five minutes. Why are you on the brink of splitting?”

She startles hard enough at the voice behind her that the Swarm stutters in blind panic before she realizes that it’s merely Cassandra. Alone. 

Watching her with concern leaves Bela feeling exposed underneath the slow once-over she’s receiving.

That’s not— she doesn’t need Cassandra worrying about her. She’s not that frazzled, for Mother Miranda’s sake!

“Where’s Daniela?” She inquires, snapping the focus off of her. She rubs her hands over her dress, straightening up and fixing her swarm sister with the sternest reflection of Mother’s disapproval she can muster.

It doesn’t faze the huntress at all. Never has. 

“Where else? She’s tucking the little rabbit into her burrow.” Cassandra tilts her head and Bela waits for the commentary, but it doesn’t come. Cassandra doesn’t mention the skittering, lurking patrols risking frostbite at Bela’s periphery; nor does she mention the way that Bela’s Swarm is releasing a pheromone in alarm. 

Instead, she glances at the fissure cracking through the cask and says “It’s about time that one needed replacing anyways, isn’t it?”

Bela set a look as dry as the wine Mother Miranda favored onto her swarm sister. Ignores the obvious side-step and drags the topic right back on track. “Well, why didn’t you fetch her like a good little wolf?”

Cassandra snorts. She steps into the cellar and crosses it with a loping, easy-going stride that brings her within reach within moments. “Because I wanted to have some time with you before she rejoins us.”

Well, she didn’t expect that .

"Why?"

Cassandra’s lips twitch fondly at the suspicion and she blatantly ignores Bela’s hiss as she pulls her into her arms. The world becomes fractals within fractals— a kaleidoscope of sensation; of hundreds of sisters stroking and soothing her with soft, delicate touches at her thoraxes, her wings, her legs, her arista (which sends pleasure shivering through the colony). All of them touching, comforting, quieting her— steadying and calming the circling, spiraling doubt in Bela’s mind until there’s nothing left…

But the steady, eternal thrum of the Swarm.

It isn’t a heartbeat, but it’s the closest that they’ll ever have; and right now? It beats as one .  

What else can Bela do? She gives in, burying her head into Cassandra’s shoulder, and lets the wood smoke and metal oil scent wash over her as she listens to the crooning, low melody. It’s been a while since they fell together— their different lives and duties requiring a sense of identity and self that they couldn’t quite maintain when they curl and twine into one mind, soul, and entity.

However, that sense of self can’t stop the world from spinning out of control. The identity of Heir, of the Eldest— it can’t bring her back to the safety of the Swarm. Of their Swarm.

“I’m fine, Cassa.”

Cassandra’s snort ruffles her hair, and there’s the soft touch of her lips upon Bela’s crown. “Are you sure about that? You defied Mother. For a retainer. Who told you to effectively shove your ego up your ass.”

Bela huffs. Hides her fussiness by stubbornly nuzzling at Cassandra’s throat. As she moves, she feels the sting of the disappointment in stripes along her back— still hears the whoosh of air. Mother’s hand is a powerful weapon that wields punishment with or without the song of her blades.

Cassandra’s touch stiffens over the tender skin.

“Well, I didn’t want to have to deal with Daniela’s melodramatics and work on the Tithe at the same time.”

“True,” Cassandra’s agreement is an affectionate rumble that brings Bela’s gaze up to meet her own warm, honey-sweet gaze. She traces Bela’s cheek with two fingers, and the largest and most powerful of her drones draw Bela into reaffirming embraces. “Could you imagine the absolute theatrics? The entire castle would have had to mourn with her— the Feast would be delayed—”

“If you’re just going to mock me—”

Cassandra’s grip remains light as she pulls away, though Bela stops after an inch or so. It’s impossible to untangle oneself from their own heart, mind, and consciousness that spans their bodies. There’s a jumbling of thoughts, a blur of Bela’s worry and Cassandra’s indecision that rocks the two of them hard enough; the pair of them trapped on a boat adrift.

“So touchy, come here,” Cassandra murmurs and draws her back in with grooming, charming motions within the Swarm; stroking Bela’s shoulders and arms as well. “You’re going to do more than crack a rotting cask if we don’t get these beautiful wings back down.”

“Is the next thing going to be your skull?” Bela’s pouting— she knows that. It turns into a full-blown scowl when all she gets is an amused chuckle.

“Nah, I’m too hard-headed. You know that.”

Cassandra tilts her head up, and the smarmy grin she’s sporting finally succeeds in making Bela laugh. The grin sweetens to a genuine smile and she leans up, exposing her throat. Bela responds to the request and firmly nuzzles and rubs her temple against the powerful definition of Cassandra’s jaw, inhales the scent of her Wolf. Takes a moment to center herself. 

She feels the hum of her Wolf’s approval as she leaves her claim with a nip of her fangs against the soft, ticklish angle of her muscle. The Swarm shudders— gasps really, then relaxes. They’re going to be all right.

Bela allows her to draw her in and slots herself against Cassandra’s broad, protective frame.

“Seriously, though. What even prompted—?”

“I’ll answer you if you’ll answer a question for me first.” Bela holds out the temptation, the very echo of the serpent coiling about the apple.

An apple that Cassandra will reach out to take for herself. “Always. You know I will.”

Bela rewards her eagerness with a beatific smile. She cups Cassandra’s cheek and lays a lingering kiss on the plushness of her lower lip. She lets the pleased little sigh wash over her, then asks “Why did you decide to allow Miss Ardenlane the chance to escape?”

Cassandra freezes. The Swarm twists into a violent, squirming mess. Acknowledging Bela’s question will risk exposing that she’d disobeyed Mother. She’d been disloyal . She’d betrayed the family—

“Cassa?”

Cassandra takes a long time to bring their gazes back together. “Same reason you willingly slipped back into that Puppeter's bed, I suppose."

Bela slips away from the embrace.

Cassandra follows, even as Bela snarls at the action. 

After all, the woman she is wants the space to protect herself from that accusation. Needs to distance herself; craves that distance so she can breathe and think without the Swarm crushing her thoughts underneath the weight of them all. 

The Swarm though? It needs to be close— needs to touch, taste, chase that distant, flashing lightning. Right now the human’s guilt and shame? Too complex, too overwhelming to handle. 

Cassandra flinches in perfect sync when the memories crawl out from the abyss between their synapses. 

The rough callouses of a craftswoman’s hands dragging down their arms. The rasping of blunt teeth at their shoulder, marking them. Branding them. The press of a heavy, solid body pins them down onto the mattress.

The sense that they're only made to be stretched wide open and left with hopes and dreams trickling out until there's nothing left but a shell to be filled with what'll make them the prettiest—

“Hey,” Cassandra lightly grasps her chin and gently walks them backward until she feels the jut of the rack against her thighs before she’s lifted and placed on the wooden beam. Cassandra continues forward into the cradle of her thighs. “Hey, hey , my Zorya, look at me…”

Bela turns towards the sweet warmth of Cassandra’s voice. How can she be called the dawn when it’s Cassandra banishing the darkness from her mind?

“There we are,” Cassandra’s calm, reassuring voice settles her nerves just as her drones smooth and settle her unfurled, threat-wide wings. “Welcome back, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to remind you of her.”

“It’s not your fault,” Bela murmurs.

"It is in a way, though. Isn't it?"

Inhale.

The Swarm swirls around them, an endless ebb and flow.

Somewhere, they feel the ache of distance; a pull towards the siren song of their fox flower, and beyond that? There’s a fluttering of something— some one new. A humming, buzzing current that draws their curiosity in like, well…?

Moths to the flame.

Exhale.

Sensation returns to her, like the pressure of Cassandra’s hands splaying over her hips as they’ve always meant to fall upon them.

Bela loops her arms about the huntress’ shoulders and plays with the soft, curling tresses at the nape of her neck. “ … well, to be fair, she does make Daniela incredibly happy.”

Cassandra chuffs. "She does."

On one level, a wave of aurelian drones sweeps over the rippling surface of a garnet sun; a glittering prism of gold and soot shines through the fissures of two women who'd been broken apart and pieced back together without thought. The familiar comfort of the Swarm’s pheromones infuses them along with the awareness of a divine connection that reminds them that they were once One before they were split three ways.

On another level, Cassandra tucks a finger beneath Bela’s chin. On another level, there’s the ghost of a breath over her before Cassandra ducks down and finds her mark upon the cupid’s bow of her lips. 

She sighs into the contact, tightening her hold on Cassandra’s neck, possessively claiming what’s hers. What’s always been hers. What will always be hers.

She knows there’s still a tithe to collect. There are still so many conversations to have, and there’s going to be a very angry Dragon to assuage and plea forgiveness from; but at the moment?

There’s only the Swarm.

Chapter Text

Since noon, Isolde had avoided all the explosive last-minute activity that had taken over the castle. That was only fair, since she’d spent the previous night and well into the morning working past the dredges of exhaustion to prepare an absolutely ludicrous amount of blood wine.

She didn’t remember how she’d left the wine cellars, but she’d woken in an unfamiliar room underneath an unfamiliar duvet. Even now, she wavered in an exhausted haze that left her thoughts muddled and murky.

She rubbed at her eyes, the pressure allowing her to gather her wits, before blinking against the surprisingly strong sunlight pouring in from the western windows.

The sunlight splashed over a beautiful, verdant display of flowers and trailing, climbing plants spilling over from countless pots and hanging containers that dominated the walls and ceilings. The space that wasn’t occupied by greenery instead hosted a second library of novels upon shelves built into two of the walls themselves. Paintings peeked through, but Isolde was unerringly drawn back to the windows.

The expansive vista echoed the majesty of Lady Bela’s study with the expertly-crafted illusion that the valley extended indoors— only Daniela’s view was of the castle itself, not the vastness of the territory surrounding it.

None of the daughters had claustrophobia but there was still a sense of trying to bring the world inside the unyielding stone of the castle walls. And with that thought, Isolde turned towards the room to investigate further. The place was meticulous, with everything in its place.

A cursory search later found Isolde holding a letter detailing the particulars of her washing, donning a robe, and finally meeting the daughters in their common room when she was finished.

When she’d completed the requested tasks, the sun had almost disappeared behind the mountains, and the top of the shelves were shrouded in long, creeping shadows. 

The long dress was plain and cream, with the hem brushing against her ankles. The bodice had something supportive within it, leather or something, but thankfully didn’t cut into her ribs nor rest over the cracked space beneath her clavicle. She’d rolled the sleeves up to her elbows when a distant door opened and heralded the daughters by their jumbled conversation.

She finished dressing quickly, cinching the bustier with an expertise tug, and then headed into the adjoined sitting room and right into the middle of a conversation that’d been going on for a while.

“— so simple. She’ll just stay with one of us for the night.”

“Yeah, I don’t think Rabbit will find that appealing. Not to mention, it leaves her completely open to crossfire. Do you remember last year? The Cernea brothers managed to smuggle in rifles. Rifles, Bels!”

“Yes, I remember. Ah, Miss Ardenlane. Good evening to—” Lady Bela’s words died in her throat.

Isolde was growing used to the weight of three gazes, but not the way all three of them immediately focused on her neck. 

“Good evening,” Isolde said in return to the three of them. trying her best to keep her voice casual and light, as if there was nothing untoward about her neck or the collaring bruises that the dress absolutely revealed.

Lady Bela shook off her surprise first. 

“Miss Ardenlane, come here.” Lady Bela twirled a finger to have her spin around, and Isolde felt the touch of her hands at her hair, working the soft curls at her neck into a plaited bun. She was likely braiding a red ribbon into it, because Daniela was on her feet with protest as soon as she noticed.

“Bela!”

“Daniela.” Lady Bela’s hands paused as the two squared off.

Lady Cassandra grinned, exposing her canines as she leaned forward to rest her elbows on her thighs. “Well, what do you expect, Dani? You’ve given Rabbit a collaring, after all.” 

“If you’re calling me jealous, Cassandra—”

“Hey, you said it.”

“She’s a part of my staff, and I’m the one who brought her home.” Lady Bela’s hands rested on Isolde’s shoulders, and suddenly they’re back in the private hallway. Lady Bela’s grip tightened as the chill in her voice grew stronger.

Only this time—

“That doesn’t make her yours,” Daniela yanked her sister off and shouldered her way between them. This wasn’t the tense confrontation in the snow but something new, something different, and cracking open fissures along weak points between the three daughters.

The crackling tension was a storm ready to tear through the sky. Isolde glanced at Lady Cassandra to see the huntress upright and alert. Her shoulders rolled forward as she braced for trouble. Her eyes locked onto her sisters.

Yeah, she’d already been in the middle of such a power struggle. She wasn’t doing another one. Isolde stepped into the brewing storm and wedged space for herself, surprising them and herself when she spoke up. “Daniela’s right. I should be wearing green.”

The look that snapped at her left her concerned, and she regrets her decision. She knew Lady Bela would skip directly to slicing her throat, and Daniela— well, that look stole her breath.

She cleared her throat, trying to catch air and the advantage before Lady Bela reacted. 

“If I’m just a pretty bauble in the fight between exes, wouldn’t your Mother Miranda practically hand me back over to Lady Beneviento no matter how much your mother speaks on your behalf for involving her in such a petty squabble?” 

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Lady Bela snapped back. “Mother is the most devoted, the most cherished of all of the Four Lords—”

“And clearly meddling in the affairs of a petulant heir.” Isolde struggled to speak past the affronted squeak, a sudden bark of laughter, and the soft giggling. “However, however— if I arrive there with Daniela’s… favor?”

“Don’t forget the new collar you’ve got, Rabbit. Clashes a bit with your complexion, but my, how it suits you.” Lady Cassandra met her heated glare with a wolfish smirk. When Isolde glared harder, the smirk turned into something that twisted in her belly, and she’s unsure if it was residue from the night with Daniela or if she was stupid enough to find Lady Cassandra attractive. Again. As if the first time didn’t blind her enough.

She wrenched her gaze back to the eldest sister, ready to dig deep into the fight to find Lady Bela watching her with a curious, perceptive tilt. “You’re suggesting that we present the situation as my acting on Daniela’s behalf, not my own.”

Isolde nodded, pleasantly surprised when Lady Bela hums thoughtfully. Was she… genuinely considering the idea? She watched as the blonde exchanged a glance with Daniela, who looked back at her sister with a wide, taken-back gaze. 

Even Lady Cassandra was invested in the sudden shift.

Lady Bela folded her arms, tapping her fingers as she gave more thought to the idea. She continued to look between the three of them, and then with a bite to her lower lip, she returned the nod. 

“Hmm, well, we could always say that Lady Beneviento was correct. You were trying to run away, but she didn’t figure out why because Cassandra interfered—”

“Hey, why am I the villain here?”

“Because if there’s a mess, you’re the one behind it,” Lady Bela’s retort was a saccharine-sweet song that earned an annoyed eye-roll and a ‘whatever, fine,’ but no further interruption as she laid out the scaffolding of an idea that even had Lady Cassandra whistling with approval.

Lady Bela didn’t hide her preening, then turned to Isolde and Daniela. “You understand that Donna might retaliate against you— the both of you, if this works.”

“I know, Bela,” Daniela said. She stepped forward into Lady Bela’s personal space, and after a moment, she blushed and ducked her head against her sister’s welcoming embrace. They swayed together within an oasis of quiet as the Swarm’s duet resonated through.

Isolde averted her gaze to give them privacy to find Lady Cassandra staring at her from her perch on the long chest of drawers, mouth pursed and chin tucked into her hands.

She’s watching for my reaction , Isolde realized and shook her head subtly. 

At that, Lady Cassandra relaxed and swarmed to her feet. Had she been worried? 

“All right, we still have to do our part, or we’ll all be begging Mother Miranda for a pardon. Dani-girl, help Rabbit finish and meet us by the South Doors.”

Daniela nodded, extracting herself after Lady Bela kissed her forehead. “I’ll be there.”

They both watched as the pair left, shutting the door behind them. Then, Isolde waited until Daniela turned back to her to say, quite reasonably, if she was being truthful with herself: “If this is about another horseback ride….”

Daniela chuckled but shakes her head. “No.” At Isolde’s continuous, doubtful look, she squirmed slightly. “Well, I don’t think so. I mean, it’s where we usually meet to head out for the night and….”

“And…?”

Daniela headed to the dresser. She stared into the mirror above it and absolutely did not meet Isolde’s gaze in their reflections. “And… we should hurry.”

“I’m not going anywhere on horseback, Daniela.”

Daniela winced. Her eyes darted and tracked Isolde in the mirror as Isolde approached her from behind. Then, finally, she spun around, and like gravity, they were drawn together again. And with the reunion, with Daniela’s hands casually finding a home on the subtle swell of her hips; Isolde found the inevitable was at least a little more bearable since there’d been some distance and sleep between now and the last bout of horror.

Before she can quip again, though, a pang of hunger hooked behind her navel. She glanced down— she didn’t feel hungry, and yet an uneasy, churning motion in her gut left her feeling empty… ravenous.

Starving.

She jolted at a finger’s unexpected, soft touch underneath her chin and looked up to meet Daniela’s concern. “Don’t worry; we’ll have you fed soon enough.”

“Is this— is this you?” That didn’t feel like the right question. She tried again. She opened her mouth and prepared to ask… something. Anything that would help her make sense of the weird ache in the center of her chest whenever Daniela smiled at her.

Like she was now, stroking her cheek with the back of a finger. Soothing her, calming her like she was a filly. “Shh, don’t worry. I’ll keep you safe, remember?”

Daniela’s assurance didn’t last long after they reunited with the other two outside the South Entrance. Sure enough, they stood there talking as a grooms’ woman approached with three powerfully built horses that didn’t quite look like horses, though the silhouette they presented in the flickering torchlight suggested they were close enough to the idea of a horse.

She needed to stop questioning it. She really needed to stop questioning it because there was a prickling sensation on the back of her neck, and the quiet sense of danger started to tingle along the edges of her awareness.

Isolde turned as Lady Dimitrescu approached them, wearing the same dress the four of them had on. Next to her, Lady Camilla wore the same color, but where theirs were plain - the Lady of Thorns wore an elaborate evening gown. As if she was off to a gala, whereas the rest of them—

“You three should have left before the sunset,” Lady Dimitrescu’s ire was not a pleasant experience, even when not directly targeted at her. Isolde stepped aside and behind Daniela, as the countess’ attention swept over them.

As soon as Lady Dimitrescu spied her, she delivered a venomous glare stating Isolde’s sheer existence was a blight upon all that the woman held respectable and sacred. 

Isolde, for her part, kept her head lowered, her eyes averted, and when she was spoken to, her tone remained very polite.

Lady Camellia addressed her with a civil, if bemused greeting and sent a discreet glance to the countess, though Lady Dimitrescu did not return it. Or really notice it if Isolde was watching close enough. 

Instead, she eyed her eldest with an inscrutable expression, one that Lady Bela was too obvious in her pretending not to notice; an expression that morphed into something more familiar: petulance as the heir apparent stepped away from her. 

“Bela, did you not hear what I said?”

The heiress took her time with her answer, distractedly stroking the muzzle of one of the great beasts. “Of course, Mother.” She finally looked towards the draconic matriarch of the castle. “Haven’t we always collected the offerings on time?”

The words strangely hung in the cold. Isolde didn’t know what they meant, but she sensed the troubling implication all the same.

“Bela’s right, darling. They’ve practically perfected this hunt.”

“Accidents happen,” Lady Dimitrescu retorted.

Lady Camilla’s jaw tensed, irritation interrupting her otherwise calm demeanor. The disturbance faded when she realized Isolde had been watching her.

Again, Isolde averted her eyes. She waited, but nothing came of the glimpse into the strange dynamics of the Dimitrescus’. Dynamics that she would have to learn if she wanted to… well… survival felt a little hollow.

A shiver trickled down her spine, dragging her attention back. Daniela had shifted forward, following her sisters toward the horses. With reluctance, Isolde trailed after her…

Until a powerful grip stopped her steps completely.

A mockery of a mother’s protection, and every inch of Isolde wanted to buck the hold, damn the consequences. A sinister intruder in her nerves told her to relent, give in. Accept the silent command.

Daniela noticed first and turns back with a curious noise that heightened to a distressing whimper when the countess beckoned her to keep walking. However, it wouldn’t deter her; she was slowing, preparing to head back when Lady Cassandra grabbed her sleeve. 

Daniela whirled on her sister, fighting off the restraining touch, hissing her displeasure as she aimed a swipe with her left hand; her sister easily dodged the strike. “Let go!”

“Leave it be , Dani—”

Lady Bela was already intervening— reaching between her two younger sisters, snatching Daniela’s hand out of the air, pinning it between them. And with her presence, the fight bled from Daniela.

She slumped, and Lady Cassandra was there to catch her though her reassuring words fell on a stubborn, averted glare that only snapped back when the heir apparent called Daniela’s name.

“I suggest you speak to your sisters of the significance of our conversation last night,” Lady Dimitrescu’s hand was an anchor, a noose. She was the final arbitrator, no matter her daughters’ intervention, pleading, or begging.

Lady Bela nodded without looking over to them; either of them. Her gaze was on her swarm sisters. “Of course, Mother.”

“Then may your hunt bring us a bounty.”

With the Swarm riding out through the Gate to the Old Road, Isolde expected that they’d return indoors. But instead, she was ushered along a winding path toward the grand entrance and the open gardens. 

Almost like this was an outing with prospective in-laws.

Almost like she wasn’t at risk of being slaughtered if she breathed wrong, moved wrong, or thought wrong— she should stay out of the way and quiet. It was suicide to bring any more attention to her than she’d already earned …

But as much as there’d been no other option, so too she’d made her choice to stay, and with that—

“So, your daughters,” Isolde tried not to tremble as the dangerous gaze of the countess landed on her. She managed to stare back for a second or two before she retreated to the safe visage of the castle grounds around them. “They’ll not be at the … Event tonight?”

“Did Bela not explain the Midwinter Rites to you, Miss Ardenlane?” Lady Camilia inquired.

“No. She was focused on securing the blood wine last night. We worked into the morning, and I fell asleep… I don’t know when…”

“ We? ” Lady Dimitrescu asked.

Isolde risked another look. “Yes, Lady Dimitrescu. I prefer to stay busy if possible.”

There was a glimmer of curiosity somewhere as Lady Dimitrescu cast another look over Isolde as if noticing her for the first time. “Well, then. That makes you quite aware of what my Bela’s work encompasses.”

“She introduced me to her duties expected to serve both your House and the …” What had she called it? A religion? A cult? Community? Was it faith or a…

“For Mother Miranda and the Black God.” 

“Yes.” Isolde nodded, oddly grateful for the answer.

Lady Dimitrescu made a noise that could have been a non-committal filler and a statement of disapproval all at once. Hell, even approval. Risking an assumption about the countess’ thoughts was a gamble on if Isolde would see her third near-death in as many nights.

A lull naturally fell between the three of them, and within that silence, Isolde took the time to distract and distance herself by watching a parade of lights proceeding from the main road toward the castle. 

Lady Dimitrescu broke the quiet, startling her hard enough that a muscle tweaked painfully in her neck. 

The reaction amused and disappointed the woman, for she sighed as if her expectations had been met exactly as she thought they would. “Tch, fearful little thing, aren’t you? You’d have risked my daughters; they require clarity and unity on their hunt.” 

Lady Dimitrescu glanced towards the wooden trail. “Modern conveniences aside, there is a certain panache to the traditional methods of collecting the valley’s tribute.”

The phrasing caught on Isolde’s brain like fabric snagging on barbed wire. “What is left to collect?” She asked. She could see Lady Camilla glancing in surprise out of the corner of her vision; however, she was too busy maintaining eye contact with the apex predator who’d stopped and turned to stare her down. “You wouldn’t waste your daughter’s talents or put them at risk for something simple.”

“Such an interesting observation. We have a little while longer on our walk, and I would like to know what you believe to be worth their time and effort.”

This was a test if Isolde’s ever known one. If Lady Bela’d actually introduced her to the family business. If Isolde had paid attention. If Isolde was worth the effort to invest into beyond a cask and a bloodletting.

So Isolde took her time; surprisingly, she’s allowed that much. When she spoke, both ladies took interest in what she said. 

“I didn’t see much at Lady Beneviento’s, but since each of the Four Lords provides an offering… hers must be one of knowledge.”

“Mm.”

“House Dimitrescu delivers a tithe of memory.”

Lady Camilla canted her head. “There’s a difference?”

“I think so. Lady Beneviento is presenting the finest wares that the world can offer; House Dimitrescu’s wine intricately binds to the valley itself, from the women’s blood to the fermenting yeast, to the grapes-- I suspect the casks are locally sourced as well. Probably from a heritage grove.”

“You have spent time with Bela.”

“Lady Bela is incredibly passionate.” That wasn’t not a lie. 

“Indeed. My heir has never shied from her ambition, and my legacy is in good hands with her at the helm,” Lady Dimitrescu murmured her approval almost absently, but this wasn’t a conversation where future in-laws found common ground amongst their shared loved ones. It was a trap-ladened minefield. “So, you believe that my House honors … the memory of this valley.”

“Yes.”

“Enlighten me then; if I am already offering up a tithe of wine, pray to tell what is left for my daughters to reap?”

Isolde glanced towards the procession a second time. “Neither beasts nor wealth. And there’s too much chance of exposure to hunting the women now….”

She trailed off at the sight of Lady Dimitrescu’s smile, a terrifying display of teeth sharp enough to cut through her neck cleanly. A display that trickled the answer into Isolde’s thoughts like the cold drip of a faucet.

“Men. They’re rounding up men.”

“Oh, clever little doll, aren’t you?” Lady Dimitrescu leaned forward. “However, a man-thing’s flesh is not worth anything beyond meat, and the Black God herself does not require that sort of sustenance.”

A slow, creeping horror coiled at the nape of Isolde’s neck as she watched the procession coming closer and closer. There was something about the phrasing that she couldn’t let go of…

And when it came to her, she couldn’t help herself. She took a step back to distance herself from the inevitable. “The Swarm aren’t hunting for the Black God. They’re bringing in meat for the …  for the crowd.”

That terrifying smile widened into an expression that would haunt Isolde’s dreams. “Bread and Circuses in hand appeases the common man.” 

Behind the countess, two Rose Staff dressed in white shirts under a white vest over white trousers materialized out of the gloom like ghosts. They held two items, two masks. One was a garland of flowers and thorns given to Lady Camilla. The other—

As if to take pity on her and to quickly move the conversation along, Lady Camilla donned her flower mask, then turned and offered the second one to Isolde.

“Only the Lords of the Valley and the Daughters may deign to walk bare faced before the Black God and Her Priestess tonight. Bela requested that Cassandra design a mask for you a few weeks ago— I hadn’t had the chance to present it to you, so I hope the fit is comfortable.”

Or she’d been aware of Lady Dimitrescu’s orders and decided to hold onto the mask. No point in wasting effort on the dying, right? Isolde took the mask, looking at it.

It was fine craftsmanship. Soft, supple material that didn’t feel like the leather she knew it was made from. And— 

She snorted.

Of course, it’s a damned rabbit. Isolde could envision, in perfect detail, the smirk that would blossom from Lady Cassandra’s lips as soon as she saw her wearing it. 

The fit was incredible, almost a second skin, and incredibly light. Lady Cassandra’s craftmanship abilities shined in detail, and it was clear that she had made it for Isolde…but when had Lady Cassandra get her measurements? And how?

She removed the mask, tucking it against her side. “Thank you, Lady Camilla.”

Lady Camilla waved a dismissive hand. “Didn’t I tell you to call me ‘Cammi’? No matter: we’ll have plenty of time to learn about one another once we’re seated. And— don’t worry about partaking in the … main courses. There are a few meatless dishes that I insist are prepared, and I’ll be happy to point them out to you—”

 “I am afraid you’ll be left to your own devices, my flower. The little puppet will be attending to me for the night.”

“Attending. You?” Lady Camilla’s brows rose in a sharp, hawkish scowl; the accusation unvoiced but not unnoticed as she angled her neck to glare at the countess. The challenge didn’t last long after Lady Dimitrescu returned the look, but the dark furrow didn’t disappear even after Lady Camilla averts her look away.  

Lady Dimitrescu clicks her tongue disapprovingly. “Do not pout. It doesn’t suit your features or your breeding in the slightest.” Her glance skimmed over her wife before she gestured at Isolde. “I require the little puppet’s presence for some business, nothing more.”

Lady Camilla nodded, allowing the countess to crook a finger beneath her chin.

“Now, now, there’s no need to be so upset over such a trivial doll.” Lady Dimitrescu crooned her reassurance; for Isolde, it was demeaning to listen to, subject or not.

This wasn’t her place, though. This was a conversation about her, not for her. Isolde’s jaw tightened, and she stared into the shadows at the base of the castle’s walls.

Unfortunately, she’d forgotten that ignoring the countess wasn’t the best avoidance tactic. Lady Dimitrescu snatched Isolde’s chin. The strength that lurked beneath the steady pressure of her fingers sent Isolde’s hindbrain into a near panic. It was last night all over again. She braced, ready for the ringing of metal—

Lady Dimitrescu tilted Isolde’s head from one side to the other as if inspecting an unruly mare. Then, she hummed, noticing something or another that caught her interest, lifting Isolde’s head high with a mere flick of her wrist, then higher still until Isolde barely kept balance on her toes.

“Hmm. You are quite reserved for a harlot, even moreso unusual considering how fascinated Daniela’s become. I do hope you’re worth the trouble— I hate seeing my daughter disappointed. Though, I suppose that is inevitable with someone so… common.”

Harlot? Isolde’s temper flared, furious and indignant, and she bared her teeth in a sneer. She might not have fangs, but she’d still give as good as she’d been given. She’s powerful and large, and, and—

Lady Dimitrescu’s smile returned, once again all teeth. Only this wasn’t a pleasure; it was a challenge. A response to Isolde’s threat display. Her gaze dropped to Isolde’s neck, then back. “Hmm. Perhaps I might not need to expend the effort to convince Bela to reconsider her common sense after all.” She stroked her pinky along a deep groove, then released Isolde. 

Isolde stumbled back, jaw throbbing, hand coming up to soothe the pain. She glanced towards the crowd to regain some measure of her dignity, watching how they idled at the front doors, illuminated by a dozen braziers. An assortment of lavishly attired men and women, each showing off the wealth and prestige attached to their invitation.

Their profiles were made askew by the masks they all wore: Stag, boar, horse, a bull or two. There were variations of the beasts, perhaps along family or political allegiance but each creature was a specimen of nobility in their own right. Isolde was reminded of something Lady Bela said one night after a few drinks: venatus nisi venator .

Isolde couldn’t help but apply that to the crowd that milled about, waiting for the doors to open and the festivities to begin. There were no hunters here—only the hunted.

With nothing else to be done, Lady Camilla bid them both a good evening and continued towards the others alone. Lady Dimitrescu kept an eye on her until a sea of admirers swallowed her and then turned to guide Isolde down a shallow incline towards an old, weathered stone archway. A small, fallow vineyard sprawls along the hillside, the scratching barren branches scattering shadows over the snow. Above them, several scarecrows stood sentinel. 

A whiff of something foul struck Isolde’s nose as they walked by. She didn’t linger but paced herself to keep with Lady Dimitrescu’s impressive stride.

They passed underneath a stone archway with the evidence of a portcullis in the drilled holes above her head, descended along a wide stairwell and beneath a ceiling high enough that even Lady Dimitrescu walked without stooping.

They entered a massive, smooth-walled cavern that didn’t look artificial, but nothing in nature could have done this. Despite that, there were no tool marks, no signs of chiseling or polishing. No maker’s mark. Nothing that gave away an origin.

They weren’t alone, either. 

Lady Beneviento wore dark mourning attire fitting for something out of a Victorian picture, but even behind the veil, her eyes immediately seemed to find and lock on Isolde’s own. There was a heartbeat, and then a slithering numbness started to nudge at her consciousness. Her fingertips on her left-hand tingled like she’d dunked them into freezing water and forgotten them there.

The tingling turned painful, a stinging against her nerves. Then a tremble, and her hand twitched as a crawling, skittering sensation consumed her palm and started up along her wrist, sending a shiver up her spine. It felt horrible, but whatever it was, the invading sense disappeared not too long after.

Lady Beneviento’s shoulders stiffened. Next to her, however, the strange wooden doll turned an unblinking stare toward Isolde and even offered something like a welcoming wave. Isolde didn’t know why she did it, but she returned the gesture. 

The dollmaker and her issues aside, Isolde surprised herself by considering the doll a friendly face. 

“I assume you will be seeking an appeal with Mother Miranda?” Lady Dimitrescu inquired without greeting, formal or otherwise. 

“Of course,” Lady Beneviento replied. “Wouldn’t you want what’s yours to be returned?”

“I do not tend to lose what I possess.”

“So long as they sneak back before you even realize they went missing in the first place, I would agree with you.” Lady Beneviento tilted her head. She studied her fellow Lord as if the countess was just another doll to arrange as she sees fit. “Bela looks like she’s doing far better now—”

The growl that erupted from Lady Dimitrescu sent both Isolde and Angie a step back. The menace alone prickled at the hairs on the nape of Isolde’s neck. 

The confrontation died with the sound of approaching footsteps from the other entrance into the cavern. Three figures stepped through in mid-conversation. Two of them are men, one tall and broad-shouldered with a scowling, dark expression— the other coming up to Isolde’s chin thanks to the sloped, hunched profile of his back. She didn’t know either of them.

The woman between the men, though? Listening to the two squabbling with a tilted head, Isolde knew her from numerous pictures around the castle and the village. She was short, even to Isolde— but that meant nothing when her very presence engulfed the entire cavern.

She wore a votive cloth about her shoulders with a dark-feathered cloak layered over it and a well-tailored, black dress beneath it, with accents of ivory and gold throughout. Tying it all together was a piercing icy stare from beneath the cage of a gold-wire raven’s mask. 

“Something is driving them out of their dens. The local lycans are stupid, Mother Miranda, they don’t deviate too much from the basics of eating, sleeping, fuc—”

“Might you go one gathering without devolving into such vulgarities?” Lady Dimitrescu cut in, somehow sounding even more disgusted with him than when she complained about Isolde bleeding out over her rug. 

The man whirled on her without missing a beat. “You should try it sometime; it might help to dislodge that spear you’ve got shoved up your—” He stopped, brows shooting high behind a pair of dark glasses. “Who the hell is this?”

“No one important.”

“Uh- huh  You don’t bring your little strangle fig around us, and she’s apparently someone —”

“Camilla is far too delicate to spend more than a single moment in your revolting fumes.”

“Or you’re afraid she’ll remember—”

That growl came back, and this time with a ring of metal. The torchlight didn’t reveal much, but the shadow of the blades was longer than Isolde was tall.

That’s what she’d been impaled with?!

“Enough. Both of you,” the raven-masked woman spoke with an authority that extinguished the argument, looking between the two Lords like she was unsure which one of the pair disappointed her more at the moment. “Tonight is not for your petty squabbles.”

“Yes, Mother Miranda.”

“Of course, Mother Miranda.”

“Now,” With the subject finished for the moment, Mother Miranda glanced towards Isolde herself. A pale brow lifted at her appearance before she was dismissed with another moment passing.

“Must this need be addressed prior to the evening’s services?”

Lady Beneviento shook her head as Mother Miranda looked towards Lady Dimitrescu. The motion put the dollmaker in full focus, and she seemed to shrink at the attention. 

“No, Mother Miranda,” she said, soft and demure.

Mother Miranda set that assessing look back upon the countess again.

“No, Mother Miranda.”

“Very well, then the four of you— attend.”

“Mother,” the sloped-shouldered man burbled as they ascended the stairs as a group. “I know this is last minute, but if you will be so kind, so gracious, so beatific, so—”

“Enough, man!” The taller man snapped. “Your sniveling isn’t going to earn you anything but my hammer between the backside of your thick skull!” 

Mother Miranda continued walking. No hesitation. As if she’d not even heard the hunchback man’s plea for her attention.

“It pains me to agree with Lord Heisenberg, but he is correct. You have failed to produce anything of merit. Do you want the cattle to laugh at us?”

The man moved eerily fast for his broken stature, whirling on Lady Dimitrescu with almost a manic gleam in his bulbous gaze. “You d-don’t understand!” He said, with a popping at the end of each syllable. “This time, this time succeeded.”

“That’s what you said last time,” Lord Heisenberg pointed out, irritation scratching at the steadiness of his voice.

It sounded like an argument that’d been going on for a while. Isolde almost looked to Angie for an explanation but stopped herself. Instead, she kept her head straight forward. She didn’t care about the madness around her; she just wanted to survive.

And yet, wasn’t knowledge— above all else— the direct path to obtaining exactly just that?

Her hands flexed, a dull ache at her fingertips. The cold, likely— it was freezing down here. She’d be happier when there was a little more space around them; Lady Dimitrescu’s proximity sending her heart into a terrifying sprinter’s pace, and she knew she’d not find a soothing note among the others present.

“Personally, I’d be interested in seeing what Ol’ Mariner drug up from the bottom of the lake buuuuut there’s just something so interesting about tradition. Don’t you think?” Angie tugged on the edge of Isolde’s dress, ignoring Isolde’s attempts to avoid interacting with her.  

Angie, however, had decided to offer it in flawless Lithuanian, which sent Isolde’s head whipping about to look at her, slack-jawed, wide-eyes, and alarm shivering every warning bell awake within her.

Angie’s sightless gaze seemed as if she’d expected Isolde to look her way from the time she arrived. “I’m a fast learner. Can’t make a new friend and not have a secret language.”

“We’re not friends.”

“Sure we are.”

Isolde sighed, dropping the subject. It wasn’t worth the headache she already felt building behind her eyes. “What were you talking about?”

“Listen, I know this is all new for you, but trust me: we’re about to suffer through one of the worst nights of the year. Nothing but the same dinner, watching the same theatrics playing out over the same sort of drama that happened last year. Ten years before that. Another ten before that.” Angie rolled her eyes. “I have nothing against the Dragon Bugs, but sometimes a girl wants to reinvent the wheel, you know?”

Isolde absolutely did not know. She was still trying to work out how Angie knew her native language.

Angie grinned as if hearing the question directly from Isolde’s thoughts. Whatever the answer might be, though, she kept it to herself. 

Finding that she’d already broken her internal promise not to engage, Isolde deliberately forced her attention away from Angie, ignoring the cackle that follows her as she tried to listen to the conversation she was rudely pulled from instead, only to find that she was unable to figure out what any of them were discussing.

What about a water worm, an infection, and isolating the flaws? She thought she’d be able to suss out the translation if given enough time, but she kept drifting back to Angie’s perfect accent and the smirking silence.

“I could help—”

“No, thank you.”

“Hmph.” 

The disconcerting thought stuck with her as they pass the vineyard, back into the castle itself, and before they crossed through a final threshold; Lady Dimitrescu turns to her to say:

“Do wear your mask.”

And with the rabbit’s features settling over her own, Isolde followed the Four Lords into the ornate dining hall hosting the nobility. The crowd spread amongst several long tables and was attended to by various Rose and Scarlet staff members. Above their heads, three swaying chandeliers illuminated a towering ceiling. French windows dominated the wall, showing off the inner courtyard and the topiary within it.

The crowd’s murmur drowns out the more sinister whispers in Isolde’s mind, yet she couldn’t help but notice the glances coming her way more and more when she was led past the three tables towards the far end of the grand room. 

As Isolde looked back, there were at least three descending levels to the floor layout. Lady Camilla sat at the table second lowest, and the folk sitting at the back? In the highest seats? Isolde would bet lei that they were more akin to village elders rather than the gentry.

Somehow, the higher one sat, the lesser their importance to the community.

That must be because while the empty space next to Lady Camilla taunted Isolde as she was led past it, she still had three steps to descend to the final level. Lady Dimitrescu claimed a seat at the far left of a table set drastically lower than the rest of the dining hall. 

With a flickering look, she pointed Isolde to a spot to the right of the oversized, elaborate chair. As she sat, she commands Isolde in a low, rumbling voice, “Kneel and listen.”

Isolde wasn’t a fool. She began to bend the knee, already preparing for the cold stone to eat at her joints—

She stopped. Not because she’d suddenly developed a death wish. Not because she’d caught the glare coming her way and ignored the threat behind that golden gaze. 

“Did you become deaf?”

Isolde couldn’t shake her head. Couldn’t speak. Couldn’t defend herself against the furious ignition of a temper shy of an inferno. What she could do, is stare; stare and implore as silently and insistently as she could that she wanted to obey. 

She just… wasn’t allowed to.

 Lady Dimitrescu’s eyes narrowed, recognizing the twitch of Isolde’s eyes towards the still-standing Lady Beneviento.

“Well, that just will not do.” Lady Dimitrescu reached out and placed a hand on Isolde’s neck. The span of her fingers encompassed Isolde’s shoulders from one to the other, and between them, the total weight of her palm set directly over Isolde’s spine. 

Then came the force. Slow and steady at first. A constant pressure against Isolde’s body while she stared impassively across the table towards Lady Beneviento, who seemingly stared back, emotionless beneath that mourner’s veil.

Isolde’s body protested the awkward position, and the pain started to bleed white fuzz, but Isolde would not yield— no, that’s not entirely true. Not really. Isolde would happily kneel— willingly, even. She’d even go so far as to say that she wanted to, needed to just to escape the yoke.

She started to spiral through worrisome thoughts. Like: how much force would it take to break one of her bones? Sever her spine? Would that matter when someone else’s sheer spite is holding her up ?

Something gave, and her vocal cords remembered how to work. She whimpered; she couldn’t be helped when she’s hurting so terribly.

And then, just like it never happened, her body was hers again, and she sank to her knees out of relief. 

Lady Dimitrescu removed her hand immediately afterward.

Isolde investigated the crowd, finding the Lady of Thorns’ gaze at the end of that interaction.

Mother Miranda remained standing, apparently oblivious to the clash of wills occurring behind her. As if she was used to the power plays or was above them. Instead, she addressed the crowd as the Scarlet Staff brought out a choreographed array of dishes.

The women set the plates before the assembled village gentry, pouring the wine and arranging the portions to be divided among the gathered; all while the men and women listened to Mother Miranda as if her voice alone gave them purpose. It gave them a reason to continue buying into whatever sort of … cult that they all leaned into.

It set her nerves on edge, her teeth to grind, and she wanted to be anywhere but kneeling at the side of a woman who would eagerly kill her if given the opportunity.

It did not help that the food smelled divine and looked even more decadent. The spindling steam spiraled from the platters and left her mouth watering. Despite knowing the meat wasn’t venison, beef— not even pork! She’d take pork right now.

The wine the staff serves came in bottles that Isolde remembered preparing just the morning of. 

All the while, Mother Miranda spoke on the cycles of life, death, and rebirth. On the blood-soaked soil provides a bountiful cradle for new life. On the surface, without considering the words, it sounds benign. But what faith didn’t hope and wish for health, fertility, and wealth on the darkest nights of the year, really? Didn’t everyone long for the return of spring and the end to the dreary, drawling dark of winter?

It wasn’t the words that turned Isolde’s blood to ice in her veins, but the fervor that licked through the crowd like a bonfire-fed kindling. It was the way that the crowd devoured not just the sermon but the feast before them as well— the ravenous hunger leaving her stomach roiling. 

After all, she knew where that wine came from, how it fermented, how it collected that unique bouquet that the gentlemen from the table four steps up praised. 

And that was without thinking too much longer about the food …

A gentle touch of pressure to the back of her skull, and she found herself turning to look at Lady Beneviento, looking at Angie sitting on the woman’s lap like a demented child, waving when Isolde spotted her. 

She wrenched control back, nearly falling over because she’d overestimated the strength needed— or perhaps because Lady Beneviento released her just before she tried and scrambled to brace herself before anyone else noticed.

She looked over the gathered revelers again.

Do they know? She wondered with a mild sense of grotesque curiosity. But if they know, do they even care?

Her movements were Isolde’s own once again; she used that freedom to locate the delicate unfurling petals of the Lady of Thorn’s mask. Maybe she was trying to justify how anyone can accept this. Perhaps she was trying to see if the woman wasn’t as hedonistic as the gentry around her.

Maybe she just wanted to watch in silent horror as Lady Camilla drank deep of her wine cup while meeting Isolde’s gaze. And then, without missing a beat, she smiled around the laden fork she lifted to her lips.

Ah.

There’s something to be said about her mental state that she wasn’t that surprised. Not really, not when she stopped to think about it longer than she probably wanted to. Had she finally reached a point where she no longer cared? Was this just the emotional exhaustion from the previous night finally overwhelming her common ethics? 

Or was this just… inevitable, and she was growing tired of fighting the future?

Whatever drove her blithe acknowledgment of the insidious nature of the festivity about her was better left untouched and buried deep in her psyche. She didn’t want to go down that rabbit hole or risk digging that introspective up… doesn’t want to see what would look back at her when she did.

All she really wanted right now was a familiar face—three of them.

And as if answering her very thoughts, the doors opened upon the return of the Dragon’s Daughters and the bounty the valley still had left to offer.

Chapter Text

Isolde couldn’t help craning up on her toes to see what, exactly, Lady Dimitrescu might had dubbed a bounty when the daughters entered alone; striding in with their heads held high and a vibrato in the air stirring up an underlying foreboding to their arrival. They entered the dining hall to a deafening hush that rippled from the tables at the highest platform until it broke over the lowest like a wave.

In their wake, a pack of masked men and women prowled forward with the same sinister intentions as the Wolves at Lady Cassandra’s beck and call among the castle staff. Isolde almost mistook them for the dangerous women at first until she registered the lack of gold in their attire. The masks they wore further impressed the imagery of slavering beasts; vicious and lupine in their angles—complete with snarling lips peeling back from exaggerated canines.

Isolde’s gaze dropped to the thick collar encircling their necks; how the ears of their masks pricked high and alert. These were not the ravenous wolves of folklore and nightmare, but a pack of hunting dogs straining at the leash…

And the daughters had brought them into the very heart of a game preserve.

As the crowd shifted uneasily, sensing the trouble brewing in the air, Isolde spied the extravagant flower displays she had missed noticing on entrance, flanked between the power struggle of two Lords. The large, golden inflorescences shivered in a sourceless breeze; she knew those petals—remembering them as the only point of color in a dusty, stagnant room.

The cloying scent. The rasping breath. The way Terika shambles into view…

She tensed, readying to bolt, shifting her weight from her knees into her thighs, ready to surge to her feet when a commanding weight laid claim to the span of her shoulders.

“No matter how prestigious the prey in the garden tonight, a flighty rabbit will draw unwanted attention. I suggest you stay still,” Lady Dimitrescu murmured with a malicious sort of glee. “Or see what happens if you bolt; I personally do not care.”

Unwittingly, Isolde looked over to Lady Beneviento. Anxiety snatched at her breath as she waited to see if the dour Lady would take it upon herself to see what would happen should a rabbit decide to bolt. She braced herself for the tension growing behind her eyes; for the oppressive weight to drag down her mind…

It never came.

She blinked rapidly as she darted her gaze between each potential threat; her muscles quivering against her instincts to flee—her instinct. Not the tugging of another’s desire to see her act. This freedom to throw herself to the wolves shouldn’t have made her feel this good, but it did.

There came a sick sense of relief as she swallowed around the racing pulse in her throat; the rasp of her dress as she tried to wipe away the clammy sweat on her palms because she wanted her hands free and dry in case she needed to run and grasp. Still her choice. No strings attached.

She risked another glance at the woman who, literally, had hooks deep inside her psyche as the veiled Lady watched the daughters’ antics. Isolde looked for Angie—couldn’t find her—

Until she heard the scampering of bare wooden feet underneath the nearest table as Angie worked her way back to Lady Beneviento’s side to present her mistress with something small.

Lady Beneviento praised Angie with a nod as she accepted the unknown item, slipping it away into a pocket. Then she tilted her head to meet Isolde’s gaze directly. Even without direct eye-contact, the intensity of that stare stuck against the hindbrain.

She needed to look somewhere—anywhere else. Back towards the leashed hounds beginning to swagger and circle at the limits of whatever invisible lead Lady Cassandra held them with. If not there—Isolde’s gaze slid to the malevolent delight transforming Lady Dimitrescu’s expression to something monstrous.

When that’s too much, she tried to find a friendly face to steady her nerves within the crowd and found Lady Camilla already on her feet and hurrying to one of the smaller servant exits, where the Scarlet Staff awaited her with their hands ready on the door handles to barricade the castle from the inevitable horrors about to occur.

The doors slammed shut with a rattling finality before the first notes of an unearthly wailing began. As the noise rose to a crescendo that rumbled through the room like thunder, Isolde saw the gathered guests starting to break apart from one another in a panicked frenzy, trying to distance themselves from the daughters and the hounds straining at the leash.

Lady Cassandra laughed, then, a sadistic melody undercutting the crowd’s frenetic murmuring; then lifted her hands and all hell broke loose.

 The newcomers lunged at the honored guests as if they truly believed themselves to be a pack of bloodthirsty dogs. They descended upon their neighbors like animals, tackling their targets into the tables; chasing them through the chairs.

As the crowd turned into a mob the first vase knocked over, releasing a bloom of golden pollen that draped over the room like a gossamer cloth. Isolde reared back, nearly falling ungainly onto her ass, at the sight. She cupped her hands over her mouth and nose, turning her head away—struggling to keep her breath shallow; so shallow her vision started to swim…

But she couldn’t escape the screams, or the unsettling truth that followed: that she wasn’t succumbing to whatever collective nightmare the guests had fallen into.

They acted like animals, but Isolde saw them for what they really were. Humans. Rapacious in the desire to rip one another apart.

She wrenched her gaze away from the horrific scene only to be met with the mocking smirk that slashes across Lady Dimitrescu’s mouth. Bile welled in her stomach along with a brewing guilt that she was bearing witness to the approaching massacre. There’s nothing she could do.

Rather than linger on that despairing thought, she forced herself back to the unfolding chaos; allowing herself to become lost in the daughters’ graceful movements as they descend to meet the Lords. They walked unmolested through the mob, reminding Isolde of hawks diving through a flock of sparrows … and then she had an idea.

She didn’t know where the spark of courage came from, or how she could draw on it without shaking like a lamb, but she pushed up to her feet and stepped forward to meet them.

If Lady Cassandra releasing the hounds was the thunder, then the snap of the Lords’ stares as Isolde broke away from Lady Dimitrescu’s side to walk directly into the eye of the hurricane was the bolt of lightning.

No—not just walk into. She went to greet the nightmare like an old friend, willingly extending her neck for the noose that would inevitably claim it.

Every step made the stench of fear more palpable as Isolde strode away from safety, her path becoming more difficult as the crowd swelled with people trying to push their way out. Her nerves started to fray as a boar-masked man shoved himself behind her, turning her into a human barricade between himself and the relentless monsters tearing through the ones who hadn’t escaped.

She’s going to be crushed here. The thought cut through her bravado like a knife, and she stumbled, losing the little ground she had. The crowd pressed tighter, making it harder to breathe, harder to move, harder to even think.

The man shoved her forward and made a break for it. Someone else snatched at her arm, whirling her off-step. Something hooked her dress, jerking her back. A growl reverberated somewhere to her left—

“Isolde.”

Her name cut through the fog like a beam of light, drawing her attention back with it.

Daniela stood between her sisters and beckoned to Isolde with a wine glass in hand. She was so much more of a threat than the ravaging throng. She was the last person Isolde should want to flee to, but all Isolde could see is the sanctuary she offered in the literal eye of the storm.

And that was more than enough reason to continue forward, shouldering her way through the sea of terrorized people, squeezing herself through the narrow gaps between bodies as the crowd surged up and broke against the doors. Those already there screamed with broken, rasping voices as they begged for someone—anyone to hear them— to recognize the pounding of their fists and rescue them.

Lady Dimitrescu’s gaze seared into her as a reminder to Isolde that she can’t retreat lest she be branded by the woman’s anger. Behind her, the sounds of butchery pressed closer, punctuated by screaming. The air swam with a golden haze over everything, and the iron-salt of blood became overwhelming—

And then Daniela welcomed her into the circle of her arms. Here, the roar dulled. Here, she found her footing. Here, there was the feather-touch of fingers at the tip of her chin, tilting her head back.

Instead of blood, all Isolde smelled was Daniela’s perfume; like a rose in full bloom, intoxicatingly sweet and rich. She leaned in, greedy for more, and made a small noise when her mouth bumped against the rim of the wine glass Daniela’s brought up for her to drink.

She met Daniela’s gaze from beneath her lashes, and though she knew that she shouldn’t, all she could think about was how Daniela tasted last night. There was no justification strong enough for her sudden need to feel Daniela’s mouth against her own. Or how the pressure of Daniela’s hand on her shoulder stopped feeling insistent and started feeling like a tether.

Even though guilt fizzled at the edge of her excuses, she could explain Rozil’s death in terms of survival. It was a powerful, compelling instinct. But this…? This was the point of no return. This was the fruit of the garden.

HaShem forgive her, but what else left is there to do but partake…?

The wine cascaded through her like a flood, stealing her breath as the world started to sway onto a new axis. She swayed in place, suddenly aware of how close Daniela’s standing—her hands pinning Isolde with enough possessiveness in her grip that there would be bruises in the shape of her fingers come the morning. It didn’t help that Daniela’s breath sent goosebumps down her spine in waves that left her shivering and pliant as Daniela brought her even closer.

A fire swirled in her belly as Daniela leaned forward to brush her lips over the patch of skin just below Isolde’s ear, turning her wrist effortlessly to allow Isolde another drink. “Shh, easy,” she said softly, her lips brushing Isolde’s ear with each syllable. “This is a strong vintage.”

“There’s still half a glass left,” Isolde replied, turning her head into Daniela’s until their noses brushed. When Daniela giggled, she tilted her head back only to falter momentarily as she caught the unmistakable glimmer of something far more fragile and vulnerable than either of them are ready for.

If she’s smart, she’d step back—give them the space they need. Instead, she encircled her arms about Daniela’s neck and rose on her tiptoes as she whispered, “Besides, you promised to take care of me.”

Daniela nodded, looking at Isolde’s lips for a moment then back up again, swallowing thickly around her words. “I did.” She tensed, then, lifted her head and snarled into the crowd as a hound stumbled sideways into them, jostling them off-balance.

Daniela maneuvered Isolde behind her while the man lurched back to his feet, his arm dangling uselessly at his side. That doesn’t deter him from throwing himself back into the frenzy, barreling into the back of someone wearing a swan mask—bringing their good hand up and wrenching the bird’s neck into a broken angle.

The crack was as loud as a gunshot, and Isolde’s bravado fled at the noise. She turned, burying her head against Daniela’s chest as Daniela’s arms wrapped around her, cocooning her close to a soft, comforting drone. In return, Isolde curled her fingers around Daniela’s bustier, clutching it close like a lifeline.

“We should go to Mother while the crowd’s preoccupied,” Lady Bela spoke quietly beside them, her touch ghosting along the small of Isolde’s back.

Isolde stiffened. It didn’t matter that the girls surrounded her. The thought of walking back through the suffocating crowd kicked her pulse into a fast, thready pace. She shook her head when Lady Bela’s touch shifted to her elbow. She was not going to move. She would stay right here where it’s safe and—

Lady Bela’s touch became more insistent.

She threw it off this time. Shook her head and refused to listen even though she knew Lady Bela was right. They needed to leave before they were trampled, but Isolde kept looking at the crushed pile of bodies at the nearest door and couldn’t help but picture herself trapped underneath that undulating, stifling mass. Buried in a living coffin and, and—

Rabbits can die from stress, you need to keep her calm…

“...do you want to do? She’s going to send us all into a blind panic!” Frustration bled rough over Lady Bela’s words, and Isolde wanted to apologize, but there’s the sound of someone being ripped open and she couldn’t focus on something as simple as ‘retreat’...

“I could always just pick her up,” Lady Cassandra said from her other side. “Like a potato sack.”

Absolutely not! She thought, shuddering at the thought of someone else touching her, lifting her, grabbing her—wait. What? Had she heard that correctly? She turned her head, peering one eye at the huntress. “Did you call me a potato sack?”

Lady Cassandra’s eyes flashed with mischief. “I said like a potato sack, though you are the right size of one.” She laughed at Isolde’s offended squeak. “I mean, I get it, you don’t want to risk walking through a field of hammers meeting anvils—”

“Cassandra….”

“—but if I pick you up, you’ll be head and shoulders above the rest.”

“Head and… I am not that small!” Isolde twists about to pin Lady Cassandra under a proper glare. She swiped at the hand Lady Cassandra used to measure out her height, then lurched for her when she mimed her being even shorter.

“You’re, what, about Angie’s size. Should be fine.” Lady Cassandra danced out of reach, taking a step backwards as Isolde went for her again. “Ok, ok, some of the village children might be smaller than you.”

“You are so infuriating!”

“Stop being so easy to rile up.”

“I am not easy to rile up, you’re just an—” Isolde trailed off as she stepped down onto the stage. She’d lost track of what she’d been about to insult Lady Cassandra with, realizing what had just happened. When she looked back to meet Cassandra’s gaze, she found herself matching the woman’s faint smile.

“You’re still an ass,” she murmured gratefully.

“Asses are known to get the job done, aren’t we?” Cassandra stepped past her with a lazy sweep of her sickle, squaring off against any would-be attackers. Though the crowd seemed too focused on the more intimate slaughter.

With the immediate sense of suffocation gone, Isolde looked at the guests, both hunter and hunted alike. “Who are they?” She asked as three hounds’ cornered a stag against a table. She flinched as he screamed and fell beneath their rabid attacks. They tore into him with fingers, with teeth, with whatever they could use to split him open between them.

“Some of them are rivals. Ex-lovers. A petty grievance.” Lady Bela said, prompting Isolde to turn her way.

“They… choose their own executioners? That feels…” Isolde trailed off when there was nothing else to say.

“Poetic?”

Isolde could think of a thousand other descriptors. Barbaric. Cruel. Vindictive…

Prophetic…

She shook her head. “How is there anyone left alive? Does this happen every Midwinter?”

Lady Bela hesitated in her answer. “... it is not for me to judge what the endless dark requests of us. She will deliver us into fate’s hands.”

“And we make our sacrifice, awaiting the light at the end.” Mother Miranda came forward, clasping her hands on Lady Bela’s shoulders. Her gaze pierced through them, leaving Isolde feeling exposed as it landed squarely on her. “Your maid servant is uncannily self-aware for the evening’s festivities.”

“Yeah, you’re telling us,” Angie muttered, rattling to her feet when they all look at her. “What? I didn’t say anything.”

“Ah, it relates to that, then.” Mother Miranda sighed, pursing her lips as she collected her thoughts. She looked past them towards the carnage beyond and sounded almost bored as she called for Lord Heisenberg and Lord Moreau to stay and watch.

“Do I have to?” Lord Heisenberg leered at Lady Dimitrescu. “I think watching Miss Priss learn to share is more entertaining.”

“Heisenberg.” Mother Miranda didn’t even bother to look at him before she turned to address—“Cassandra. Daniela.”

Daniela went rigid underneath Isolde’s touch. “Yes, Mother Miranda?”

“The two of you will remain here as well to ensure the most worthy survive—”

“But—!” Daniela’s protest withered when Mother Miranda’s gaze turned vicious. She hunched her shoulders in, tried to appear smaller and less threatening; even still, her arms stayed about Isolde, drawing her so close that Isolde felt the trembling of the Swarm through both layered of clothing.

It’s time she delivered some assurance of her own.

“Hey,” Isolde drew Daniela’s attention to her with a sweet touch on her cheek, smiling when their eyes met. “Lady Bela brought me back home once already.”

Daniela’s gaze flickered to where her sister stood.

“Can you trust her again? For me?”

She felt a rapid pulse of low, reverberating buzzing pass through her as Daniela continued to hold her sister’s stare. Then, with a touch more delicate than Isolde’s seen yet, Daniela handed Isolde figuratively and literally into Lady Bela’s care.

Isolde leaned into the heiress as the heat of Lady Bela’s arms countered the freezing panic dripping down her spine from Mother Miranda’s attention—which had still not left her—and drew Isolde away from the horrors of what-ifs stifling her thoughts.

What if this isn’t enough? What if Mother Miranda decides to rule in Lady Beneviento’s favor regardless? What if—?

She lost the question completely when a finger tucked underneath her chin and tilted her head to the soft warmth of a summer sun. Lady Bela smiled down at her, and lightly shook her chin. “Shh, Little One. You don’t need to scream so loud.”

Isolde blinked. She hadn’t said anything … had she?

Lady Bela’s smile widened more as she tapped Isolde’s nose with the same finger she crooked her jaw up with.

Someone clears their throat. It sounds like Lady Dimitrescu, but Isolde found that she didn’t care.

She glanced back to Daniela and Cassandra, trying to convey that she’d be all right in a smile. Daniela frowned in response, taking a step forward as if Isolde asked her for help instead.

Cassandra snagged her sister’s wrist and brought her to a stop. She looked back to Isolde and nodded. She had Daniela.

Just as Lady Bela had Isolde.

The five of them left through a hidden door behind the Lord’s Dias and from there, they adjourned to one of the nearby dens often utilized by the upper staff during formal dinners. The room ws small enough to make the seating arrangement intimate; still, neither the familiarity nor the displayed comfort assuaged Isolde’s frayed nerves as the three Lords (and Angie) each took a seat for themselves, with Lady Dimitrescu claiming the seat at the sculpted wood desk.

Isolde stopped barely inside the threshold and didn't budge beyond that. She plants her feet squarely over her newfound claim—she is not giving up the only exit to the room, Lady Bela’s protection aside.

She expected resistance, prepared for it even, only to find a twist of gratitude as Lady Bela smoothly adapted to remaining directly at her side; the perfect escort; even placing herself to break the direct line of sight between Isolde and Lady Beneviento. She stood proud, jutting her chin high as she looked towards Mother Miranda and the unamused expression the Priestess wore.

“I would suggest that someone start talking. Now.”

Lady Bela immediately glanced pointedly to her sitting counterpart, Isolde catching the bemused look that earned from Lady Dimitrescu without either of the first two noticing.

Unfazed, Lady Beneviento cleared her throat and smoothed a hand over the front of her dress. Her words coiled around the room like a noose tightening with every pass until Isolde swore the rope was at her neck. “Two days ago, my attendants recovered a woman who had fallen into the high aqueduct and brought her back to me. She was not beyond repair, so I set about restoring her to serve as a new companion. As I worked, Bela arrived to discuss the Exchange, claiming that the woman was one of her retainers. As it was late and the weather unsuitable for travel, I advised that we adjourn for the night and come up with a compromise.”

“And did you?”

“No. The next morning, Bela took her—”

The accusation sent Lady Bela forward, almost pulling Isolde off her feet. “She was never yours to begin with—!”

“Are you accusing my Bela of thievery?”                                              

“Of course not. I would never accuse Bela of anything untoward.” Isolde pictured the placid expression Lady Beneviento wore, even as the subtle venom of her words took root. “After all, I know how…eager…Bela is to be as obedient as possible.”

An enraged roar erupted from Lady Dimitrescu as she surged forth her chair, her eyes blazing with fury. Her menacing aura flooded the room, sending chills down Isolde’s spine and her heart racing with fear. Terror dug nails into her brain when Lady Bela took ahold of her wrist. She pressed hard against Isolde’s hammering pulse, but Isolde felt the touch at her wound. A sudden pain lanced through her, turning her vision blurry with tears, but as it continued, the terror subsided to a dull roar.

She tensed, at first worried that she no longer felt the brutal yank of Lady Beneviento’s threads, but a simple look at the Dollmaker was enough to disprove that. There was movement in her periphery, and she turned to find Lady Bela already looking at her.

Had the calm come from her?

Any chance to ask that question, or any of the others suddenly bubbling up disappeared when Mother Miranda snapped her arms out to the side, and said, sharply, “Enough!”

The entire room fell silent.

She waited, terrifyingly patiently, as Lady Dimitrescu returned to her seat. Once she had the room’s attention again, she shook her head, disappointed in them. “I do not care about your petty squabbles—and I care even less during Midwinter. Continue—without commentary.”

Lady Beneviento remained as still as the doll she suggested she’d turned Isolde into as that ice-blue glare locked onto her. In her lap, Angie made up for the weirdness by being even weirder—fidgeting as if she was the human one of the pair until her mistress spoke again. “She carries a portion of my Cadou within her—"

The leather chair creaked beneath Lady Dimitrescu’s grip as cracks spider webbed along its surface.

“Her name is Isolde,” Lady Bela retorted, sharply. “And your inability to discern ownership is neither hers nor my problem.”

“Then allow me to properly explain my case.” Lady Beneviento’s tone dripped with patronizing boredom. “Isolde has successfully integrated the Cadou I used to reconstruct her. She bears my lineage, therefore is under my domain. As you belong to your Mother’s.”

Mother Miranda’s sudden interest in Isolde frightened her; she’d rather be ignored and discarded than scrutinized so intently. The Prophetess’ stare left Isolde exposed and vulnerable—barely restraining herself from ducking behind Lady Bela to avoid it.

“Is this true, Bela?” Mother Miranda inquired with mild suspicion, her eyes narrowing as if she was dissecting the heiress. “She may have been one of your personal retainers, and—clearly—a beloved one.” The attempt at sincerity fell flat. “However, if… Isolde, was it?”

Lady Bela nudged her elbow into Isolde’s side.

Oh. Oh, that was directed at her.

“Yes… Mother Miranda.” Isolde managed.

“If … Isolde is a suitable vessel for the Cadou then by the lines of inheritance, she is of House Beneviento and subject to Lady Beneviento’s law.”

“Isolde is Daniela’s truest companion, Mother,” Lady Bela interjected, breaking away from Isolde’s side to stand before her mother with hands slightly outstretched and her voice becoming sweet as she plead for Lady Dimitrescu to listen. “You know she is. Daniela’s calmer, happier, less… impulsive. One loss in the after-harvest. Only one!”

Lady Dimitrescu’s mouth twitched almost into a smile. “Two. No matter the justification for Miss Goldis’ punishment.”

Lady Bela ducked her head. “Two,” she conceded before she reached out for her mother’s hands. Though Lady Dimitrescu scowled, she readily allowed her daughter to take them up.

Next to her, Lady Beneviento watched with a tilt to her head. “Sentiment does not overwrite the Rule of First Inheritance, Libelulă.”

“It’s not sentiment. You’re merely incapable of listening.” Lady Bela’s look dripped disdain, the fractured end to whatever history they shared crystallizing in her expression. “Isolde was claimed as House Dimitrescu’s before you ever laid eyes on her. I meant it when I told you that she was ours.”

The entire room turned to Lady Dimitrescu, each of them with varying expressions. From Lady Beneviento’s stilted, sightless stare to Lady Bela’s gaze, once again demure and respectfully imploring. Isolde risked a glance at Mother Miranda but couldn’t read Mother Miranda’s expression—but it didn’t bode well either way the wind might blow.

“Is this true, Alcina?” Mother Miranda’s tone balanced dangerously beyond simple curiosity. “Did House Dimitrescu lay claim to this woman before House Beneviento?”

Even from across the room, Isolde sensed how the Swarm grew still and taut, quivering from every wingtip and abdomen as Lady Bela waited on her mother’s answer; Imploring—begging—pleading for her to say ‘yes’.

The silence stretched into minutes, pulling the seconds along like saltwater taffy held too long in one’s hand. As it continued, Lady Beneviento straightened in her seat, head angling high with victory all but written in the breadth of her shoulders. At her side, Angie kept herself upright by a hand tangled in her skirts, with her head cocked studiously at an angle, giving her a shadow of a pensive frown.

“Mother, please. Isolde belongs to our House. With us.”

Eventually, Lady Dimitrescu released a slow exhale through pursed lips as she leveled a gaze on her heir that spoke of a price to be paid out later but gave in to what Lady Bela’s asking of her: she nodded. “Daniela requested her after the harvest. I gave them permission...”

“Interesting. The first success in decades and yet we received no proclamations from you.” The menacing undertow to the softness of Lady Beneviento’s statement left Isolde’s blood cold.

Lady Dimitrescu’s eyes narrowed, and her voice cut through the insinuation pointed her way. “At that point in time, I was under the impression that the procedure had been unsuccessful. I saw no issue with Daniela keeping the girl and decided to abstain from broadcasting the procedure’s failure for peer review.”

“And yet, somehow, I failed to sense the Dimitrescu strain within her. I wouldn’t have been able to stabilize her if she had been already claimed. As you state she was.”

“Perhaps it merely needed a usurper to rally against. After all, House Dimitrescu flourishes best with conquest.” Lady Dimitrescu preened, turning the conversation away from Isolde and toward whatever unresolved feud was between the two Great Houses.

Angie snorted at the display. “Was your Cadou asleep or something? Cause I was there, Dragon Lady. Isolde was a wide-open field, ripe for the sowing.”

“If you possessed basic faculties instead of being nothing more than a mindless toy, you’d comprehend what I just said moments ago. I refuse to repeat myself again.”

“Hey, at least people like toys! Tall, aggressive lizard ladies? Not so much.”

“Lady Beneviento,” Mother Miranda sounded exasperated. “Reign her in. Now.”

“Her commentary might be uncouth, but her complaint is genuine and shared with me. The woman—”

“Isolde,” Lady Bela said.

“I haven’t decided what to name her yet,” Lady Beneviento interjected, barely sparing them an aside glance.

It was Isolde’s turn to brave the hostility of those three Lordly gazes. She reached out to steady Lady Bela before emotions stole the best of her argument. She slipped her hand into the heiress’ own and squeezed so hard that her knuckles turned white. It worked, snapping the woman’s attention away from the brewing storm and back to her.

“Leave it,” she said under her breath. “It’s not wor—”

“It is to me.” Lady Bela’s stare stole what little breath Isolde had from her, leaving her speechless in its intensity. When Isolde didn’t protest further, Lady Bela relaxed with a nod.

“Isolde survived the fall into the aqueduct, but if you require more… there was an… incident between her and Daniela prior to that. Mother was gracious enough—we were more relieved that Isolde survived that we didn’t think—” Lady Bela turned that soft insistence onto Mother Miranda.

Isolde thought that the two looked eerily similar. Almost as if they’re Mother and Daughter, rather than—her eyes flickered to Lady Dimitrescu, then she jumped, finding the countess staring back at her. The Lady was imposing enough without the additional frustration of an inscrutable expression. She finally allowed Isolde to look away when Mother Miranda relented.

“Well, we’ve all seen the aftermath of Daniela’s fits before … I suppose that Isolde being a vessel—even a weak one—is the only logical explanation for how … willingly she is to remain in you and your sister’s care.”

The sting of those words cut Isolde down to size. She hissed a breath, squeezing Lady Bela’s hand tighter in response.

“Bela is dedicated to providing you with the Perfect Vessel.”

“She is, isn’t she?” Mother Miranda said with a stroke of her knuckle down Lady Bela’s cheek. “Very well, I have made my decision. Though there is some... argument, House Dimitrescu has the stronger claim as Alcina is the first of my Lords. And as First Lineage states, Isolde will remain as Alcina’s charge however—” her eyes flashed dangerously at the relief that slumped Lady Bela’s shoulders. “I do sense House Beneviento’s strain within her as well, therefore, she will study under Lady Beneviento’s tutelage at times your Houses may negotiate. Should that prove … troublesome … then I will intervene.”

“We understand.” Lady Beneviento said. Her finger twitched. She stood in one smooth motion. “We will call after the new year.” She waited with her head tilted toward Mother Miranda.

“Acceptable.”

Lady Beneviento set Angie down and left without another word. Angie, on the other hand, turned around to look back.

“See you at our first playdate.” That shouldn’t had been so ominous, but when it came from a living wooden doll… Isolde couldn’t be blamed for feeling a sense of dread. Angie left with an exaggerated wave and a cackle to remember her by.

Isolde was too busy processing that to hear Mother Miranda speaking with the countess, but she did notice when said priestess stopped in front of her and tilted her chin up without warning.

“I am used to Alcina’s intercessions on behalf of her favorites … needless to say, I am curious to see what potential lies ahead of you.” The touch to her chin turned sharp as Mother Miranda released her with a parting nick from those golden talons. “Now, I sense that you three have much to discuss and I have a new nobility to welcome into the flock.”

“You are very gracious, Mother Miranda,” Lady Dimitrescu said, standing as a courtesy until the priestess disappeared down the hallway.

Lady Bela gestured for them to follow suit, and Isolde hates the idea of Lady Dimitrescu at her back, but anything to get out of that room and back towards some semblance of normalcy—well, as normal as one could be in this castle.

They made it to the threshold when Lady Dimitrescu called her daughter’s name. Isolde lingered when Lady Bela’s fingers drift down from her arm to touch lightly at her hips. The action wasn’t lost on the matriarch seated at the far edge of the room, pulling a sneer from her.

“I would speak with you.” Her eyes flickered to Isolde, then back. “Alone.”

A shiver ran down Lady Bela’s spine. “Of course, Mother.” She turned her head, ducking low enough to whisper into Isolde’s ear. “Wait for me, please.”

Isolde nodded and stepped across the threshold alone as Lady Bela shut the door behind her with a parting glance that wasn’t at all reassuring.

Isolde took a minute to herself, debating where to go. She could return to the great hall, but the thought of seeing the bloody afterbirth of whatever ascension rite she witnessed made the wine curdle in her stomach. The thought of returning to her room—or Daniela’s—drifts by, but she let it continue without giving it more weight than acknowledgment; something about the idea of being alone left a bitter taste in her mouth.

She didn’t have the chance to consider a third option because it materialized in front of her. From seemingly nothing, Lady Beneviento appeared in the middle of the corridor.

“I wonder if you understand that libelula mea can pour the entire colony down the cavern of your throat and you will still wind up standing exactly where you are?” Something sinister lurked in Lady Beneviento’s words—a soft promise of ominous potential in the dark. She was so quiet and yet Isolde heard every syllable—every hitch and drop of tone like the Lady spoke succinctly into a microphone.

Isolde didn’t disagree with her statement, though she wanted to—desperately. However, here she was, outside of Lady Bela’s all-seeing watch and right in the heart of the horror she’d only just escaped from. The corners of her nervous system trembled like the clarion of an alarm bell muffled behind a dozen walls, and she heard it—she just couldn’t—wouldn’t— mustn’t heed it.

And she was no longer making the choices.

Lady Beneviento studied her like she might an insect pierced on a needle’s point. She’d forgone the veil, had it pulled up and back over her hair like a quiet church-sister rather than the powerful creature Isolde knew her to be.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Lady Beneviento laughed, a rasping noise. “Has she even told you, I wonder? What she did to make you believe you were ever anything but mine?”

Isolde frowned, shaking her head. No. No, the one thing Lady Bela’d been vague about had been exactly the one thing Isolde’s been begging to know since it happened.

“I could tell you.” Now she sounded kind, almost like they’re sharing a secret over the table. “I could show you, even. After all, no matter the melody she plays, it is upon the strings I gave you.” The look shifted, appraisingly instead of critical. She’s one to keep in the display. “Made in my image, one might say.”

“You are not a god,” Isolde snapped back.

“A god?” Lady Beneviento crooked a finger and Isolde stumbled forward like literal strings tied them together. “No, but yours?” A cool, pale hand traced the line of Isolde’s jaw, back to her ear, down along the thundering beat within her neck. “Perhaps. I gave you life, after all.”

The words died in Isolde’s throat, choking on the stern glare that didn’t need words to convey ‘silence’.

So she did that. Fell silent. Fell in line. Stood up when a finger twitched, and delicate cupid bow lips pursed. She stood there as the Lord walked a circle about her and did not once call for any of the Ladies. She knew where they were—felt them like three tiny starbursts of light in her mind, but—why call them?

She tilted her head when the Lord stepped into her space. Lady Beneviento smelled of aseptic fields and a heavy blend of mint-herbs. There’s also a brush of cedar as she inspected the wound, noting that it was still a gaping, cavernous thing. Her fingers pushed in, watching Isolde for the moment the pain registered.

A flicker of satisfaction crossed her gaze when it struck. She smirked when Isolde winced—cooed, even, when Isolde wavered, sweat beading at her brow. And then truly smiled when Isolde’s scream choked in the dregs of the silent plea for help she’d already smothered.

“Bela is many, many things,” Lady Beneviento pressed her finger deeper, working between the fine threading she’d painstakingly sewed; “She is not, however, a Lord. And without her nearby, you become exactly as I found you.”

Isolde’s knees buckled and she was caught just before she hit the floor. Lady Beneviento was no Lady Cassandra, though, and could only steady her as they sank to their knees together.

“There we are,” Lady Beneviento said, smoothing out their attire as if this had been planned from the beginning. “I’m surprised that you’re still coherent—what did Bela call you? Isolde?”

Please don’t say my name, Isolde thought. At least her thoughts are still her own.

Lady Beneviento shifted and then they’re two women tucked together in the small alcove, sharing secrets like two dear friends. “Most dolls remain catatonic after implantation.”

Implantation?

The Lord’s laughter was a huff of breath. “Yes, you heard me correctly. Implantation. If there’s one thing I will never do to you, dear Isolde,” she said as she leaned in, setting her chin on Isolde’s unaffected shoulder, “is lie to you.”

Her hands curled about Isolde’s waist, cool, pale fingers dancing along the top of her breeches, skittering away when Isolde twitched without being allowed to.

“Ticklish?” She tilted her head. Ignored the way Isolde’s hands tightened into fists but didn’t ignore how Isolde avoided looking at her. “I asked a question, Isolde.”

Isolde turned to stare into dark eyes that swallowed the light around them. Wanted to scream and found herself leaning in, instead. Felt the brush of softness against her mouth. Angled her head for a second go, and fell back when pushed against the wall. The stone scraped her shoulders through the thin linen of her shirt, leaving behind a rasping soreness.

It’s when her arms came up to link about the Lord as if they were a pair of lovers stealing an intimate moment that the first stabbing pain ricocheted through her shoulder, driving a spike down along her arm until her wrist throbbed and her body became hers once again.

“Release her.” Rage saturated all dozen pitches of Lady Bela’s voice, frequencies shifting in a frenzied pattern that distorted all civility from her tone.

Lady Beneviento pulled back into the shadows before retaliation was an option Isolde could consider, and returned her veil back over her face. “I’ll leave you to think on what I said, Isolde.”

She left the way she arrived, by fading into the background until it was hard to remember that she’d ever been there in the first place. Isolde didn’t move from where she’d fallen against the wall; even as Lady Dimitrescu approached from behind her daughter, having watched the encounter with a furrowed brow.

Isolde took the moment for what it’s worth: catching her breath, trying to steady out her exhales to slow her pounding heart as she tried to make sense of what just happened; knowing that there were strings attached, literally, to her reaction didn’t change the fact that Lady Beneviento’s touch still shivered down her spine.

Lady Bela crossed the hall, anger giving way to concern as she placed a hand on Isolde’s shoulder. “Are you alright?”

Isolde nodded, feeling a deep, churning confusion roiling through her stomach as time started to separate her from whatever hold she’d been under. She looked up at Lady Bela, noticing the way her eyes softened at the edges.

“Bela told me how you came to have our House’s strain. I should have been told when it occurred, but there is no changing the past.” Lady Dimitrescu sent s a chastising look towards her daughter with that. “As Mother Miranda said, we will rest for the remainder of Midwinter. However, once the new year begins, I expect you to be tutored in the ways of our House as well. Bela here will see to your lessons and will report to me any further… anomalies.” She finished with one last glare over the pair of them, then excused herself to return to the tragedy within the Dining Hall.

Isolde watched Lady Dimitrescu retreat with a complex twist of emotions, before looking back at Lady Bela with an equal mix of relief and dread. “What … exactly… did you tell her?”

Lady Bela collected her thoughts before she spoke. Was that’s guilt or resignation she wore? “I told her that Miss Goldis’ punishment was not your first encounter with the Moroaică and allowed Mother to fill in the rest of the details herself.” Her eyes widened in warning a the question before Isolde could even formulate it, and the subtle shake of her head snuffed it out completely.

Even though her mind raced with questions, Isolde recognized the warning for what it was, and that pressing Lady Bela for answers right now wasn’t the best move. So she took a deep breath and nodded.

“Thank you for…” she didn’t know where to start with her gratitude. So she shrugged instead. “Thank you.”

Lady Bela’s smile was soft and understanding. “Of course.” She cleared her throat. “Right, well, Cassandra’s probably stolen a few bottles of the night’s vintage by now, so how about I introduce you to a Midwinter tradition for the Swarm of House Dimitrescu? No Lords allowed.”

Isolde offered Lady Bela a tiny but genuine smile at the suggestion. “By all means, lead the way.”

Cassandra had stolen more than just the night’s bloody-won vintage. There were crystal containers swirling with alcohol that cost more than the wealth index of a small Romanian village sitting alongside something pungent and breath-stealing that came out of a mason jar courtesy of ‘Uncle Heisenberg’.

The alcohol buffered the late night chill, enhancing what warmth spilled out from two braziers battling the worst of the winter’s bite away, and smoothed over the initial awkwardness when Daniela pulled Isolde directly from Lady Bela’s escort into her lap instead.

Lady Bela wound up huddling underneath a monstrous fur pelt with Cassandra, having eased into her younger swarm-sister’s side and laughing boisterously when the exchange of overflowing glasses was met by Isolde throwing the rabbit mask into the huntress’ chest.

“Hey, I’m delicate in this weather!” Cassandra pouted for only a second, setting the mask aside as a grin overtook her.

“Please,” Isolde rolled her eyes, fighting a smile of her own. She settled back against Daniela, then held her hand out expectantly. “Actually, wait, give that back. I like it.”

“Uh, no? You—hey!” Cassandra attempted to intercept Lady Bela’s returning toss of the mask.

“Don’t pout. She’ll wind up throwing it at you later when you inevitably deserve it.”

“What the hell—Dani, you’re on my side right?”

“Always, Cassa,” Daniela said, with her arms firmly tucked around Isolde.

Drink turned the conversation easy and flowing, and Isolde allowed herself to float along with the topics, content to listen more than add contributions of her own. The insanity of the last week lessened with every sip of her constantly-refilled glass, and the delicate pressure of Daniela’s swarm was a cocoon of white noise that drowned out anything that wasn’t there with them now.

She didn’t know how long they stayed out there, or when Cassandra shifted to having her head in Isolde’s lap with Daniela’s fingers combing through her hair. Or how Lady Bela wound up nuzzling her chin at the hollow of Isolde’s throat, lashes fluttering sweetly over Isolde’s skin as she chased a stronger source of body heat.

At some point, she knew they’d moved inside. Escaping the frost-kissed dawn for the retreat of a heavy duvet and the comfort of a chaise lounge. Had she remained next to Daniela, seeking comfort in the vixen’s familiar embrace?

Or had that arm curling her into the thrumming heartbeat belonged to someone else? Someone with a smoky stare and a honey-soaked promise? Had she imagined the softness of a mouth against her own as her fingers bruised a set of ivory shoulders? Was that soft whine the sound of the Swarm’s dozing lullaby or the whimpering of a nightmare?

Or had it all been a fever-dream born of too much alcohol and the unwinding of the night’s earlier trauma?

Whatever had happened, Isolde knew only one thing when she woke up groggily and too-early in the afternoon.

She was utterly alone once more.

Chapter Text

For want of something better to do, Isolde stumbled back into the dining room like a sailor tossed along the deck and for good reason too, for an ocean of gore stretched from horizon to horizon beneath her feet.

Someone must have had the unfortunate job of tearing down the waves that pressed against the doors, for those bodies crested in various piles, dripping and oozing misery across the floor; currents of bile and dark viscera leading only to the maw of hell.

Or to the sloshing strands of a mop slapped onto the ground.

The smell, though, that’s what clogged her breath in her throat, gagged her with her own spit and disgust. It smelled of the slaughterhouses in the city, the sharp chemical stink of a tannery, the saccharine sick of a hospital ward; the scent of nightmares twisting into something new.

She didn’t collect herself in time, and the unintelligible murmur of conversation became islands became still waters as her presence rippled through the women already arm-deep into cleaning up the bloody aftermath.

She will not flinch under their collective staring, still numb from being part of the live audience to the midnight show but a month ago, she’d have buckled underneath those weighted gazes.

Her tolerance for people had improved, she realized with a grimness, now requiring imminent danger to be caught on the back foot.

This curiosity? It was static rumbling across the perimeter of her awareness. The Swarm was louder, stronger, and… absent. So this served a poor, but needed substitute.

So she took the silence as permission to be there. She made a note of what’s already been done, what still needed to be done, and decided from there.

She started by picking up a broken greenstick of an arm, dangling through the rungs of a chair. A twist or two and then a wet snapping noise before the limb fell free into her hands.

She told herself it was just a bundle of firewood, had the lie halfway formed in her mind when she caught it. Stopped the train of thought.

It was an arm. It was an arm that belonged to a woman who wore a rich burgundy dress and a deer mask.

She wouldn’t toss the limbs, but neither could she muster the sympathy to treat it with a reverence she didn’t feel.

She went back for a foot sticking out from beneath the table, a row of dull gnawing marks over the ankle…. no need to force it apart from the rest of the body.

Eddies of conversation flowed around her. She tried to block them out–gossip was the last thing on her mind.

“Ms. Chambers didn’t even wait for the Ladies’ approval–”.

“Oh, I heard about that! Yanked Corrine, Jenny, and Nicca from their beds, yeah?”

“Practically tossed them into the pens.” A mixture of Scarlet and Golds clucked their sympathies for a second, then returned to other matters.

Another eddie circled past the section of the room she’s unofficially claimed as her own…

“Do you think they’ll wind up in the fires?”

“Probably? I overheard Madame Bouchard speaking with Helena. Apparently the Lady will be taking meals by herself for a few nights.”

“That explains why she’s here.”

Don’t be too obvious, Isolde thought. She debated the merit of acknowledging their stares openly versus allowing them the chance to… what? Speculating wasn’t a crime.

“I actually thought we’d find her… you know…”

Every fibre of her being wanted the woman to say what they were all supposed to know.

The quiet beat was telling.

“She probably hid in one of the piles. Crawled out when it was safe.”

Her fingers twisted around the rough fabric of the towel. Wrung out the wet until the threads creaked in protest.

“Are you kidding? She’s here because Lady Bela isn’t. Whatever she hears might as well be fed directly to the source.”

That uncoiled Isolde’s temper. That granted her the right to wrench her gaze up, fix her eyes upon them, set her expression as solid as stone to stare them into quiet submission.

One by one they noticed. One by one they stopped, mid-sentence and lifted their headed up like deer alarmed in the woods. One by one, they averted their eyes first.

It would be a waste of time trying to correct their assumptions. It was barely worth the effort to restrain her eye roll.

She dunked her rag back into the pail, then recoiled at the reflection within. Was that… was that what they saw? The look in her eyes–it’s her mother’s, when the bad nights were really bad and the nightmares haunted long into the daylight hours.

The longer she looked, the more her stomach gnawed and twisted into a knot. Her face was relatively clean, but her hair was a mess, and the dark grime and muddied gore trekked down her neck over the cream of her ruined dress, the stains ruddy and undeniable.

She yanked her hand back, splashing water over the edge and shattering the image into a dozen blurry moments.

The look–her look–stayed with her. She tried to ignore it, tried to lose it underneath the exertion of manual labor but it came back, rearing up in her mind’s eye again and again.

What’s worse–she started to feel the echo of that haunted stare in the tremble at her fingertips, the shuddering of her breath, the tightness in her chest.

She got sloppy, and the clatter of a plate is like a gunshot. She’s up, hands twisting too hard against her middle. What were once idle whispers are now malicious, keening reminders of that feast.

A girl screamed when her pail knocked over and Isolde saw the snapping of the Swan-woman’s neck.

Go. She needed to–it was time to go.

She poured herself into maintaining some semblance of calm as she collected her rags, her pail, left the limbs and clothing and reminders behind, and headed to the doors.

When they closed behind her, she all but ran for it.

By the time she slammed her door shut, twisted the lock over, the dress was confining her, constricting her. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. She needs to–needs to–

Her fingers fumbled and slipped over the knots, and by the third false start, she’d had enough. She snatched the scissors from her mending kit, cut through the laces until there’s enough slack for the bustier to loosen and then she wriggled like a hooked fish to shimmy out of the material.

She peeled the dress from her body like shedding her skin, and kicked the soiled garment away from her when she was free of it. The slip beneath went next. Then, bare and shivering, she stood in the middle of her room.

Heat. She needed to get warm. She practically ran into her bath, freezing when the pallid creature in the mirror stares at her as the light wheezed on.

Oh. That’s–that’s her. That’s–

She threw the nearest towel over the edge until she no longer stared at herself.

Her teeth chattered, clacking and clattering so loudly that they hammered away her thoughts save for the need to get warm. The faucet squeaked, and she shoved her hand under the stream again and again until it came back pink and stinging.

She stepped in and sunk beneath the surface with surprising grace. A brief, morbid flash of her slipping and cracking her head broke through the cold, just a flash though.

Relying on muscle memory, she scrubbed, wringed, repeated. This wasn’t a proper mikveh–and there’s no amount of tevilah that would wash what she’d done away but she worked at her skin like there was a chance she’s step out of the water with a measure of forgiveness.

The water turned to rust and a film lurked on the surface that should absolutely not be considered. The tub needed to be drained, needed to be refilled, but she was greedy with the heat and lingered in the muck until her fingertips began to tingle.

The water gurgled as she pulled the drain, sitting and shivering like some foolish newborn foal while she remembered to wait for the last of the dredges to burble away, then she twisted the faucet a second time, uncaring that she was directly in the path of the scalding water.

Eventually her bones stopped aching like they were steeping in a glacier. Eventually, there was a rhyme and reason to her thoughts. The cold didn’t disappear entirely, clinging to her like a lover, but the panicked grip over her mind relaxed. She leaned her head back against the rim, aimlessly studying the ceiling.

Something sloshed over her face. It was instinct to gasp, and her nose and throat burned with inhaled water. Her palm slipped against the bottom as she flailed for support. Her body wrenched to the side, driving her deeper beneath the surface.

Flailing, grasping for an anchor, she can’t surface–why can’t she surface–they’re holding her down, pinning her. She can see the shadows swimming over the head nurse’s features, telling her to stop struggling. If she stopped fighting, they’ll let her back up. She just needs to let go–

“No!” She lurched forward, sputtering and choking, her lungs spasming to spit up the bathwater.

There was no one there. That was her frantic breathing, her quivering recovery. The water had long grown tepid and dull.

She’d fallen asleep.

Out of the tub, now, she thought, and wrapped her shivering body in a towel as she did exactly that. She yanked on the drain plug vindictively, then left.

In the bedroom, the ruined ceremonial dress mocked her from its heap on the floor. It wound up shoved deep into the recesses of her laundry, down with the bloodstained clothing from the Lady Beneviento.

Her skin prickled with gooseflesh as she slipped on her nightclothes, layering up to try and salvage what warmth she might have. She was grateful for the radiator as she bundled herself under even more layers and curled into a tight ball, shutting her eyes against the world.

Sleep should have been a struggle. There’s too much that happened, too much she needs to process and yet–and yet the cold continued to creep along her body, pins and needles at her fingers and raw, stinging flesh at her ears; sapping away her energy until there was nothing more enticing than just… closing her eyes.

She woke up foggy-minded and heavy-headed, and an ice pick digging away at the back of her right eye for half an hour before she rose. The struggle to return to self-imposed cleaning chores absorbed nearly another hour but something about the task felt important. Felt like she had to do it.

That, and she’d never let gossip drive her away before; no need to start that habit now.

However, the quiet in the halls diverted her for a moment as she checked both the greenhouse and the library. Hesitated but breached the lower floors and heard nothing. The forge was cold to the touch and the worktables were clear of any specimens.

Recalling the gossip, Isolde investigated the winery, even braved the upper cellar, then roamed as far as she dared into Lady Bela’s domain before common sense shooed her back.

The Ladies were nowhere to be found. Isolde thought about the lower cellars–the dungeons where the casks were, where Rozil was now, and banished the thought immediately.

No. Not there. If that’s where the Ladies had gone, then let them remain. She’d wait here.

She returned to reclaim her part of the clean-up process. She met the gazes that drifted up to hers, holding them until the other women broke first.

She needed her victories, even the small ones like these, for she’d stack them grain-by-grain until she had a sandbank of resilience between her and the looming ocean of despair threatening to drown her the moment she let it–but she couldn’t let that happen. Would not let it happen. She’d be a shark, swimming and swimming until only exhaustion dropped her.

Rinse and repeat, the ebb and flow of mindless tasks blurred her days and nights into a smear of time that she marked only by the piecemeal restoration.

She fell into her bath, exhausted and filthy. Set timers, even tried to shower instead but every time she pulled herself from the water screaming and half-drowned.

So, she changed the routine. Fell into bed first, promising to strip the linens and bathe later–waking up choking in a stranglehold of sheets, her nailbeds raw and bleeding from scratching at something though she tore her room apart and found nothing that explained the wounds.

It didn’t stop the nightmares either.

She still threw herself out of sleep, screaming at the unknown.

The mirrors remained covered.

She was halfway through polishing a table when Laurie’s perfume struck hard enough to make her eyes water. She coughed and sputtered on the cloying clover and spice, burying her nose into the cloth she’d been using to dull the stench of their work.

Then it hit her.

She was only smelling Laurie’s perfume. She took a cautionary sniff and while the antiseptic sting of bleach made her eyes water, the metallic tang that had stained the air was gone. There was only the overwhelming falsehood of spring clovers and the bitter, clean cold leaking in from the window panes.

She looked at what was left of the job. Honestly? Not much. There were still the pile of bodies themselves, but Cateria had extended an invitation if Isolde wanted to break them down herself. Into stores for the Ladies, into Daniela’s blood meal, into meat for the actual hounds Cassandra cared for…

Isolde had agreed, and with the great room pretty much restored save for some dusting and rehanging the curtains… that was about it. Shouldn’t she be feeling something like relief? Even contentment at a job well done?

She searched her thoughts and found only a lurking, insidious dread as the inevitable finish-line approached. What the hell was she going to do with herself once there was nothing left?

A part of her knew she would, eventually, have to speak to one of the daughters and discuss what had happened–what would happen but a larger part of her, forged out of decades of biting her tongue and ducking her head, shoved that eventuality down into the dark recesses of her mind.

There was always tomorrow to deal with the consequences of their actions. She’d take at least one last night for herself.

She told herself that the next night as well. And the night after that.

The illusion of choice disappeared when Lady Dimitrescu ducked underneath the archway of the crowded butchering hall. Isolde lowered her eyes and watched the ivory hem sweep across the floor before her.

“So,” the casual cruelty in the countess’ voice kept Isolde’s gaze averted. “This is where you’ve been hiding.”

She hadn’t been hiding. Had she?

Isolde said nothing; resisting the urge to hunch her shoulders against the slow trickle of stares that turned on them. Lady Dimitrescu didn’t move, as patient as death herself. Eventually, the inertia of the moment forced Isolde’s eyes up.

“How may I be of service, Lady Dimitrescu?” She kept her voice level, her expression neutral. Nothing that would trip the woman’s instincts to maim.

It seemed to work. Though Lady Dimitrescu’s stare narrowed, she said nothing more. She glanced to the others and the sudden bustle of women finding something to busy themselves filled the room.

“Come.”

Isolde wanted to protest. She was holding a thigh, she was covered in gore, she didn’t want to muster up the mental fortitude for whatever game was about to start…

She set the limb down, wiped her hands off as best she can on her apron, and tried not to think of the numerous what-ifs awaiting her.

She was all but frog-marched up the stairs towards the grand offices of the Lady herself. Here, the baroque architecture dominated, banishing the horrors and darkness that seeped through the bones and bowels of the castle. Here, it was difficult to recall the grim, gritty details of what she’d just been doing.

The butchery became a distant, blurry thing; so easy to tuck the truth away as she walked through the bright, romantic corridors.

Here and there, Isolde caught glimpses of the women who’d earned a place on Lady Dimitrescu’s personal staff. Each of them with the ruthlessness and loyalty to secure their places, and reigning above all of them as the right hand to the Countess herself: Sophia Barach.

She awaited them outside the offices itself, nodding formally to the countess as they approached. Having only met her once, and that having been with Ms. Barach behind a dominating oak desk, Isolde was taken aback at how slight the woman’s physique was. Ms. Barach barely came up to Isolde’s chin, standing as straight and rigid as the steel that streaked through her pale blonde hair.

“Sophia.” Lady Dimitrescu greeted her warmly, as one might a friend. “Are we all here?”

“We’re still waiting on Cassandra’s girl.”

“Cassandra chooses based on ferocity, not punctuality.” Lady Dimitrescu proceeded into the room. “We’ll catch her up when she shows.”

It was only respectful to allow Ms. Barach to enter first, and after a deep breath, Isolde followed.

The office was warm, with a darker twist on the gilded, embellished corridors. Darker wood walls, a fireplace that consumed one of the walls, and three French windows that overlooked the castle’s dominion. A sturdy desk of mahogany and oak that the Lady sat behind.

A fluttering of red flashed like an ember in her peripheral. Isolde startled as Lady Bela stepped away from her shrouded perch next to the fireplace but drank in the sight regardless.

There was a terrifying hollowness to Lady Bela’s cheeks that carved out a silhouette of bone, straining against pale, thin skin down to the sharp jut of her clavicle and shoulders. Her dress hung on her, practically swallowing Lady Bela within it, and Isolde couldn’t comprehend how thin Lady Bela’d become. When she met the heiress’ eyes, the proud flame had dimmed to a worrying dullness.

She tore herself away from Lady Bela to look at the other women in the room with them. The Lady of Thorns caught her attention first, having claimed a well-worn armchair nearest to the Countess’ position. Wearing a purple blazer and skirt combo, her confidence was enviable. There’s a quiet intensity to her gaze as she acknowledged Isolde with a slight nod.

On a couch angled to the rest of the room, the gentle, though faint smile Ms. Fields offered a welcoming sight, as did her gesture for Isolde to sit. Isolde almost took her up on the offer, but something else kept her feet planted, finding herself unwilling to step away from Lady Bela.

Lady Bela glanced sidelong at her, and shuffled a half-step closer. Like she felt the same pull.

Ms. Barach stood next to Lady Dimitrescu, and folded her hands neatly before her. “Happy New Year,” she said blithely. “Normally, terminating a contract–”

A what now?

A tug in her shoulder snagge her attention, Lady Bela’s subtle warning to stay quiet. It rankled, but Isolde reminded herself that nothing happened with the staff without Lady Bela’s foreknowledge and Isolde had to trust–needed to trust that she’d have been warned if things were about to go deadly.

“I suppose this fell into a convenient transition between the hiring cycles, so we should be able to smooth over the finer details before the girls return but I have to say, Lady Dimitrescu, we cannot assure that there will not be talk.”

“We are able to handle ‘talk’.”

“Yes, however–”

“My daughters’ representatives will handle their households.”

Ms. Barach’s mouth clicked shut with a resigned nod. This battle didn’t seem worth the war. “Well–”

Isolde’s grateful to not be in the immediate line of sight of the door when Rowena stumbled in full of apologies, wearing the golden-threaded livery of her staff, her uniform ruffled. Isolde watched her tug at the sleeves as she straightened herself out.

“I’m sorry–”

“Close the door behind you. The ears in these walls are far too eager.”

Rowena did so, and caught sight of Isolde. The woman couldn’t cover her surprise quick enough, and the glower she smothered it with only fed into Isolde’s amusement.

“...as we were saying.” Ms. Barach’s unimpressed drawl highlighted the slinking path Rowena took to find herself a seat next to Ms. Fields. “Once we sort out the fine print, I’ll have an outline for the household leaders to disseminate to their staff as needed.”

“And what are we going to be educating the others on?” Ms. Fields inquired with a raised hand, the picture of innocence.

The best way to kill me, Isolde jumped when Lady Bela’s hand closed around her wrist and squeezed pointedly enough to disrupt Isolde’s internal commentary. She met the disapproving frown with a wry quirk of her brow. What else was she supposed to think?

Lady Bela’s frown deepened further, though Isolde might have caught a glimpse of fond exasperation as the heiress shuffled closer. Probably so she could keep a better handle on Isolde’s reactions, but her presence was oddly comforting regardless.

They turned as one to listen as Lady Dimitrescu addressed the question.

“I have been made aware of a … development between Miss Ardenlane and my daughters. After discussing the situation with Bela, it is apparent that this is more than a simple fascination.”

She looked like she was announcing her own execution.

Lady Bela’s fingers pressed down hard. Isolde blinked, looking from the touch to the heiress herself. Could she hear her thoughts?

“... seeing that Bela is my heir, what she does reflects upon this House. Appearances matter.” Lady Dimitrescu sighed. “As we know, once Bela’s set her course, there is no swaying her from it.”

Suddenly, Isolde felt like she knew why the daughters had been conspicuously absent.

“And as I will always support my daughter in her choices, I will be adopting Miss Ardenlane–”

Say what now?

“–and removing her from the staff hierarchy. My heiress deserves…” Here, Lady Dimitrescu’s eyes found Isolde’s. Her look made it well aware that whatever Lady Bela deserved, the countess did not envision Isolde at all in that scenario. “Someone closer to her status than a common maid.”

The pressure digging into Isolde’s wrist turned painful. She gets it. This was not the time to talk. Or argue. Or ask Lady Dimitrescu what the absolute fu–

“–You’re kidding.” Rowena’s jaw fell open.

Whatever residual fondness Lady Dimitrescu had for Cassandra apparently had a limit, and Rowena just toed it. The stare that comment earned douses the room in a frigid, ominous silence that dared to be broken. Which, bless the woman’s foolishness, bravery–whatever she wanted to call the inability to stay quiet– Rowena did.

“I didn’t mean to be rude, Lady Dimitrescu, but the Ladies have had playthings before. Ones that had your favor, even.” Rowena might be stammering, but her stubbornness had to be admired, right? “This might give some of the other girls, well, ideas.”

How many other girls were there?

“They will always have ‘ideas’, Miss Vasile.” Lady Bela’s disdain for the topic dripped from her voice like honey. “None of you know the meaning of subtlety.”

Rowena ducked her gaze momentarily, but then came back to her point like a dog with a bone. “They’re going to wonder what makes Isolde so special. What is so different about her, what she has that they don’t and–”

“Could she be replaced?” The Lady of Thorns finished the sentence for Rowena. Isolde looked at the other woman, trying to gauge her reaction because her voice gave nothing away. Even when she returned the glance, it answered nothing. Worry suddenly twisted around Isolde’s chest; the last thing she wanted was Lady Dimitrescu’s companion resenting her on top of everything else going on.

This wasn’t her fault! She didn’t ask for any of this!

Lady Bela stiffened. “Of course she can’t be replaced.”

Isolde hated that Rowena had a point. That she was about to concede that Rowena had a point; hell, that she had to even discuss this when she couldn’t even–

“Well, now.” Ms. Fields tilted her head to appraise Isolde against the new information.

Isolde sighed. Giving any thought to the proclamation made her see the insidious purpose lurking behind it. She’d be isolated, and the wedge between her and the other staff was going to deepen. Not to mention the bloody target on her back.

She’d have to defend herself–what she had–what she wasn’t even certain she wanted to have– or she’d be forcibly torn down; and if she failed … there’d be no dusting herself off in the aftermath.

After all, Lady Dimitrescu herself boasted how House Dimitrescu flourished when challenged.

I was right, Isolde thought grimly as the malevolent gaze of the woman decreeing herself Isolde’s new patron (she’ll never think of her as a mother, foster or not) settled on her, that woman will not be happy until I’m dead.

Isolde wasted no time when they’re dismissed to drag Lady Bela off-course, taking them a good distance down a side hall until even Lady Dimitrescu’s chasing glare was only a mild terror.

“What the hell was that?” Maybe if panic wasn’t currently driving her mind into a terrible spiral, she’d realize how hard she yanked Lady Bela off-balance. Maybe she might have felt a smidge of guilt. Maybe it faded when she remembered what the hell just happened.

Lady Bela stared at Isolde’s grip on her arm but didn’t remove herself. The stubbornness seemed to restore some of the shine to Lady Bela’s eyes. “I’m glad to see you fared well, Miss Ardenla–”

“Oh we are beyond that and you know it. What did you do, Bela?”

The pointed title-drop provoked another flash in the heiress’ eyes. “Saved your life. Again, might I add.”

“I never asked you to!”

“We remember our night at Lady Beneviento’s Manor very differently, then.”

Isolde opened her mouth, but couldn’t counterpoint that. She slumped back, releasing Lady Bela. “I … didn’t know that would mean… this.”

Lady Bela’s gaze softened then, and she closed the space Isolde had placed between them. “I know you may have… some reservations about Mother’s announcement–”

“Some?”

The wry grin that earned vanished as quickly as it arrived. “However, this really is a blessing, Miss Ardenla–”

“Seriously? Your mother pulled that and you still can’t say my name?”

“...Isolde.” Lady Bela imploringly reached for her hands, and despite the irritation buzzing around her mind, Isolde noticed how easily it was for the heiress to casually touch her now. “Mother’s protection ensures that Donna cannot claim you.”

“I’m more worried about the open hunting season your mother just threw me into than the idle fantasies of a possessive dollmaker, if we’re being honest with each other.”

“Hunting season?”

“Yes. The target? On my back? That the other girls are going to have a delightful time trying to stab?”

Lady Bela rolled her eyes. “There are no other girls.” She scowled at Isolde’s obvious disbelief. “There aren’t. Sure, Cassandra occasionally has a dalliance with one of her maids, and Daniela… well, since that whole scare, I don’t think she’s thought about another playmate…”

“It hasn’t even been a month yet.”

“Which is a long time for Daniela.” Lady Bela tilted her head, exasperation fading to a cool, contemplative expression.

“What?” Isolde didn’t like that assessing look.

“Beyond her little French mistake, it’s been you for… quite a while now, hasn’t it?” Lady Bela sidled in closer, bringing a hand up to set beneath Isolde’s jaw. “You’ve been intimate with her. Survived that, even.”

The blush removed the edge off her indignation. “That’s none of your business.”

“What my sisters do will always be my business,” Lady Bela retorted, tossing her hair back. Then she paused and shared a sly grin that sent a pulse of heat. “You do remember that we share everything, mm?”

…A tangle of limbs, a rasping laugh against her ear…

“I expected Daniela might… talk about it.” Which wasn’t fair because Isolde didn’t really have that outlet. Maybe Chloe? Lydia? They’d understand without developing some sort of resentful jealousy, right?

A single garnet drone appeared on Lady Bela’s shoulder, crawling along her arm, down to her fingers before brushing its’ little feet against Isolde’s skin. A sense of deja-vu swam over her. There was the heady swirl of wine in her belly, the laughter of her sisters nearly swallowed by the wind, a pair of grey eyes watching her–

Isolde wrenched a step or two away, breath coming hard. “That was–I saw–”

“As I said,” Lady Bela did not follow her in her retreat. She tucked her hands in front of her, head slightly tilted to the side as a secretive smile dances over her lips. “We share everything. Every experience we have.”

With that, she inclined her head in a polite farewell. “Enjoy the rest of your evening, Isolde.”

Chapter Text

The slatted wooden beams creaked, groaning against the wind rattling the outside the attic crawlspace. Isolde huddled in place, surprisingly not feeling like the cramped and slanted stretch of ‘not-quite-storage’ slash ’not-quite-useless’ space would press in on her.

Probably because the night leaked in through the weathered boards, and the window Isolde leaned against was half-cracked open, spilling winter along the floor like an incoming tide. Probably because the vertigo that flipped down her stomach overwrote the pressure of the wood and stone all around her. Isolde could spend the entire night ruminating on her odd idiocrasies; better than trying to wrap her head around what the hell just occurred.

Adopted? Like she’s, what, a pet?

No. She crinkled her nose, thunking her temple lightly against the glass. Not like that. More like… like… hell, she didn’t know. It felt like a cruel initiation into something she didn’t ask for. That this wasn’t simply a twisted play on—

“I’m not even involved with Bela,” she muttered, voicing her indignation aloud to allow her a moment of rebellion. Or clarity, depending on one’s perspective.

She followed that thought to an obvious conclusion: that she might not be involved with Lady Bela, but she was involved with…

Warmth flooded her cheeks. Then immediately fled under the cold splash of indignation that Daniela had practically vanished over the past week. 

The clinking of glass cut through her internal monologue, and she glanced towards the broken oak beam that marked the only exit out of the space. A halo of lamplight illuminated Miss Fields’ silhouette, stretching her shadow deep into the recess across the floorboards. Isolde regarded her warily, but the older woman simply held out a bottle between them. Some sort of booze, obviously, and Isolde knew by the thick, blood-red wax swallowing its neck that it was pilfered from Lady Bela’s stash.

Miss Fields jiggled the bottle enticingly. “Want to drink away the evidence with me?”

Isolde tried to keep her shrug nonchalant, but Miss Fields approached her with all the caution one might a cornered animal.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” The older woman settled opposite her, with only a few choice mutterings about Isolde’s hideaway spot.

“What’s the occasion?”

“Well, we can count tonight as your Exit Interview, can’t we?”

Isolde couldn’t stop the incredulous arch of a brow, nor the tone of her voice. “Is that what just happened?”

Miss Fields eyed her as she poured, then handed Isolde a glass. “I like to think that I’m an optimist.” 

The woman’s evasiveness was blatant, almost insultingly so; however the temptation of drink and a sense of prevailing  bone-aching tiredness prevented Isolde from prodding the obvious dodge with a stick. She drowned the urge with a tip of her glass, relishing the burn against the back of her tongue and her throat. It almost blurred out the pity glimmering just out the corner of her eyesight.

She was absolutely not in the mood for whatever conversation that expression heralded, so she blurted out what had been on her mind since Lady Bela dismissed her earlier. “Rowena mentioned ‘other girls’?” It was no less pitiable but it was a subject matter Isolde could pick raw without too much introspection.

A surge of gratitude flared as Miss Fields took the subject change in stride. “She did, didn’t she?” 

“Any other fosterlings I should worry about?”

“Not keen on addressing the countess as ‘Mother’?” Miss Fields’ chuckle bloomed into full cackle as Isolde sputtered a reply. “Oh, the look on your face… to answer you; no, I daresay you’re the first.”

 “That you know of.” Doubt flickered at the back of her mind. She turned to the window with a slight shake of her head and felt the cold seeping through the glass. She relished the way the night bit through her clothes to her skin.

Miss Fields punctuated her words with a sincere shake of her head. “No, Isolde—” She snatched her hand against Isolde’s free wrist, nails biting against her skin. “Listen to me, you stubborn girl. You are an anomaly. Yes, of course the Ladies have had dalliances. Some of them even earned the countess’ favor, but this sort of … upheaval? Unprecedented.” She didn’t resist as Isolde wrenched her arm back, flexing her wrist to lessen the sting. They stared each other down for a moment, then....

“Even Lady Bela?” Isolde sipped her brandy, mulling over Miss Fields’ words, trying not to picture, well, anything.  “What about her dalliances?” 

Miss Field’s hesitation was all Isolde needed to confirm that at least part of Lady Dimitrescu’s decision was a death sentence all but signed and sealed, wrapped up in a twisted joke of a welcome to the family.

“I see.”

Miss Fields squinted into her glass. “Well, to be fair, the countess has always been… protective… of Lady Bela. I’m sure you understand; some mothers have a hard time thinking anyone can measure up to their standards.”

So, Lady Bela had had other encounters. Again, not that it mattered to Isolde. She was just curious, right now, and, sure, maybe a little buzzed too. “Any of them still alive?”

Miss Field’s gaze flickered from the glass to Isolde’s face and back again. 

Isolde wanted to feel secure in the assumption that she was merely choosing her words carefully but there was something dreadful and heavy about the silence after her question.

Then, Miss Fields smiled, though the strain stretched it into something darker. “I have never seen Lady Bela defy her mother for anyone else but her sisters.”

“I’m not following.”

“I think you are.” She patted Isolde’s knee, the strained smile wavering a bit. 

A chill trickled down her spine, separate from the wintery air outside. She chased it back with a long pull of brandy. “I think you’re giving me more credit than I’m due. I… with the daughters… with Lady Daniela—” She grasped for the right word. “...complicated.”

“Complicated is just the tip of the iceberg, I would say.”

Damn it, she was blushing again. Her cheeks blazed with warmth, and she hoped that Miss Fields didn’t see it. She swirled her glass, losing herself in the spin of the liquid amber within it. Sure. It’s more than complicated. And that’s before she started thinking about Lady Beneviento’s part to play.

And while it was a little flattering that Miss Fields thought there was something striking between them, Isolde knew very well why the eldest stepped in to save her. Someone had taken her property, and she had wanted it back.

So, she tossed back her next drink with a little more force. “I think you’re letting the brandy get to you.”

Miss Fields tilted her head, regarding Isolde thoughtfully. “Am I? Well, forgive an old woman for her romantic notions then.”

Isolde tipped her head. 

“Besides, you’ve already had quite a rough start to the year. It’s natural to worry, but you’re here, in this room, very much alive. I think we should keep that in mind for now.” Miss Fields patted her knee again, then leaned back.

Isolde didn’t say anything. She knew a dismissal when she was given one.

Miss Fields touched her hand. “And with that I should get some rest. It’s far too late and I’m far too old. And this place is far too cold. For both of us.”

It was a dismissal, but one Isolde could reasonably accept as an end-point to the conversation, and to her wallowing. She was starting to feel the cold now, and wanted to nurse the rest of her brooding thoughts in a scalding bath where she didn’t have to think on anything for too long before the temperature would burn the thought to ashes.

So she forced a tight smile. “Of course. I’m sorry I couldn’t help you finish off the bottle.” She stood, brandy still in hand. Miss Fields mirrored her, walking with her to the doorway. As Isolde exited into the hall, the head maid called her name.  

“You need this more than I do, I think.” She handed over the half-filled bottle, taking an extra pause to rest her hand on Isolde’s good shoulder.

Isolde accepted the offering with a nod, and bid goodnight to the older maid. She was halfway down one of the lower floors before she stopped. Should she have asked if she was still a part of the Pride, or … what (or who) she would have to report to tomorrow. Did she have to report tomorrow?

Better asking that than the spiraling madness about the other girls. Who … were they? Were they like her? Lonely women lured in with promised only to wind up discarded...or worse? After all, she only needed to peek into the soil beneath Daniela’s favorite plants and—

She shook her head sharply. Lured? She’d practically thrown herself directly into Daniela’s path!

She rounded the corner, scowling, then startled, hard, at the figure in front of her. For a moment, it was Lady Bela, looming in wait. Then the form turned and she recognized Lady Cassandra’s sharp features, and lupine angles. Their eyes met, and Lady Cassandra’s lips quirked into a teasing smile.

“A bit late for a lonely stroll, isn’t it? You could run into any sort of unwelcome attention.”

Isolde shrugged, trying to hide her nerves underneath a neutral composure. “I could ask the same thing. What are you doing up this late?”

Lady Cassandra laughed, and ambled closer, spying the bottle in Isolde’s hand. One sculpted brow raised, “My, we leave you alone for a week and you resort to thieving? Rabbit, I’m so proud of you.”

Isolde’s mood was already teetering, and being reminded— “Did you know?”

Lady Cassandra canted her head. “I know a lot of things, you’ll have to be specific.”

Isolde scowled. She wasn’t in the mood for Lady Cassandra’s idea of amusement. So she stared, holding it when Lady Cassandra grinned at her own joke.

Eventually, she realized that Isolde wasn’t biting at the bait. She slumped, then shifted her weight. “Ah. That.”

Yes. That. 

Lady Cassandra’s smile faded as her gaze darkened. “I did. Suppose you can say we had a family meeting about it.” She came closer, her heels echoing over the bare wooden floor. Close enough that Isolde had to crane her head back, and thought she noticed the same fragility that she had seen in Lady Bela. There’s the gauntness of the cheeks, the pallor, the—

“Hey, eyes up here, Rabbit.” Lady Cassandra’s tease trailed into a startled hiss when Isolde braved a hand, cupping the huntress’ cheek; her amusement quickly turning to panic.

“What did she do to you?”

 Lady Cassandra tensed at Isolde’s touch, coiled and tight muscle ready to unleash at the slightest pressure. The trap didn’t spring, though. Instead, Lady Cassandra’s gentle as she removed Isolde’s hand. “Nothing I didn’t deserve, Rabbit. You’ve experienced Mother’s temper, you understand.”

“Cassandr—”

Lady Cassandra exaggerated the step she took back, firmly placing distance between them. “Mother merely needed to remind us that the House Rules are there for a reason, and that hierarchy isn’t just a word to prop up Bela’s ego, and well…” She gestured airly at herself. “Lesson learned.”

Isolde frowned, unconvinced. There was something in Lady Cassandra’s gaze and mannerisms. Something worse than a simple reprimand occurred. No amount of bravado on Lady Cassandra’s part could erase the haunted look in her eyes now that Isolde was properly paying attention.

And as she stared, it’s Lady Cassandra who glanced away first, a muscle in her jaw twitching. She looked back with a gaze far more guarded and sharp, tension brimming at the edges like razor wire.

Isolde bit her lip. She wanted to pry apart Lady Cassandra’s composure, but at the same time…

She sighed. “I didn’t mean to pry. I just—” she flapped her arms. “I woke up alone after Midwinter and none of you were around and I just—” she cut off again, gritting her teeth against what she really wanted to say—and against the sudden spike of pain that pierced her shoulder and split down the center of her collarbone.

Several gold-dusted flies wriggled and pulled themselves free of her body. They circled towards the rest of their colony, causing the jagged razor of Lady Cassandra’s edges to shimmer and soften.  

Something bright flickered in Lady Cassandra’s eyes—surprise? Gratitude? But it was gone within an instant, shuttered behind a mask of indifference. She regarded Isolde steadily for a moment longer, then sighed, her shoulders lowering slightly as some of the tension left her tall frame. 

“You’re fine, Rabbit. We missed you too.” Her voice gentled, oddly enough, missing the usual teasing lilt. She reached back out, and Isolde was too shocked to react when Lady Cassandra brushed a strand of auburn hair back in a surprisingly tender gesture. “Can I assume that you’ve forgiven me for the near-murder attempt?”

It was hard to not think about the way her fingers lingered. “I… well, no.” She had. Just now. Something about the way Lady—something about the way Cassandra looked at her seemed to have done the trick.

“Uh-huh.” Cassandra retracted her hand, then sobered. “Let it go, Isolde.”

Her name startled her. “I—but—”

“Trust me, all right? What happened, happened. There’s nothing left to be said on it.” Cassandra wavered, then she pushed back into Isolde’s space, though there was nothing playful about it. It was urgent, almost pressured. “You don’t want to know the details, ok? …Let me spare you that, just for a little bit longer.”

“Cassandra…”

Cassandra placed a finger against her lips, and with a rolling, low pulse of static, the small contingent of soot and gold drones returned to Isolde.

“Ah-ah, nope. Not unless your next words are inviting me to split Bela’s stolen stash with you.” She dropped her hand, and forced a bit of her teasing nature back into her voice. “Ooooor you sweetly ask me to tuck you in, Rabbit. I’m really good at that.”

Ok, so, no one could blame Isolde for flushing at the switch up. She was stunned, not able to move, not because she was scared but—

The moment passed. Cassandra pulled her finger away from Isolde’s lips, lightly trailing her hand down Isolde’s jaw, stopping to rest it right over the open edge of that broken wound. “Get some rest, you look like you deserve a month of it.”

Then she was gone, her lithe form disappearing swiftly down the shadowed corridor.

What else could Isolde do but nod, mutely? Alone, she took a shaking breath, then another. Was that her heart pounding in her ears? Her skin tingled where Lady Cassandra touched her and—she shakes her head. She had got to clear her thoughts.

She meandered a more circular route back to her room and was both a little disappointed and a little grateful that she wasn’t interrupted a second time. She eased her door open and then shut, stepping into the small sanctuary of her room. She went through the motions: locking the door without pause, setting down her keys and other assorted tools in the small tray, but stuttered to a stop when she moved to stuff the old saddle blanket between the door. She debated on the merits of leaving it or not... for far longer than she should had....

Only to leave it where it was at now. Not that she expected company. Just... ugh. Whatever. Just get into the damned bath, Isolde.

From there, now a bit frustrated with that stupid little spark of hope that someone might take advantage of the open space, she headed further into the room, passing by the still-covered mirrors and stepping back into the routine she’d established to strip away her nights and rejuvenate in a bath. A scalding one. 

She was lost in thought as she undressed and walked into the bathroom. She turned on the water, hissing as she checked the temperature with her wrist, only turning it down just a smidge below boiling. She wanted the heat, but she didn’t want to cook; just to burn off some of those stupid thoughts. Now where’s that lavender oil…?

Steam started to fill the space, fogging the mirror. Good. She didn’t want to look at herself anyways. She undid her hair, shaking it loose from its braid; set the towels and clean clothing on the counter as she struggled to not think about the last moments of her encounter with Cassandra.

Something rattled behind her. 

She froze. What was that? She’d heard something. Right? No... she was alone in here.

Right?

In the quiet, there’s only her forcibly measured breathing, the frustratingly-loud thump of her heart, the strange scratching of the flies under her skin. She tried to concentrate... and there—she heard the sound of running water and… a quiet rippling?

She caught a flash of movement in the mirror, a smudge of shadow and light in the condensation, a glimpse of what might be red hair. Was Daniela in here? No. No, she’d have seen her, she’s not that oblivious right?

She turned around, ready to defend her privacy, then screamed when she came face to face with a terrified, hazel gaze. A young woman sat in the tub, with soiled, sallow skin, and matted red hair. It wasn’t Daniela but the resemblance was striking—

“Daniela…?”

Isolde stumbled back in shock, her foot catching on her discarded shirt, and the world tilted. She lost her balance—she flailed her arms to try and keep upright, but it was no use. The bathroom went sideways as she crashed backwards into the counter, heard the sickening crack of her head against the corner. Bright lights exploded across her vision. She slumped down to the floor, and darkness rushed up to claim her. 

The last thing she saw before she blacked out completely is that she was utterly alone.

“–should have come to by now, right?”

“How am I supposed to know?! I break down bodies and report the weird findings not… take care of actual, living people!”

“Well, we couldn’t just go to Madame Esther, could we? One look at the buzzing mess of her shoulder and we’d be in the cellar for a year.”

Voices surrounded her, injecting worry into the hazy brush of awareness. For a brief second, there was confusion. Then–

Isolde came to with a wrenching, gasping start. There was nothing in her lungs but a crushing pressure, forcing her to surge upright, sucking down air like she was on the wrong side of drowning. She was almost upright, almost able to breathe normally when an iron grip enclosed her shoulders and forced her back down. 

“Hey! You’re ok! Isolde, you’re ok! You’re safe now.”

“Easy, Rabbit. Don’t want you ripping open your stitches.”

Isolde’s head pounded, the world trying to rotate down and to the right, making it so difficult to orient herself beyond their voices. She opened her eyes, and thank heavens one of the daughters had thought ahead and kept the light contained to the fireplace. The stabbing pain dulled pretty soon after that. The vertigo eased up too, now that she could see where everything was supposed to be.

She didn’t recognize the room. It wasn’t too small, and was sparsely furnished, feeling like it’d only seen a cleaning rag within the last hour. It was dark wood and cream walls, and absolutely bereft of anything personable. 

She stopped trying to push herself upright, and sort of allowed herself to fall back—directly into a body, though her descent was eased by a careful pair of hands. As she’d eased back towards the headboard, three familiar figures came into focus, looming over her with concern.

Perching on a morose wooden chair like it’s a throne, Lady Bela sat regally at the bedside. Her hand hovered over Isolde’s blanketed leg, like she’d been prepared to assist with keeping Isolde in bed if necessary. On the opposite side, holding a bunch of bloodied gauze and a dangling bit of suture thread, Cassandra observed her with scrutiny. 

Which meant… the person she half-curled against as she was set carefully upright had to be Daniela, who’s grip on her shoulders turned tender now that Isolde was no longer fighting.

“You’re awake,” Daniela breathed against her ear; her voice saturated with the dregs of fear and the burgeoning warmth of relief as she shifted to cradle Isolde even closer.

She was. Though she didn’t remember going to sleep. She didn’t remember … actually… the last thing she could recall was—oh. Oh, she glanced immediately down to the oversized nightgown she wore. Which meant—

“How did—who—”

“Adele.” Daniela answered, with a nod towards the pacing fly on Isolde’s collarbone. “She grabbed me, I went for Cassa and Bela, and then we found you.” Daniela sounded, well, not scared, but there was a note that had Isolde turning to try and see her face. “You were so still and we could sense the tendrils growing and…” 

“You needed stitches. It’s not pretty, but you’ll live. Luckily you’re not just human anymore or you might be sharing a cask with Rozil.”

“Cassandra.” Lady Bela interjected sharply.

“I–right.” The huntress glanced away, properly chastised, then back again. “Anyways, human or not, you did lose a fair bit of blood. You’re going to be fine, but I suggest taking it easy for a night or two.”

Lady Bela nodded, apparently satisfied, then turned that penetrating gaze onto Isolde herself. “Well, that transitions nicely with… everything else going on. You are to remain here, to rest and recuperate. Daniela will attend to you, and Cassandra will do a daily check-up, make sure that head wound’s healing up nicely.”

“Not to mention keeping an eye on that opportunistic guest you’ve got tangled up in your nervous system.” Cassandra added with a final look-over the shoulder wound.

That’s right. Daniela had mentioned the tendrils…

“How bad was it?”

Cassandra hesitated, exchanging a look with her eldest sister first. “Not as bad as it could have been.” 

“Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of you,” Daniela murmured into Isolde’s hair, a little muffled with her nuzzling. It took all of three seconds for the sweetness to turn bitter as she glared up at Cassandra, likely looming a bit too close for comfort.

“Your rabid little mutts didn’t waste any time–”

“You can’t blame the Pack girls for everything–!”

“It wasn’t the Pack, Dani.” Isolde covered the iron band about her waist with her own hands. “I… saw something. Some…one?” It was a bit foggy, and trying to recall the events triggered the starting rhythm of what would become a massive headache. “I… are ghosts a thing?”

The question hung in the air as the three sisters exchanged a meaningful glance above Isolde’s head. A tiny spark of resentment fizzled and faded. She’d complain about them still keeping secrets later. When she wasn’t nursing a nascent headache.

“Ghosts?” Lady Bela worried her lower lip to bone-white, and pulled her hand back from Isolde’s leg. Isolde braced for yet another dismissal. “Not … exactly; but memories have a tendency to linger past their expiration date with us. I can’t tell you why but whatever allows Daniela, Cassandra, and I our connection… also seems to snag on some extraneous experiences.”

Isolde shivered as she recalled the sallow, sunken gaze of the specter. The girl’s expression haunted her mind, and left her feeling hollow and alone, even in the middle of Daniela’s embrace. “It looked like Daniela. Only younger? Matted, darker hair… hazel eyes. She was in the water, staring at me…” she trailed off, struggling to resist touching the back of her head. As she turned, she compared the ‘real’ Daniela with the apparition. 

Daniela noticed, drawing her closer; one hand coming up to stroke her hair soothingly. A subtle hum reverberated from her, echoing in the chamber of Isolde’s shoulder; comforting, a sense of wildflowers and the golden afternoons of summer. This time, she accepted it, almost gratefully. Vaguely, she felt the tiny motions of Adele taking flight to circle about the both of them, close enough to brush wings over skin.

Though, as she caught how Lady Bela and Cassandra exchanged another look, disturbed by the description, the comfort lessened–turned a bit empty and saccharine. She was so tired of being in the fucking dark.

“That doesn’t explain why I saw Daniela though.”

Yes, she understood the hesitation. Yes, sure, she could accept that they were going to be reluctant to share anything, not just because of habit and instinct, and because Isolde wasn’t stupid enough to ignore the implications of exactly why the three daughters were all pale, gaunt shadows of their former selves. And yes, the haunted expressions and wounded visages painted a picture of House Dimitrescu’s idea of remediation and rebuking but she was tired. She’s tired, and hurting, and she was going to get one straightforward answer for once.

So she set her jaw stubbornly, and stared them down with a temper fueled by an internal furnace that struggled to keep up with her. She wasn’t going to tell them that. She’d run on the fumes of her exhaustion until she got what she wanted.

Eventually Lady Bela relented with a ragged sigh. “We think of them as echoes. Fragments of a person who is long, long gone.”

Daniela’s embrace tightened, almost painfully. She was tense, winding into a defensive coil. She dropped her forehead onto Isolde’s shoulder and released a breath so long and painful that Isolde twisted to try and see her. She shook her head, keeping her emotions hidden, though her body relaxed. Her hands loosened, and the panicked pulse at Isolde’s back slowed down again.

“You know we used to be human.” Cassandra’s voice is flat. Blunt. Distant, like she’s reciting dull, ancient facts, like separating her emotions from her retelling will put the needed space between whatever happened and their lives now. “We were weak. Mortal. Those lives are better off being forgotten.”

Understanding slams home underneath Isolde’s ribs. She twists again, managing to catch Daniela’s gaze, and tried to keep her own as soft and sympathetic as she can. “So that was you?”

Daniela could only look back for so long before she pulled away, twisting to hide her face in Isolde’s hair. She inhaled as if Isolde’s scent grounded her. “We’re not supposed to talk about what happened Before.” She whispered, almost inaudibly. “Those girls, those lives… they’re gone. We are Mother’s Daughters now.”

Isolde squeezed Daniela’s hands, trying to convey as much as she could as her heart clenched at the pain in the youngest sister’s voice. Logically, yeah, she knew that whatever had transformed the daughters was probably more than a little traumatic and likely filled with more grotesque horror than she could imagine, but seeing and feeling the aftermath bleeding off Daniela… and thinking about what that transformation had cost them…

“I’m sorry,” she said softly. “I wasn’t trying to drag up painful memories.”

She was forgiven almost instantaneously, with Daniela firmly shaking her head and nuzzling into Isolde’s neck as the tension unwound from her, little by little. “I know. You’re just trying to figure things out yourself.”

“Still…” Isolde trailed off, unsure now. What else could she say? What else should she say? She couldn’t think of anything that wouldn’t sound insincere, so she lapsed into a wounded quiet. Though, as the silence stretched between them, it lessened– turning into a salve that soothed. 

Daniela seemed content to remain close, her breath oddly pleasant against Isolde’s neck. She felt more relaxed, her body languid and loose as she shifted them, but… the turmoil tangled up the currents underneath that placid surface.

Sure, she’d got her answers, but had it been worth Daniela paying the price for her?

A tiny part of her said yes. Another part just curled into itself and wallowed about a kernel of guilt.

She couldn’t take back what she said, and she wasn’t eager to fight for anything further. So, instead, she focused on the here and now. On the subtle heat of Daniela’s body engulfing her own from shoulder to thigh; on the strange rhythm of Daniela’s swarm, so close to a heartbeat; proof that she was here, she was real–focused on the silken brush of Daniela’s hair against her cheek.

Isolde cupped Daniela’s face, drawing her back from the crook of her neck. Daniela leaned into the touch, golden gaze softening into honey.

“I missed you.” 

Now that she’d said it, she realized that she meant it. A lot more than she had expected. She angled to face Daniela head-on, sweeping her eyes over the evidence of what the redhead endured. She was as haunted and diminished as both of her sisters but… that doesn’t matter anymore. They’re all here now–she’s here now. Safe.

Whatever Daniela saw in her gaze made her pupils widen slightly, her lips parting a bit. She darted a glance at Isolde’s mouth, then back again. There, and back again. With a swallow, she closed the scant distance between them, slow enough that Isolde could pull back… if she wanted to.

Isolde didn’t pull back. The kiss was feather-light at first. Chaste. Daniela waited, sweetly–another chance for Isolde to change her mind. Instead, Isolde opened her mouth against that sweetness, and Daniela sighed with the invitation and kissed her again, more insistently this time.

Isolde fell into the feeling of Daniela’s mouth sweeping over hers, banishing doubts and worries with every small noise she drew from the other woman. Daniela kissed like she was the only thing tethering Daniela to this moment, and it left Isolde breathless as heat melted down her spine to puddle low in her belly.

She slipped her hands about, curling them at the nape of Daniela’s neck, deepening the kiss. She moved to tangle copper locks about her fingers as Daniela made soft, needy little sounds. Eventually, she pulled away with a nip at Isolde’s bottom lip.

A pointed cough cut into the moment. 

Isolde remembered where, and who, and who else were in the room with them. Lady Bela regarded them with one perfect eyebrow arched and lips pursed in… what? Disapproval? Jealousy? Disappointment?  Next to her, Cassandra was easy enough to read. The huntress sprawled over the bedspread, chin propped on her hand right next to Isolde’s hip. She angled a knowing smirk upward, and her eyes were so, so dark that Isolde saw her own reflection within them.

“Don’t stop saying hello on our account,” Cassandra purred.

That shattered the last of the giddiness. Isolde flushed and broke away, turning as Cassandra’s playful laugh chased her hiding against Daniela’s shoulder. 

“You are so annoying!” Daniela complained, adding on a wordless snarl and a good, measured swipe at the huntress. It struck true–Isolde heard the solid thawck of flesh hitting flesh, and it only made Cassandra laugh harder when a second, tinier noise came as Adele replicated the attack, likely divebombing the huntress over and over again.

“... do I have to stay here to make sure you’ll actually allow her a moment to rest?” Lady Bela drawled as she leaned forward, running her nails along Daniela’s scalp–sending Isolde’s hands retreating in shameful concession–and crooned approvingly when her younger sister turned her attention upwards like a flower starving for the sun.

“I–no, Bela.” Daniela answered, apologetic and approval-seeking all at once.

“Mmm.” Lady Bela didn’t sound like she believed her. She called Isolde’s name after a moment. “Miss Ardenlane, how are you feeling?”

Really? That was… a stupid question. She felt embarrassed, aroused, frustrated–

She went with: “A little lightheaded. My Lady.”

“See, Vixen?” Lady Bela cast another look towards Daniela, oh, this was her disappointed expression. Even Daniela shrunk back, finally a little bit sheepish. “If you’re too overeager, you’re going to undo all of Cassandra’s hard work, and we don’t want that. Do we?”

Daniela shook her head adamantly. “N-no! Of course not!”

“Then, I suggest you try to restrain yourself, dear sister.” Lady Bela dropped her hand to angle Daniela’s chin up with two fingers. “Can you do that for me?”

Daniela swooned between the loss of Lady Bela’s hands through her hair and the sharp, taut pleasure at her neck being angled. She wavered–was that a whimper?–before she noded, resolute. “Yes, Bela. I’ll behave. I promise!”

“Good girl.” Lady Bela leaned down, and grazed a kiss over the corner of Daniela’s mouth. She lingered there, her mouth brushing close enough that Isolde was pretty damned sure she’s about to remind Daniela about who was allowed to kiss who… but she pulled back with a grimace. “... I’ll trust you on that, Daniela. Cassandra?”

Cassandra hadn’t taken her eyes off Isolde once, yet. “I think I should stay here. Observe. Chaperone the two. Just in case.”

“Absolutely not. You are going to take a second look at some of the reports and requests from the new gentry. I’m already so, so far behind and it’s going to take a miracle if I want to be even remotely back on a timely schedule.”

“What?” Cassandra rolled onto her back, frowning upside-down up at Lady Bela. “Are you kidding? That sounds horrible and dull, and there’s no fun in tha–heey!” She yelped as she was hauled up by the elbow. “This isn’t fair!”

“I don’t care. Come along. Now.”

“Ok, ok!” Cassandra’s grace was the only thing keeping her from tumbling flat onto her face as Lady Bela’s pace practically threw her from bed to floor to the door within seconds. They swept out of the room without a look back, leaving only the whispering buzz of their Swarm-speak fading as the door shut behind them.

Which left Isolde alone. Well, not alone. Not with that pair of arms about her waist, and that hitching breath against her temple. She risked leaning back, and found Daniela studying her with swollen lips and definitely-mussed hair. 

Maybe she should call Cassandra back. Ask for that chaperoning. 

But then Daniela loosened her grip and slid around to sit next to Isolde, not behind her. The redhead stared ahead, quiet, as Adele lazily circled back from ‘chasing’ Cassandra out, and it was with the fly’s perch on her outstretched hand that she faced Isolde. The desire was still there in her gaze, but it had dimmed, embers on a cooling hearth.

“You wanted to talk. So, let’s talk.”

Chapter Text

Ten minutes passed before Isolde really understood what having a conversation with Daniela meant when there were no distractions (or excuses) to avoid a head-on collision or a really unhelpful detour.

Like how she kept thinking about that kiss. Compared it to the kisses from before. Wondered if–

Ok. That was exactly what Isolde wanted to avoid, and so she scrambled a little too quickly from the bed, and yeah–the world spun, but when she held up her hands, surprisingly Daniela heeded the request to keep back.

Isolde was standing a little too wide and akimbo but she was upright and with her facilities (mostly) intact. This? This was progress.

Daniela settled primly on the edge of the mattress, toying with the covers, flipping them back and forth while her gaze flickered between Isolde’s face and the repetitive motion. Little by little, she built up to a question; speaking so softly that Isolde had to lean in to catch any of it.

“You really, really frightened me tonight.” Daniela wasn’t looking at her, but her distress poured from her body all the same. From the tension that pulled her shoulders tight and high, to the twitching of her fingers mimicking the tic in her jaw as she bit down on her words until they were concise and clean…

To how a dull, reciprocal ache resonated in the hollows of Isolde’s bones; a dozen pairs of wings fluttering and flicking out to release their anxiety.

Isolde pressed her right hand over the wound, exerting pressure that equalized against whatever the drones pushed out, and closed her eyes. There came that summer afternoon, again.

“I’m sorry.” She was. Genuinely sorry, that is. Her complicated thoughts about their disappearance and reappearance like three wraiths in the night didn’t overshadow the fact that she hated causing trouble.

“Wh-when I found you, you were s-so still and cold. And all I could smell was blood–yours, Isolde, it was yours and it smelled s-so sweet and mouth-watering and who’d–who’d have known if I’d taken a little taste? It was already puddling out of you a-and–” Daniela’s fingers twisted tightly, and there came a ripping noise of fabric.

A second ‘I’m sorry’ died on Isolde’s tongue. There’s nothing she wanted to say, or could say, really. Not to that confession. She took a step back when Daniela’s head whipped up. 

“I didn’t–I didn’t touch a drop.” Her voice pressed against Isolde’s ears, as insistent as the stare keeping her in place. “I don’t ever want to see you like that again. You can’t leave–” she swallowed her request, turning it into a command that would make Lady Bela proud. “You are not allowed to leave me. Ever.”

A frenzy bubbled beneath that beautiful exterior. One wrong word or move and it might boil over them both.

“I’ll try my best not to, Daniela. I don’t think I’d want to leave even if I had to, now.”

That dulled the edge, but something still churned through Daniela’s mind. Isolde tried to concentrate, tried to piecemeal it together through the vague glimpses, but came up with only fragments of panic and worry.

She’s approached the bed before she realized she was moving. Reached her hands out to cup and draw Daniela’s face upward as she stood above her, finding that summer-kissed thread inside her and pulling on it. 

A quick burst of agony overtook her as a crawling shadow peeled away from her flesh and shuddered to form a cascade that flowed down her arms. It inevitably broke upon Daniela’s pallid features and while she didn’t understand what she’s doing, she felt it nevertheless.

Daniela’s eyes fluttered close and she turned translucent; the woman giving way to the swarm within. A dozen then a hundred times over, there were little sisters brushing their feet together, shimmying past each other in an unspoken, choreographed dance–We’re here, we’re all right, we missed you too–and just like that, the coiled knots unfurled and everything up to this point released.

She was blinking back tears when she pulled herself out of the swirling song, and while it solve nothing–fixed nothing–the fact that she was never going to be alone again if she just… held out her hand…?

Was that terror burbling in her throat or a wretched sob of relief?

The dark wave retreated, eventually, and soon the constant gnawing presence within her chest was back where it belonged. What’s more: Daniela no longer looked like she was teetering on a ledge and the walls had stopped closing in. 

They could breathe easy again. She could breathe easy again, though the world angled rightward. She corrected it by seating herself next to Daniela, allowing her body to sway and lean into the other woman as the room reoriented itself properly once more. 

“I’m sorry that you got hurt. Has that… have you seen anything like that since…?” Since we shoved a handful of psychosomatic flies inside your body? 

Isolde shook her head. “I… no. Not like this. Not… real.”

“But you’ve seen things.”

“I’ve been having nightmares since Midwinter.” Isolde felt like she was giving confession, and hated that she sounds so… what? Weak? Exhausted? Admitting that she wasn’t at all as mentally ok as she’d like to be? She shook her head, pushing past those thoughts to get her worries out before they were clamped down.

“I’ve been thinking I’m somewhere else. That I’m someone else. There’s a lot that seem to be triggered with a bath so…” she risked a sidelong glance because she knew where those visions stemmed from, and maybe this one had too but–

It was different. And she said as such to Daniela while she picked away at the callouses building up on the inner side of her left middle finger. The bed dipped and swayed and she couldn’t help it, she flinched at the loss of contact. She stared down at her hands, unwilling to watch as Daniela pulled away from her.

Absently, she ran her thumb over a chipped nail when the discordant notes of a warming-up phonograph drifted by. As they find the melody, a mournful violin filled the space as Daniela reclaimed her seat; giggling as Isolde almost toppled back into her side.

“We don’t want a certain nosy sister indulging in her nosy little habit,” Daniela explained as matter-of-factly as one did when discussing family truths. “Bela and Cassa are both within eavesdropping distance and trust me, you don’t want Bela pestering you about weird dreams.”

There was a story there. Isolde quirked her head to the side. “I don’t?”

“Nope.” There was an upward curl at the corner of Daniela’s mouth, but she kept her amusement to herself, even when Isolde leaned in with a pout to try and pry a little more from her.

Tactic one: play on Daniela’s need to be the favorite. It ended with Daniela giggling, eyes bright and mirth shimmering at the edges of her smile, but no answer forthcoming.

Tactic two: charm. Isolde was decent at that. She was assured of that fact for all of a minute before Daniela leaned away from her, cheeks rosy and flushed, and batting her hand to reinforce distance.

Tactic … well, none, because her head started to throb. She gave up with an exaggerated huff and lowered herself carefully to the bed to stare grumpily up at the ceiling.

“Y’know,” Daniela hovered into view, propping herself on an elbow as she stared down. “You might not want to tell Bela, but you should definitely tell me.”

“And why’s that?”

“Because we share everything now?” Daniela shook her head as if confused as to why Isolde was confused about such a simple, basic fact.

And, hey, Isolde wasn’t confused, but she was thinking back to how Lady Bela mentioned it but with a very different connotation and–ugh. She didn’t have the strength to navigate that mental minefield, and… despite the stubborn desire to not share anything out of spite because it’d serve the daughters right… the need for catharsis overrode her need to be stubborn.

So, she started talking. Rambling, almost, as the words bubbled and simmered in her throat just waiting to spill out into the open as she talked about the dreams. The clean-up. The feeling that she needed to apologize or atone but she didn’t know if that was even what she was supposed to do anymore. She tried to stop herself but the dam’s fallen apart and now she’s mentioning how she’d missed them and that every night without them felt absolutely horrible because she wanted company but no one else fit into the empty spaces.

When she finally, finally shut up, she didn’t look at Daniela. Halfway through, she’d started naming and claiming the strange shapes she found in the ceiling’s whorling woodgrain and she didn’t see a reason to stop doing that now. Even when she knew Daniela was watching and waiting.

There was the sound of a shaky breath, and a hand tangled with hers that had her looking over.

“Dani?”

“I’m sorry.” For what? “It’s my fault.” Was it? Something about the anguish suggested that Daniela didn’t have control over it.

Still, Isolde wanted to clarify. “Wait, you think my dreams are… your fault?”

Daniela nodded, shrinking into herself save for the anchor of Isolde’s hand. She practically flinched at Isolde’s inhale, and it was a struggle to get her to keep her gaze.

“Talk to me.” Isolde said, carefully.

Daniela’s nose crinkled and she made a tiny toss of her head but she didn’t let go, and Isolde had learned to wait. It paid off. “It … it took me a very long time to learn how to…” There’s that nose crinkle again, and Daniela muttered in rapid-Romanian before she slowed down enough so Isolde could understand. “How to not … overshare? Over-spill. Into the Swarm. I … ok, I know you think we’re teasing you when we tell you we share everything but… we do. Even the stuff we don’t really … want to.”

Isolde remembered a spark of a distant conversation in a glass corridor, and some discussion of communication and awareness but it was muddy and muted underneath what had happened later. Something about the flow of consciousness and the drones so long as they touched in some fashion…?

She must look confused because Daniela starts giggling at her expression, and while Isolde scowled at that, it was a sweet note and far more appealing than self-loathing.

“If you really want to scramble your brain, let Bela talk your ear off for a day. She has theories and then theories about those theories and… I promise that you’ll have no space in your skull for anything else for like, a week.” Daniela kept the smile for a beat, then sobered. “But… I think it’s going to be different with you.”

“How so?”

“Well, the three of us are… one swarm but we’re distinct within it? I can always tell Bela and Cassa’s little sisters. They’re not me, y’know?” Hashem help her, Isolde thought she was starting to. “So… that means I’m a part of you now. We’re not distinct. Whatever’s broken in me is going to affect you too. So… I’m sorry.”

Absently, Isolde lifted their joined hands to the gnawing wound, and felt the whisper of the little sisters–the drones–against her flesh. They were right there, lurking below the surface. And it was… horrifying–comforting–assuring–terrifying all at once. She tried to condense it into more than a jumble and… she couldn’t.

She distracted herself from picking at that by watching Daniela watch their hands, and when she finally caught on, Isolde offered her what she hoped was an easygoing smile. “I wonder if I’ve been changed in the night. Let me think: was I the same when I woke up this morning?”

“Hmm? Oh!” There was a delightful little crease at the edges of Daniela’s eyes. “Are you suggesting we’re all a little mad down here?”

“Aren’t we?”

Daniela shimmied to lay properly against her, though still propped on her elbow. She stared down, directly eye-to-eye now. Isolde tilted her head up a little bit in return, and it was all very… 

Well. They were very close.

She swallowed against the sudden desert her throat’s become. “Uh, if we’re… sharing the same bout of madness, would you mind if I share my own theories? Even if it’s a little crazy?”

Daniela mimed worry. “Oh no, Bela’s already got to you hadn’t she?” She kept up the ruse for a second longer, then nodded. “Of course you can.”

“I don’t think you … overshared or lost control.” She was going to have to address this carefully. Lady Bela brushed off the question, Cassandra deflected and shot it down, but Daniela…? Isolde swallowed again, now for courage. “First… do you remember what you promised me when I found you after what happened to Terika?”

Daniela balked at the question, falling so silent that even the Swarm’s absent, but then squirmed in acknowledgement. “Yeah…?”

“How you’d do anything I might ask you to do?”

“Uh-huh…”

Isolde gripped her hand now, almost crushing it between them. It was an anchor, a shackle, a promise. “I think that I was sharing what you were going through. Daniela… I’m not asking out of some sick need to know what happened but–what happened after Midwinter?”

She ended the question with a whisper. Daniela’s hair was falling around them and if she pretended hard enough, she could believe they were huddling in some private alcove together. A few months ago, and a lifetime before, she’d have felt the stirrings of claustrophobia but right now, she was just…worried.

So worried.

“Mother… doubted our convictions.” Was how Daniela explained it, in a flat cadence so dull that it had Isolde struggling to sit up. Daniela shook her head, gently keeping her in place. “It… took a while, but we proved that they’re as strong as ever. Stronger, even.” She said that directly looking at the damaged skin.

This close, and at this angle, Isolde saw the edges of a mirroring scar at the peak of Daniela’s temple. She’d seen it at a distance, and beneath a toss of hair, but this… was fresh. Like someone had shaved Daniela’s hair just to expose the entire breadth of the scarring.

She slowly lifted her hand to trace right beneath it, and felt the full-body shudder that rolled through the heiress above her. 

“I don’t understand. You three… are so loyal to your family. I can’t believe that … She…” for some reason, she had the childish notion that if she said the countess’ name aloud, it would summon her. “She… shouldn’t doubt that.”

“Mother expected loyalty from all of us, but… she demands obedience from Bela.”

“That’s idiotic, when did Bela ever–” But Isolde’s mind helpfully answered her question for her as realization crawled ice-cold up her brainstem. The lack of subjects from the Beneviento visit. The two times she stepped up for Isolde. The stubborn glower before the hunt. The silent plead underneath Mother Miranda’s nose. “Oh. She… should have finished the job as soon as she found out what Cassandra’s task was.”

Daniela unhappily nodded. “It’s more than that. What Mother thinks Bela did…” she trailed off, working her lip bloodless between her teeth. Her fingers brushed against the darkness, and once again, the swell of a dozen, ephemeral bodies rose to meet the touch; almost like kittens. Horrifying, insectile kittens.

Daniela yanked her attention with a sharp tug at her chin. “Outside the Swarm, outside us, you are a very successful Harvest Maiden, do you understand?”

Isolde opened her mouth, firstly to ask what the hell a Harvest Maiden was, and was that-and how was that-different than the mold-cask maidens but Daniela tugged a little sharper and there was that manic gleam in her eyes again. So she nodded. Then voiced her acknowledgement when Daniela continued to stare.

When Daniela found her answer convincing enough, she lowered down until their foreheads touched. “Ok… ok.”

Isolde’s one hand was still trapped between them, but her other… she trailed lightly along Daniela’s hair, along her neck, down her shoulder. “I’m sorry.” She didn’t know what she’s apologizing for, but just felt like she needs to.

Daniela snorted softly. “Don’t be.” Then as an afterthought, shifted so they’re really eye-to-eye. “Don’t tell Bela you’re sorry either. She’ll take it like you think she made the wrong choice and I know you’ve already seen her when she’s being prissy. No one wants that.” Daniela smiled, a little forced, but she was trying to lighten the mood. “No one.”

“I’ll keep that well in mind.” Isolde assured Daniela even as she started to chew on the thought that Lady Bela’s decision had shifted the dynamics of House Dimitrescu far, far more than Isolde had originally suspected. 

That the daughters had been punished, not just because an errant maid had survived, but because the daughters had begged for her to. Because Lady Bela had begged. And no matter the angle she compared the thought against, she started to believe that it had been inevitable that she’d see the year through once Lady Beneviento involved herself.

And still–that wasn’t why Lady Dimitrescu seemingly subjugated her daughters to a punishment that had left them hungry-lean and gun-shy as a workhorse at the slaughter yard, but if Isolde just–

“You’re thinking way too hard.” Daniela’s chiding tone cut through her concerns. “I can feel the wheels churning in that pretty skull.”

Isolde flushed. “I’m sorry, I just…”

She was cut off by the press of Daniela’s mouth against hers. The kiss was sudden, and Daniela ended it as flustered as she started it. “I couldn’t think of another way to stop–just… stop saying you’re sorry. Stop worrying about everything and everyone else for once, and … ugh. It’s romantic in the stories, but with you it’s…”

“It’s what?” She asked. Way too softly, and with less breath than she’d like; and her hand splayed over Daniela’s shoulder like it belonged there and–

Daniela answered with a growl that scratched pleasantly at Isolde’s brain and swept back down for another kiss that deepened as soon as her lips connected. It was instinct to respond to her, to rise up and meet that familiar pulse of desire.

She untangled her hand from Isolde’s own to run her fingers down Isolde’s ribs, along her waist to curl and claim the span of her lower back, to lift her flush even as she pushed Isolde back down against the bedspread. 

She rolled over, and Isolde welcomed her there by spreading her legs, her thighs slotting about Daniela’s hips as she drug her own hands up to cup and pin Daniela’s face between them. She moaned at the soft press of a tongue against her own, and the world narrowed to the slide of lips against lips, unhurried and languid as Daniela supped pleasure from her as easily as a bee with nectar. 

Yeah, sure, there was a logical part of her (a small, rapidly fading part of her) that was more than a little alarmed at how easily she succumbed to the woman in her arms; how quickly her doubts and concerns (and all of them valid) went up in flame as soon as she had Daniela’s mouth and hands on her body; how very distracted she was letting herself be when she knew… she knew better.

Though–as she felt Daniela hiking her nightgown up over her hips, there came a shock of cold that doused that white-hot need to something simmering and concerned.

“Wait–” she pulled her mouth from Daniela’s jaw, trying her best to ignore the delicious ache that Daniela drew with her thumbs over Isolde’s hips.

“Ok, ok…” Daniela panted, turning to press her face into the blanket. She shivered–trembling, really. She looked back with something a little less consuming in her gaze. “What’s wrong?

The better, rational parts of Isolde’s conscience were taking back control now. She brushed her hands over Daniela’s own, then followed them up to her shoulders, her neck, until she was back to cupping the youngest heiress’ face, and, yes, now that she was actually paying attention, Daniela’s skin was the ivory complexion of bleached bone, and so, so stark against the dark bruises about her eyes and… as Isolde’s gaze flicked down, the shadows at her wrist.

“You’re freezing.” Isolde frowned, smoothing her thumb over the unusual sharp angle of a cheekbone.

As if chastised, Daniela averted her gaze away from whatever she saw in Isolde’s eyes. She bit her lower lip bloodless as her desire cooled to flickering embers, then cold ash. “I… I’m fine. Mother wouldn’t have allowed us to freeze.”

Isolde brushed their noses together as she remembered a pair of shackles and a bucket of frigid water. “No… but can you tell me she was adamant on keeping the fires stoked for you?”

Daniela said nothing. Which said everything, doesn’t it?

A pained expression flashed across Daniela’s face, and Isolde was almost–almost remorseful about the comment. She wouldn’t take it back but she didn’t want Daniela to think… to think what exactly?

She struggled to chase down that thought but it faded fast, and this wasn’t the time to waste resources on it. Instead, she focused on salvaging the dying embers between them. “Hey, c’mere.”

It was a little awkward, sure, but Isolde scooted back until she partially sat up, and before Daniela could get inside her own head, she pulled her close until they were flush from hip to shoulders. She then finangled one of the lighter blankets around them, cocooning them beneath it before guiding Daniela’s head gratefully against her shoulder.

Daniela was shy at first, but submitted when it was obvious Isolde wasn’t going to push her away. She almost knocked Isolde’s jaw as she ducked her head beneath Isolde’s chin. 

Isolde sighed, then presses her lips to Daniela’s scar, keeping them there as Daniela murmured something in appreciation and nuzzled closer. There’s something about the way her nose dragged against Isolde’s collarbone that left goosebumps and for once, it wasn’t because Isolde’s compass of decision-making was skewed.

The suspicion on why the daughters looked so haggard and carved-out became a little more credible.

“She starved you, didn’t she?”

Daniela stiffened, even as her grip tightened, even as she tried to hide further away from the question. When she spoke, the optimism was a strangled, straining note. “We’re going to have dinner soon. A proper family one. I can make it until then.”

“Is that what she told you? What if I disagree? What if I don’t want you to wait?” Isolde leaned back, canting Daniela’s gaze up to meet hers. “We’re supposed to take care of each other, aren’t we?” She kept the pressure on, even as Daniela’s eyes darted from her own.

“Yeah…”

“I want to take care of you. May I?” Isolde knew her smile was probably more like a rictus grin, lacking anything truly genuine or earnest, but that didn’t matter now. What did was the almost-audible snap of Daniela’s eyes upon her. The prickling dance of her nails. The gleam of lamplight over the curve of a fang as her lips parted in anticipation.

It was when Isolde coiled her hand about Daniela’s neck with a slow, steady pressure that Daniela seemed to catch up to what was going on, and a terror raked a stripe down her back–but it wasn’t hers. 

No, not when Daniela shook her head, trembling and exposed. She tried to push back, even emitted a wordless hiss when Isolde stayed firm. A spark of rebellion danced back and forth between them. “No. Isolde, no. I’ll hurt you.”

“Only for a moment.” Was that her voice that’s gone so breathy? She reinforced her request with a firmer touch of pressure. “I trust you.”

Daniela’s breath was a sharp, spiking inhale, and oh, her irises were lost in the cavernous dark that’d taken over her gaze. She scoured Isolde’s expression before giving into the gentle command. She allowed herself to fall, landing with a brush of her lips against the flight of Isolde’s pulse.

Now, Isolde tensed. Now, the survival-inclined portion of her brain woke up. She went as still as a deer in the woods–could anyone blame her? There was a predator mouthing a greedy promise against the flesh of her throat and for some reason she had allowed it to happen!

No. Not allowed. That implied passivity on her part. Which would be a lie. Because Isolde? Well...

She had all but begged for this.

Her breath was a shuddering mess as Daniela laved a path that dipped lower, and lower still, her fangs tantalizingly scraping a raw live-wire current from their contact-points directly down to Isolde’s lower spine; when she mapped the curve of Isolde’s clavicle with her tongue, Isolde brought her other hand up to squeeze Daniela’s bicep.

She didn’t know if she’s warning her off, or pleading but the gesture had Daniela freezing in place. Waiting, even as the effort rippled through her. This was Isolde’s last chance to use that common sense she prided herself on.

Isolde curled her fingers, let her nails bite into the soft skin at the nape of Daniela’s neck, and lolled her head back with surrender. “Please.”

Daniela started with a tentative nip, then followed it with a stronger one. She suckled at the wound, testing Isolde’s limits. It was when Isolde’s hand tightened about her arm, snagging her close, that she realized–permission granted. Daniela snarled wordlessly, and surged forward to collect her prize.

At first, for a second, it hurt much like a fresh bruise when one pressed their thumb over the center, but that distant pressure bellowed to a thunderclap of pain as Daniela’s teeth pierced, tearing into her flesh. Then it was ragged and white-hot, a ripping sensation that pulled through her bones, until even her molars ached with the agony. It wasn’t sharp. Sharp would be clinical, precise–this was a ravaging, vicious, savage wound that shut down her brain.

Electricity jolted along her exposed nerves, again and again until she sparked, a live-wire and hot-current at even the lightest touch. When Daniela’s hand claimed her neck, collaring her in place, she almost tumbled over into a numb oblivion as more than one mouth sought out the dark vitae leaking from the wound.

There were rules about this, weren’t there? How she shouldn’t be so willing. How she shouldn’t be stoking an internal fire that pulsed with each hollow, sucking pull at her veins. How if she concentrated, she could pluck Daniela’s intentions and thoughts from her nerves like a violinist fine-tuning an instrument. 

Hunger, rapicious and heady, ebbed and flowed around them. There was a tide, and it was dragging them both out into dangerous waters as Isolde vaguely registered being lowered properly onto the sheets. She knew this was wrong. It was so, so wrong because a riptide would  only drown them at the end, but the cold leeched away from her fingertips and a warmth saturating her as she burrowed to seek the source of it.

The world was a haze, save for the subtle breeze of a summer afternoon. It was comforting, and she fell into the golden-hued light. Then there came a sharper, cleaner scent. Blade-oil, she remembered, and a woodsmoke that curled pleasantly in her memories. And still, the tide tugged at her.

Here, drifting out to sea, it was dark and safe as she was carried by the press of a hundred sisters. Here, there was a furnace and a feast. Here, there was a snarl of bitter thread, dark and dangerous, and oh–how it caught on her wings, tangling around her thoraxes and it was just as hungry, feeding on her as she fed on it and they turned and turned in a cannibalistic ouroboros– 

–Tannin blooms bitter-acidic on the back of her tongue. It is iron and earth, a bloody clarion alarm driving back the endless dark–

Daniela yanked away from her as if scruffed like a misbehaving dog. She gasped, her mouth dark and wet, and her eyes darker still, as Isolde stared back into that abyssal reflection. Shadows of the swarm blurred and skittered at the edge of her, and when Isolde reached out–they both flinched at the imagery of a hand winding about their bundle of marionette strings–but then there came the Swarm, buzzing and constant, chasing away the intrusive thought.

She noticed Adele circling a defensive position between them, landing only when the Swarm sunk back into both of their respective skins, and the shadowy press of a stronger, hungrier, more demanding will faded to a smudge. 

The clarion bled away into a silence almost as loud. Daniela shifted, and Isolde knew an apology was trying to escape her.

“Wait. Don’t–don’t you dare apologize.” Isolde’s voice scraped her throat, and she swallowed against the roughness of sandpaper. “I–what was that?”

Daniela’s jaw clicked around a mimicry of speech. She immediately scowled, and her eyes burned with frustration, but she didn’t try again. Not immediately. Not until she had retreated to the edge of the bed with clear, defined distance between them. She looked almost wounded, sighing as she ran her tongue over her lips, clearing away a smear of crimson.  “I don’t know.”

“Don’t know, or won’t share?” Her words were sharp enough that Daniela recoiled from their bite. “I think you do. There was something else there with us, wasn’t there? Those threads.” Tendrils, Isolde’s mind supplied helpfully. “They bit back.” Not the greatest analogy, but whatever worked because every second, she was feeling more and more isolated within her own head and knew–just knew–that it was Daniela shutting her out.

“I don’t know.” Daniela insisted, head angled over her shoulder. “It’s… this isn’t what happens with Bela, or with Cassa. I don’t–we don’t want to crawl under each other’s skin and devour what’s there. Not… not like that.”

“Then what is it supposed to be like?” Again, tendrils popped up in her mind. This time, she didn’t shove the thought aside. “Is this what you meant when you said that things were growing. O-or that ‘opportunistic guest’?”

Most dolls remain catatonic after implantation.

Bile flooded her throat. “Daniela… What the hell did you do to me?” She didn’t mean them precisely. She didn’t! She referred to each meddling hand in whatever cauldron of nightmares they had all touched but of course Daniela didn’t take it the right way.

Of course, Daniela immediately assumed it was a personal attack. Her eyes burned sickly-amber as she whirled on Isolde with a baring of teeth. “Stop accusing me of lying all the time!”

And maybe, maybe if dread wasn’t swirling like lead in her gullet, Isolde might’ve given in. Apologized. Been a bit considerate that whatever had just happened had also left Daniela a little shaken. Maybe if there had been more than dead air for the past week, and nightmares sapping away her willpower until she ran on fumes…

But maybes were maybes for a reason, and so, Isolde rolled her eyes. She was done with the raised-hackles, and the bristling silence. Daniela wanted to be churlish, fine, she could give just as good as she was getting–

She shoved over to the opposite edge, standing up to immediately feel the world fall away. She stumbled, arms flailing madly, and it wasn’t just luck that she didn’t earn herself a second concussion. 

It was Daniela. Well, Daniela’s reflexes that caught Isolde in a vice, the swarm cloud agitated and billowing about them as she turned her save into a smothering embrace. There was no comfort here, no reassurance. It was suffocating. Daniela’s arms were crushing her, forcing her to take shallower and shallower breaths. 

She struggled, fighting a tightening hold, tried to stifle the rising panic. It would only make it worse, she knew that–please, just settle–but she couldn’t breathe–yes, you can–no, she can’t–the room became a streak of color; Daniela’s arms constricting like iron bands–

“Let go.” She managed to choke out.

Daniela wasn’t listening any longer. She held onto Isolde even tighter, pressing Isolde’s back against her front even as Isolde thrashed, weakly, wasting her energy against an immovable stone wall.

Panic drove thorns into her chest as every breath started to burn with exertion. Her heart slammed her ribs, booming in her ears. She wanted to scream but she couldn’t–wouldn’t–waste her breath. She knew no one would hear her, and if someone did–why come help? 

She’d only brought this on herself, hadn’t she?

Her inner voice sounded so much like Lady Beneviento’s that it killed the fight she has left. She slumped, and it must have registered as submission because Daniela’s grip loosened slightly. Isolde waits a beat before sagging in relief–

Short-lived relief.

Because with one push forward, Daniela shoved her against an armoire, not caring that Isolde’s cheek smacked hard enough to rattle before she twisted her around and pinned her there. Trapped her, a gilded handle digging painfully into her spine.

Daniela leaned in, millimeters apart. “I want you to say you’re sorry.”

There was a lump in Isolde’s throat. Probably her heart. Had to be. She cried out as Daniela’s hands swept up to pin her by her shoulders. She was barely visible with the Swarm surging and rolling madly as she started fracturing into the cacophony–releasing Isolde, not because of any sudden remorse, but because she had lost the cohesion to hold on. She dissolved into a screaming torrent; skittering and crawling and climbing and claiming every inch of space.

Suffocating.

Instinct took over as the swarm crawled over her, dangerously close to smothering her underneath the hundreds of bodies. Isolde swiped a dozen drones away from her face and a dozen more immediately replaced them. She clawed at those fragmented sisters, trying not to yell, because if they got inside her mouth…?

Pain drove her to her knees. Drones crawled and prodded and bit at her skin, digging and burrowing at the cavernous, open portal in her chest, and the world turned colorless just before the astringent, sharp tang of tannin flooded her back teeth. 

Something compelled her to take a metaphysical hold of the electrical shocks as the hive bit into her nerves, and fuck it, she bit back, chasing the pain until she was outside herself, staring back into the grey prism of her own irises, and then she blinked because what in the actual, living fuck… and suddenly she was not just within the center of a maddening chorus. She was the chorus, and the melody, and everything else in between.

She was expanding, swirling outward into a spiral, peeling away the singular until there were hundreds and hundreds around her–around her–

Until it was gone. Daniela’s swarm was smaller than Isolde remembered as it fell away from her in clumps; too shocked to keep airborne.

Isolde stared through the piecemeal around them to see Lady Bela illuminated in the doorway, light piercing through her body as she commanded a vanguard of brilliant golds and garnet warriors to peel away from their subjugation of chastised, weakened emerald sisters.

They alighted to the air as one song, returning to the heir as she strode forward, eyes as dangerously bright and manic as her mother’s, snapping her wrist up in a wordless command for the swarm to coalesce. 

It did with a scatter of panicked, thrumming wings until Daniela was a singular, trembling person who scampered back at her sister’s advance, stumbling before Lady Bela’s fury until she knelt and whimpered as she was gripped by her hair.

Isolde watched, slumping down to sit with her back against the armoire. She winced, putting pressure on the wound. It wasn’t bleeding too badly, more like oozing, but it hurt something fierce. 

“I thought I’d given you clear instructions, Daniela. I thought that you would be capable of following the simplest of requests.” Lady Bela twisted her wrist and Daniela followed the turn of her arm, if only to lessen the tension on her scalp. “And I return to find you assaulting Miss Arden–”

“I didn’t–I just–I was trying–” Daniela’s protests broke and fell between bouts of pressured droning, and she lurched up, trying to nudge her sister’s hand. “I–”

“You,” Lady Bela stressed, “Are full of excuses.” She angled Daniela’s head back and forth, then hissed in displeasure. “Did you feed on her?!”

Now that Lady Bela said it, Daniela did look a little less like a wraith. She was still painfully thin, and almost hollow, but there’s now a flush to her cheeks. Though what little Isolde was able to make out, Lady Bela obviously could pick out more detail.

And… ok. She was furious at Daniela. She was.

But...

“I told her to.”

Lady Bela’s attention was a powerful thing, weighty even. “You told her.” She sounded the words out almost like she questioned their arrangement in the sentence.

“Suppose you could even say I ordered her to.”

“Ordered–?!”

The low, ominous chimed announced the lateness of the hour. And the traditional summoning of the daughters to their mother’s side.

Lady Bela released her sister, straightening up as the chimes continued, and pinched the bridge of her nose. A few choice curses filtered from her, along with ‘absolute idiocy’, but when the chimes faded the heir was once again composed and regal.

And stared at Isolde like she was fully accountable alongside Daniela.

“You: are coming with me to eat. A proper meal. Not…” All right, maybe Lady Bela wasn’t that composed. Not with how she grit her jaw against the melodic, calm voice she tried to maintain. “And as for you, Miss Ardenlane.”

Oh. They were back to that title again. 

“I’m going to send for Miss Solomon. You don’t have a moronic pact with her by any chance, do you?”

Out of spite, Isolde almost said ‘yes’, but the look she was fixed with had her answering ‘no’ in the most sullen tone she could muster.

“Good.” Was Lady Bela matching her petulance?

Before Isolde could explore (or exploit) that, the heir had her sister up and standing. Daniela snarled, and the swirl of drones around her flared up into a cloud that streaked out the door with a noise that was probably swarm-speak for something crude by the way Lady Bela rolled her eyes.

She was still furious, but smiled at the antics regardless. Though she stifled it when Lady Bela turned from the door to approach her. She stopped at a proper distance, her eyes raking Isolde from head to toe.

“Are you all right?” She asked, in a quieter voice. Then after a moment, “Isolde?”

“Lightheaded. Upset. Really confused.” Isolde made her way back to the bed, and tried to ignore the blood spotting the sheets. “Why Chloe–er–Miss Solomon?”

“You two are friendly, and she’s…” Lady Bela’s nose crinkled much like Daniela’s did when she was about to say something she found upsetting. “Aware of the situation. You might find it easy to talk about things with her.”

“Oh.” Isolde eased down. “That–thank you.”

“Speak nothing of it. I should have done this from the start. Clearly you and Daniela both are a terrible influence on the other.”

It was the worried glances Lady Bela kept giving the clock that convinced Isolde to let that comment go. “I’ll wait here for Chloe. You should–”

“Yes.” Lady Bela was already on her way to the door again. She paused at the threshold, a hand on the frame, and turned a look over her shoulder. 

She left without saying anything.

Next to her, Adele settled on the pillow, flicking her wings as she looked up at Isolde curiously.

“Yeah, I know. I don’t understand what just happened either.”

Brttz.

Chapter Text

A small earthquake roused her from a restless, tossing sleep.

“Sorry.” Chloe looked somewhat apologetic for disturbing her. She pulled her hand away from Isolde’s shoulder, and tried not to wince as Adele bit hard at her wrist. “It’s protocol – Lady Bela mentioned you probably had a concussion so…” 

“Right.” Isolde pushed herself up into an unsteady, seated position. She recalled Adele, feeling the drone circle her neck once before standing sentinel. “It’s fine. I don’t really feel like sleeping much anyways.” 

She watched Chloe lean back, sitting in the chair Lady Bela had occupied earlier, then caught sight of the winterized clothing the American woman set next to her.

“What’s this?”

“An offer for some fresh air. Yes, you have a head injury, yes, you should be resting but… I figured you’d like a change of scenery.”

Let’s talk without the risk of eavesdropping noble ladies.

Isolde weighed the option, then shrugged. “Sure, why not.”

“That’s the spirit.” Chloe grinned, then stood up with a gesture somewhere toward the door. “I’ll meet you out there, then?”

“Wait.” Isolde carefully edged to the side of the bed, then gingerly straightened up. When the world didn’t teeter off-kilter, she nodded. “Thanks.”

Chloe nodded, then ducked out without a further word.

Isolde carefully changed out from the nightgown into an outfit that was a little loose around the shoulders, but otherwise was a comfortable fit. It took longer than she’d like, as her vision swam when she moved too fast, but she finished without having to call for help.

So she counted that as a win.

She headed into the communal sitting room, recognizing the place from Midwinter. Which meant… that door on the right led to Daniela’s room, and she suspected the longer hallway splitting off would lead to Lady Bela and Cassandra’s respective suites.

Chloe roamed around the fireplace, nosing at the various trinkets on the mantle, then turned at the sound of the door. “Fit ok?”

“Had to roll up the trousers a bit, but otherwise, yeah. They’re all right. Thank you.”

Chloe waved that off.

As they entered the castle proper, Isolde glanced at her warden-slash-caretaker. “Where are we going?”

“Just around the south yard. Not far, and not off-grounds.”

“Am I coming back from this early-morning walk?”

“Yes, because I’m not putting myself in Lady Daniela’s warpath if you go missing.”

Isolde snorted.

Dawn outlined the mountains with a blush of pink as they stepped outside to the sound of birdsong. Frost crisped along the leaves and the snow crunched underneath their boots as they walked toward the outskirts.

There, a lone cabin squatted against the shelter of the castle’s perimeter walls, with light pinpricking through closed curtains to illuminate the tannery and various tools. 

“The groundskeeper? Is she a friend of yours?”

“Sort of, but we’re actually here on business.”

Isolde started. “We are?”

“I figured you’d want to meet your new staff before formal introductions.” Chloe said as she rapped on the door.

“My… what?”  Isolde started shaking her head, adamantly refusing. “No. That’s–no.”

Chloe chuckled, not unkindly. “What, did you really think that just because the countess stamped you with a shiny new status-upgrade that Rowena and her crew aren’t going to seek out some sort of revenge-plot for Rozil?” She rapped her knuckles against the door a second time. “You’re not that stupid, Ardenlane.”

“If they’d wanted revenge, they had ample time to plan and execute it already. It’s been more than a week.”

Chloe snorted. “You really do keep your head down, don’t you? Lady Cassandra sent the worst of the lot on a supplier escort through the passes probably… right before the feast kicked off? They returned… maybe last night? Night before? Pretty much the same time Lady Cassandra was released from her filial duties.”

“That’s a cute terminology for ‘torture’.” A wild-eyed blonde rounded from the back of the cabin, wiping her hands with a rag. She stopped short to give Isolde a critcal once-over.

Chloe took the moment to make the introductions. “Agatha, Isolde. Isolde, meet Agatha, crankiest dead woman alive.”

“Call me Aggie, please.” Agatha tossed the rag aside. “So you’re the newest thorn in Lady Alcina’s side.”

“I–not on purpose.”

“Doesn’t have to be,” Agatha laughed. “If you’re not Miss Bela, part of the Rose Staff, or a plaything, you’re going to wind up on her bad side. Don’t take it personally.”

Isolde took a closer look at the groundswoman. Her blonde hair was a dark fawn color, with untamed curls that framed a heart-shaped face and a grin that all but screamed mischief. Her eyes crinkled when she smiled.

“What does that make you, then?” She asked.

“Me?” Agatha grinned. “Ex Harvest maiden.”

Isolde blinked. “Harvest– like you were–”

“Garroted, shoved into a cask? Sure was. Gave Miss Bela a proper scare when she finally checked on me.” Her grin widened. “Fortunately for me, I didn’t exactly ‘measure up’ to whatever standard they were looking for, but I did wind up with a talent for wrangling my… cousins? Sisters? It’s really not so bad.”

Isolde sought confirmation from Chloe, and found the woman scanning their surroundings, more alert than a casual outing should entail. “Is everything all right?”

“Huh? Oh. Yeah, sure.” Chloe did another sweep, then looked to Agatha. “You seen Wolf tonight?”

Agatha shrugged. “Down in the orchards, probably. She mentioned she picked up the hive’s scent around the old tunnels.”

“Didn’t we seal those?”

Agatha shrugged again.

“Hrrgh. Guess we’ll do a perimeter sweep then before I smuggle Ardenlane back inside.” Chloe whistled a sharp, piercing note.

“Wolf?” Isolde asked. Where they talking about Cassandra? But hadn’t Chloe addressed the huntress by her name not minutes earlier?

“She has a name, a proper one, but she tends to forget that she’s supposed to answer to it.” Chloe faced into the dark, crawling shadows of the fallow vineyard. “So we tend to forget to use it. It’s– you’ll see.”

Isode wasn’t sure that she would, but stepped forward to try and help spot whatever it was Chloe looked for. As she moved, Agatha set a polite hand on her forearm.

“You should hang back a bit for this one. It takes her a bit to remember who’s who. Who’s friendly, not friendly, that sort of deal. Chloe’s durable enough to handle if Wolf’s a bit confused and wants to test the waters with a bite. You on the other hand… well, I don’t think you want to visit Madame Esther because your arm was gnawed off.” Agatha’s tone was light-hearted, but her stare was serious enough to convince Isolde to remain in place.

Not that it took long before the snow crunched underneath something massive approaching through the early morning gloom. A low, blood-chilling growl rumbled as the little light from the cabin’s interior caught fire in a pair of hungry orange eyes that swayed way too far off the ground for Isolde’s liking.

What slinked from the shadows seemed to have been pulled from every single nightmarish legend from around Europe. A beast carved from primordial terror stalked through the trellises toward them, swinging a massive wolf’s muzzle between the three of them. When it noticed her, it snarled, peeling its lips back to expose fangs the size of Isolde’s hand.

Agatha’s touch on her forearm turned into an anchor that kept Isolde in place. “Stay still. She just needs to take notice of you.”

“Oh, she’s already done that .”

The werewolf prowled even closer, jaws parting. She could easily bite Isolde in half if she wanted to.

But then Chloe moved, stepping into the line of sight between Isolde and obvious death. She held her hands out, low and spread. “Easy, Wolf. You know Isolde. She’s a friend, remember?”

A rapicious glare rose above Chloe’s head to lock onto Isolde. There was nothing friendly about it.

Then, the ears pricked forward and the vicious snarl dropped away. The malice dimmed as the creature took a long, noisy inhale of air. Recognition sparked to life, and the werewolf rocked back onto her haunches, watching Isolde still, but without the promise of immenient murder.

“Good start.” Agatha released her forearm.

Isolde cautiously moved to the side. The werewolf was gesturing, using her front paws which actually looked more hand-like than Isolde expected and–

Was the werewolf signing?

She was. Sure, it was awkward, clumsy even, and Isolde couldn’t follow it at all, but those were deliberate.

“Yeah, you do.” Chloe ambled closer to the creature, offering a wide smile. “She’s the Floof.”

Isolde took a closer look at the werewolf, coming close enough that she’d be in reach if a swipe came her way. Were those eyes familiar, or was it a trick of the light?

The werewolf– Wolf– wait, what had that girl’s name been…? Whoever she was, continued to sign.

“I was volun-told by Lady Bela to arrange Isolde’s new…” Chloe sent a glance her way. “Entourage.”

“That’s probably worse than staff, and sounds more pretentious.”

“You’ll get over it,” Agatha said. “So, then. Wolf, you, and me? That it?”

No, that was not it. “Don’t I have a say?” 

All three glanced her way. “No.”

“ Fine. ” Isolde rolled her eyes. “Then, can I ask why the three of you?” After a moment, she remembered something that felt rather important. “Aren’t you all Rose Staff?”

“We were. Now we’re … we need a fancy name for ourselves…”

Agatha rolled her eyes. “Honestly. It’s a good question and it’s likely that we’re a bit of a misfit like you.”

“Thanks.”

“In a good way.”

“And I don’t think you have to see us as staff or retainers. The way I see it, we’re too messed up for the normies, and we’re too human for the Ladies, so it makes sense to team up, form a support group right here in the fucked-up middle.”

Isolde wasn’t convinced. “It sounds like it’s too good to be true, and what’s the catch?”

Agatha made a small noise. “Red’s got a fair point. She doesn’t know us.”

“Hey, I was volun-told, remember? I’m only following Lady Bela’s orders.” Chloe pointed out.

“Huh. Wait a minute. Lady Bela actually suggested me ?” Agatha looked a bit taken-back. “ Really? Normally she pretends like I don’t exist. After all, she was going to present me to her Mum, all proud for my success story only for me to be–well–”

“British?”

“Better than whatever you are. Where did they find you again?”

Chloe grinned. “Side of the road.”

“My point exactly.” Agatha leveled a glare for good measure, then glanced up at the lightening sky. “Right. It’s freezing out here. Since you’re kidnapping me, can we go run the perimeter now so I can feel my hands again?”

"Sure. You want to come along, Ardenlane? Shouldn’t be any trouble, it’s mostly cheering Wolf on as she runs off a lycan or two.”

Isolde shrugged. “Why not. What’s the worst that could happen?”

“ How?”

Lady Bela stared at the pair of them, utterly aghast.

Isolde and Chloe froze in the middle of the kitchen, exchanging a look that almost had Isolde laughing. She was wise enough to keep the humor of the situation contained to a struggling smirk.

“A couple of stragglers in the orchards, Lady Bela,” Chloe started, shutting up when the heiress sent her a look that could curdle milk still in the cow.

That same look swept back over Isolde. “Is that your blood?”

Isolde glanced to the dark splatters over her jacket, then back to Lady Bela. “No?”

“You’re not sure?”

“It got a little chaotic.”

“A little--” Lady Bela’s jaw snapped around whatever she seemingly wanted to say. She turned to the two scarlet women who held a pair of heavily laden trays between them. “Take those to Cassandra.”

The two left without a word.

Isolde risked another step inside, and winced when the movement swung Lady Bela’s ire back to her. “It’s cold.” She said, with a slight whine to her voice.

“... Miss Solomon, tomorrow you and I are going to have a conference about your understanding of keeping someone on bedrest.”

“Yes, Lady Bela.”

“And you, ” Lady Bela crooked a finger toward Isolde. “With me. Now.”

Isolde hurried to her side with only the barest farewell to Chloe. As they fell in step, she felt like she had to say something. Anything.

“How did dinner go?”

Lady Bela snorted, and shook her head as if Isolde’s audacity was something she couldn’t comprehend. “Were you hurt?”

“No. There was a close call…” Lady Bela’s nostrils flared, and Isolde hurried to redirect her course. “But Chloe and Wolf had it handled.”

“Handled…” Lady Bela muttered.

“In my defense, I had suggested we sneak back in through the Merchant Corridor.”

“Stop talking.”

Isolde shut up out of habit, then remembered she technically didn’t take orders from the daughters anymore. She considered pushing Lady Bela a little further, than thought better of it. Instead, she waited a minute or so.

“Thank you.”

“I said--wait, what did you say?” That did the trick; knocked Lady Bela off-kilter enough that her temper fizzled out underneath the confusion. When Isolde repeated it, she looked like she expected even more trouble. “... why?”

“I like Chloe.” Isolde said, simply enough. “And Agatha, and Wolf too.”

“Lydia, though she never remembers to answer to it,” Lady Bela corrected out of habit. She walked a little further, coming to a stop underneath a masterful replica of The Dance of the Maneads and bade Isolde stop as well. “I kept thinking about what you said, about the target Mother placed on your back.”

Isolde had thought Lady Bela had dismissed her outright earlier. “And what did you conclude?”

“That we place too much trust that the little sisters will reach us in time when there’s trouble.” Lady Bela frowned. “Mother has asked for you to meet with her in the lower cellars tomorrow evening. Cassandra will be there as well,” she hastened to add when Isolde’s worry bubbled up.

That was not the sort of reassurance Isolde hoped for. “Do you know what she wants?”

“To study whatever Donna did to you. Mother has worked alongside Mother Miranda for decades, working to catalogue and understand exactly how the Cadou interacts with us.”

“And my … situation?”

They both watched one of the garnet-dusted flies clamber along the underside of the jacket’s lapel. 

“She knows that we’re fond of you. She’ll expect you to have passengers. And our little sisters know how to make themselves scarce when needed.”

“Mm.” Isolde fell back in step as they resumed walking back to the daughter’s personal quarters.

“I need time to make Mother understand, that’s all.” Lady Bela sounded like she was trying to convince herself moreso than convince Isolde. “She’ll come around. Eventually.”

“And if she doesn’t?”

Lady Bela gave her an incredulous look, then gave a determined shake of her head. “Not an option.”

Fighting the irrational fear that the several tons of the castle above her head wasn’t about to collapse on her, Isolde followed the mournful lure of a phonograph through the lower cellars until she found the countess and Cassandra on opposing sides of a sturdy wooden table. Between them was a cracked open chest underneath a uncomfortably bright light.

Isolde thought better of trying to determine what exactly was in the middle of being dissected -- (the body shifted, the arm undulating against the heavy leather shackle binding the figure to the table) -- vivisected and instead coughed pointedly to annouce herself. 

Lady Dimitrescu didn’t look up from whatever occupied her focus down in the body’s belly. “At least you are punctual.” She reached for a clamp, then handed that and her position over to Cassandra.

Then she turned to Isolde and crooked a finger. “You, come along.”

She gestured toward another exam table with an assortment of tools nearby that pull Isolde up short. She turned to bore a hole with her eyes through Cassandra’s head because she had not agreed to be vivisected herself!

Lady Dimitrescu scoffed as if Isolde voiced her complaints aloud. “No wonder they consider you no better than a rabbit, seeing as you are as skittish as one. If I explain what I will be doing would you settle? Or,” and here, her eyes flashed malevolently, “do I need to think about restraints?”

Isolde stopped glaring at Cassandra to send a terrifed look the countess’ way. It only ended with Lady Dimitrescu smirking.

“I require blood samples, and I want to take a proper look at the mess my… sister made of your shoulder, and take samples from there as well. I am eager to learn how you’ve managed to keep what little wits you have. It is unprecendented.”

A tense moment dragged between them.

“Is that amendable?” Lady Dimitrescu asked with a slasher’s smile. Isolde got the feeling that she’d be happier if Isolde refused and turned this into a struggle.

“Yes, Lady Dimitrescu.” Isolde hopped onto the exam table with all the enthusiam of a woman on death row.

“Now,” Lady Dimitrescu set the tool-laden tray next to Isolde’s thigh. She held out a hand for Isolde’s arm as she picked up a wicked-looking syringe, only to balk when she turned and was confronted by a rather agitated emerald-dusted fly.

“Adele,” Isolde groaned. “Lady Cassandra, you left… friends.”

“I left what now… ohhh.” Cassandra left the vivisection, wiping her hands on a leather apron as she approached them. “What can I say? You’re an excellent bed-warmer.”

“I hate you.” That fell out before Isolde could catch it. Cringing, she immediately turned to see the countess’ reaction. Was she about to be stabbed again?

Lady Dimitrescu’s look was best described as bemused as she watched Cassandra coax more than a couple of handfuls of the Swarm from Isolde. “I would be mindful of how you sleep with my daughters, little puppet, lest you wake up with curious flies roaming where they don’t belong.”

Isolde didn’t quite understand what was happening. Were they having a conversation? One that didn’t come with an underlying threat of disembowlment? She knew she had to answer somehow , and so she gave a slow nod and tried not to make her next glance to Cassandra as obvious.

Lady Dimitrescu rolled her eyes. “Oh, I see. You only find your witty quips in the face of inevitable destruction. I shall keep that in mind. Now, your arm.

Isolde offered up her arm, wincing as Cassandra tied a tourniquet tightly about her bicep. Within seconds, she felt the tingling at her fingertips. And then the nasty sting of the needle as the countess expertly pierced a vein.

She took enough blood that when she was finished, Isolde felt a little lightheaded. She braced a bit more on her other arm as the countess then demanded a cheek swap, a skin puncture (that set Isolde’s eyes blurry with tears) and then she prodded a finger against Isolde’s loose shirt.

“Remove this.”

Remove what now?

“I don’t ascribe to unnecessary modesty. Remove the shirt, or I will cut it off you.”

Isolde scrambled to unbutton and doff the shirt, shivering as the cellar’s chill struck her flesh.

For all that Isolde disliked about the countess, she was at least methodical about inspecting the ‘mess of a shoulder’. While it was uncomfortable, Isolde managed to keep distracted.

Until Lady Dimitrescu unraveled and then removed something that squirmed and yanked as it left Isolde’s body. Under the bright light, an oily, dark tendril writhed against the delicate pinch of the tweezers trapping it.

“Curious.” Lady Dimitrescu set that in a clear sacchrine-sick scented liquid. “Bela tells me you were exposed to the Casking Mold.”

“Yes.” Technically, she had been.

“Then you are aware of the typical results of said exposure.”

Isolde looked out into the misery of the lower cellars, imagining that if she squinted she could make out the shadows of the undead women who roamed in the dark. “I suppose I am.”

Lady Dimitrescu hummed and took a second tendril, prying this one from the ‘central mass’ as she described it. That one, she did not set in liquid.

“What… what does it look like?” Isolde asked once it looked like the countess was about finished.

Lady Dimitrescu didn’t seem to hear her at first, and so Isolde repeated her question. That earned her a strange look, and the countess’ attention.

“There is a bundle of nerves that runs directly underneath the clavicle. It controls everything about your arm movement, and if you trace the roots back, it reaches your cervical plexus.”

“What does that do?”

“In part, it ensures that you have the ability to keep breathing.”

“Oh.” Isolde watched the countess collect the samples, then decided to ask another question. “Does it mean anything?”

“Does what mean anything?”

“That she put the Cadou… here.”

Lady Dimitrescu paused for a moment, then looked at her. For once, there was no simmering disdain, merely the intense expression of an intense woman. “I would think it was opportunistic, nothing more.”

“Oh.” Isolde went for her clothing, donning the bra, the camisole, and then the shirt itself. “Thank you.”

Lady Dimitrescu glanced back at her a second time, then straightened up with her collection in hand. “Finish the vivisection with Cassandra. I saw your journal, you seem to have a talent for sketching. Document and detail what she tells you to.”

“Yes, Lady Dimitrescu.” Isolde said, and then watched the countess duck into the dark. She left the table and approached Cassandra’s side after she couldn’t hear the countess’ footsteps any longer.

They worked quietly side by side for what felt like an hour or so. Isolde expected to hate it, to cringe and shy away from it all, but much like it had been with Cassandra’s sisters, Isolde found herself interested despite her initial reservations. 

Like Lady Bela with her fascination with the natural world and philosophy, or Daniela’s love of botany and stories, Cassandra’s eagerness to explain what she was doing, and the why of it all was… well, endearing, and within the next hour, Isolde found herself asking questions and assisting beyond sketching the various anatomical anomalies Cassandra said to.

Later, as they washed the viscera off in a basin, Isolde broached the subject of the swarm. As the small black cloud of her ride-alongs returned to her with a chorus of delighted buzzing, Isolde turned to study Cassandra.

“Do you know why Lady Bela’s so adamant that this… arrangement,” she gestured to the swarm crawling over her like over-eager puppies, “has to remain secret from your mother?”

Cassandra shook her head, and at Isolde’s look, she sighed, acknowledging the validity of Isolde’s skepticism. “I’m not entirely sure why Bela does anything Bela does, but if I had to guess? Probably has to do with her weird hangups around territory and ownership.”

“That makes me feel… so much more special.”

Cassandra snorted, evidently appreciating Isolde’s dry sarcasm. “Technically, you come from us--the Swarm. Directly, though you can say we’re a bit of a mix-and-match ourselves. Which means that Bela sees you as hers first and foremost, then belonging to House Dimitrescu.”

Isolde figured as much from their conversation during the sleepover at Lady Beneviento’s. “Would your mother care about a semantic like that?”

“Yes.” Cassandra flicked the excess water from her hands, then reached for a relatively clean rag. She dried her hands with a careful pressure, then handed it to Isolde. “If you think Bela’s possessive, you haven’t seen how unreasonable Mother can become when she thinks something or some one should be hers.”

Isolde shrugged, then tossed the rag back where Cassandra had found it. “So your mother has another reason to want me dead. I don’t see the issue.”

“She might see it as an excuse to take you for her own. After all, the Swarm belongs to Mother, is obedient in all things to Mother, and if she can loophole and reason to divide and conquer--”

“What do you mean ‘take me for her own’?”

Cassandra chuckled without mirth, and allowed Isolde to take the lead out of the room. “Exactly what you think it means. If… when Mother desired it, she could claim that you belonged to her and once she set her sights on someone, she does not share. Ever.”

Isolde tried to give that outcome a fair assessment and wound up shaking her head in frank disapproval. No. No, thank you. “I desire that she never desires such a thing, then.”

That made Cassandra laugh a little more brightly. “Which is why it’s better to for her to keep thinking of you as the strange little anomaly that you are. Blood dolls and pets come and go.”

“... and when she figures out that I’m neither of those things?”

Cassandra frowned, but offered up a shrug. Again, at the stairs, she let Isolde go first. “We’ll have figured out a way to keep you by then.”

Isolde didn’t like the unsure aspect of that answer, but what would she do? Whine and dwell on what might-be? “May that day be a long way off, then.”

“That’s the spirit.” Cassandra waited until they were underneath a proper ceiling without the earth pressing down on them before she asked, “so, first impressions of your st-”

“Call them my staff and I will bury you up to your neck in a snowbank.”

“Oho! Teeth and claws! I must say I am enjoying this new side of you.”

Isolde rolled her eyes, hiding the (exasperated) smile, then turned to face Cassandra. The huntress was a little more filled out- whatever meal they’d had seems to have been fulfilling enough, but something about that missing week echoed in the mischievous gaze set on her.

“What?”

“You three are ok, aren’t you?”

Cassandra blinked, jaw dropping open; caught completely off-guard. “Huh?” Her brow crinkled as she also was thinking about that missing week, and how they weren’t going to talk about said missing week. “Rabbit…”

“No. I’m not talking about that . Or, well, not directly about it.”

Cassandra propped her hip against the counter where someone had forgotten to clear off from the latest packing to be shipped out. “All right, what are you asking about then?”

“I’m worried about who Rozil might have shared the journal with. What they know. What they might do if they know--”

“Ah.” Cassandra beckoned Isolde over with a finger. “C’mere.”

Isolde did, despondent; scowling when Cassandra chuckled at her expression. When she reached the huntress, she only put up a minimal fuss as Cassandra tugged and wrapped an arm about her shoulder, adjusting her until she was leaning against the counter right next to her.

“Bela and I have been cross-referencing the staff to see if there’s anyone besides yourself that can translate the absolute madness that is your writing. I saw Lithuanian, some English, and is that … German?”

Isolde chuckled. “Close. It’s Yiddish. Specifically, my community’s dialect.”

“And then I know there’s actual Hebrew in there and it’s almost too confusing for even us to follow. And we love puzzles and languages. Even better when they’re puzzles about languages.”

“I grew up with very nosy cousins.”

“Well, Black God’s blessing you did because I think the only other person in this castle that might be able to get something out of that stream of consciousness is Bela.”

“Well, at least there’s that.” The first stirring of guilt sent her stomach dropping. “I’m sorry.”

Cassandra looked ahead, towards a taxidermied swan. “What for?”

“I put all of you at risk.”

“Mm.” Cassandra blew out a long breath through her nose, then moved to stand in front of Isolde. She didn’t crowd her, but she was close enough to touch. “Isolde, listen to me.”

That name alone caught her attention.

“What happened to Miss Golden is because she violated Daniela’s privacy, my family’s privacy, and your personal writings are just… collateral damage; not to mention, if you hadn’t noticed? Who knows how bold she might have become? She’s better off in the casks.”  Cassandra tilted her head, considering something. “That reminds me, Bela kept me up almost until noon about your little adventure last night.”

“I was fine.”

“Didn’t get bit? Scratched?”

“Scratched.”

“Scratched because you were lucky, or because you managed to keep control of the situation?”

“Luck. Chloe wrestled them off me before anything serious happened.” An idea sprung in Isolde’s head and she blurted it out before she grew shy. “Can you…”

“I can do a lot of things,” Cassandra purred, then turned serious. “What is it, Rabbit?”

“Can you teach me how to defend myself? Properly.”

“I can.” Cassandra tilted her head to the side, watching her like a hawk might. “So could Bela, or Dani.” The question lingered unasked between them. Why me?

And it had a vulnerable answer, but as it formed, it battered at Isolde’s nerves until she shuddered and shoved it down underneath something a bit less intense. “This is how you’re going to apologize for attempting to murder me.”

“Hey, now. That implies that I didn’t succeed due to lack of trying! And I tried so hard.” Cassandra flashed her fangs in a smile that was softer than she usually gave. 

“And yet, here I still am.”

That smile softened even further. “That you are Rabbit, that you are.” 

Chapter Text

 Bela had finally drawn a firm line when it came to defying her mother.

No matter how Isolde pleaded with earnest eyes or debated with logic over the following week, the heiress to the Dimitrescu legacy remained resolute. She refused to reinstate Isolde into the staff ranks, standing her ground with an unyielding determination that left no room for negotiation.

With exclusion came a chilling sense of isolation. As the staff ranks swelled back to their usual numbers, Isolde found herself on the outside, peering in at a world that once felt like home. The few familiar connections she had forged were quickly dashed, leaving her feeling like a ghost among the living.

Alone, Isolde felt untethered, and adrift. She simmered with anger for a day or two, her thoughts a turbulent storm, and, okay, she might have engaged in a heated argument with Bela… one that should have remained behind closed doors but instead had spilled out into the open…

Yet, despite the emotional upheaval? Nothing had changed.

And because Isolde refused to wallow, she decided to seek out new pursuits. Starting with getting to know the trio of women Bela had introduced her to. After a few days of tentative interactions, she found herself drawn into their orbit, though she’d never admit that Bela might have been right.

Their bonding experiences often revolved around the misadventures sparked by Wolf’s (Lydia, when she deigned to respond to her name) insatiable curiosity. Lydia had a knack for getting into situations she shouldn’t, and Isolde found herself swept up in these escapades. This new association earned her the disdainful glances of the Pack, but she also began learning the basics of self-defense: how to avoid getting her face smashed in and how to withstand a blow, with Cassandra providing her blunt and often unhelpful commentary from the sidelines.

Eventually, Bela’s temper cooled and returned to a more even keel, and Isolde resumed her original role shadowing the heiress. She watched closely, absorbing the lessons of what it meant to manage an estate that thrived on bloodshed and faith, each day bringing new insights into the complex world Bela navigated with such fierce grace.

Which left things with Daniela. Which were... well... acceptable. She wouldn't exactly call it pleasant, but it was consistent. Reliable. They read together, worked together, and engaged in mundane, simple conversations without any explosive arguments from either side together. To maintain harmony, they just simply needed to ignore the metaphorical spider in the room.

And since Isolde was determined to make avoidance her specialty, for the past two weeks, it’d been working wonderfully.

---

On one of the milder January afternoons, where Isolde lounged lazily on the long couch in the library, close enough to Daniela to reach out and touch, one of those metaphorical spider moments came to a head. Her journal lay open in front of her, filled with notes on the strange, restless dreams that persisted. Daniela was reading something that made her frown and mutter, but otherwise, the afternoon had started off decently.

She was passing the time before meeting Cassandra for another session on taking a punch, using the quiet to prepare herself for another bruising encounter. Sure, thanks to the Cadou, she recovered quicker than before; it still hurt, damn it.

The swarm inside her stirred curiously, recognizing familiar footsteps as the side door to the library creaked open. Isolde didn’t need her heightened senses to know it was Chloe; the woman marched everywhere, her steps audible from half a corridor away.

"Hey, Wolf found something with scales and way too many legs by the aqueduct runoff," Chloe announced, dressed as if the freezing January weather was just a minor inconvenience, with only an old, worn bomber jacket to shield against the biting cold.

Isolde’s curiosity was piqued.

Next to her, Daniela glanced over her pages, making a mild face at the invitation. "Ugh, so jealous."

Isolde set her journal aside, already thinking about where she’d left her coat and how many layers she’d need before she inevitably ended up in the water. She was halfway off the couch before she sighed and sank back down.

"I can’t. I’m meeting with Lady Cassandra later."

"So that’s a no on poking at something weird with a stick," Chloe said, leaning against the doorframe, head tilted. "Need backup?"

"Cassandra’s sarcastic enough without you or Aggie chiming in, thanks."

"What, you don’t appreciate our commentary?" Chloe grinned when Isolde didn’t respond. "Fine, fine." She offered a half-wave to Daniela on her way out.

Isolde tried to focus again, but her handwriting had already gone crooked and unreadable. She closed the journal with a quiet thud.

"Want me to draw your bath," Daniela said, eyes still on her book, "after Cass kicks your ass or when you wake up?"

Isolde didn’t even blink. "Would you like yours drawn outside?"

Daniela’s mouth curved. "Rude."

The door opened again, catching both of them off guard.

A new maid stood in the doorway. Her uniform looked freshly pressed, every button exact, and she stood stiff as a board under the weight of their attention.

She spoke to Isolde first. "Miss Isolde."

Isolde wrinkled her nose but didn’t bother correcting her. She didn’t need another lecture from Bela.

"Johanna," Daniela said, stepping forward.

The maid turned to her, cheeks going bright pink. "Lady Daniela."

Isolde’s mood soured instantly. Her skin crawled with a familiar, irritating itch.

Daniela sat up straighter, pleased. "Ooh. Eye contact this time. I must be special."

Johanna went redder.

"Is there something you need?" Isolde's tone came out sharper than she intended.

Johanna startled. "I, uh- I noticed the library was unassigned, so I thought I would-"

"That’s because I take care of the library." And the greenhouse. And Daniela. And- a few green-eyed flies stirred at the back of her neck, subtle but insistent. She turned to Daniela, expectantly, after the second bite.

"You don’t work for me anymore, remember?"

That shouldn’t matter. But it did. Isolde's jaw clicked shut.

Daniela glanced between them, then rose and tugged Isolde up with her, looping their arms like it was nothing. Over her shoulder, she said, "Wait here for me?"

Johanna nodded quickly. "O-of course."

"So sweet," Daniela purred, guiding them out the door.

Somewhere, Isolde registered that a clock chimed the hour.

"She’s cute." It was petty. Isolde didn’t care.

"Isn’t she? I almost made it official, but I figured it’s better if you meet her without the speeches."

Isolde had more than enough opinions about Johanna already.

Daniela kept going. "She’s not on Bela’s list, and her family’s all local. She fits, right?"

"For what?"

Daniela blinked. "Greenhouse work. Library too."

"Right. Of course."

Daniela shot her a sideways look. "We’ll see if she can read. You’d think so, with her parents."

"We?"

"I want your take. She’s, uh-" Daniela’s nose scrunched up. "She’s not a replacement. That’s not what I mean. It just — never mind."

Isolde didn’t bother to answer. She just ground her jaw, trying not to think too hard.

Daniela cocked her head at a sound in the corridor, then stepped in and wrapped her hand around Isolde’s wrist with just enough pressure to pull her back to the present.

"Bela’s idea, getting a maid to help."

Isolde rolled her eyes. "I know what she wants."

"It’s not the worst plan." Daniela held her ground. "Don’t give me that look. It’s not."

"So you are replacing me."

"What? No." Daniela shook her head, quick and defensive. "Bela just thinks you shouldn't do both. Be Mother’s ward and—" She stopped, staring. "Wait."

Isolde didn't like that look. "What?" 

"You’re jealous." Daniela was a little too pleased about that.

"I’m not jealous."

"You were practically glaring holes through her skull!"

"I was not—"

Daniela raised her eyebrows, waiting; that damnable grin growing on her face.

Isolde’s mouth opened, then shut again.

Daniela hooked a finger through Isolde’s belt loop and gave a gentle tug. "Don’t worry about it. You’re a terrible liar, but it’s kind of sweet."

Isolde just rolled her eyes and tried not to blush too hard.

Daniela leaned in, voice syrupy. "Besides, what’s a little murdery energy between friends?"

Isolde groaned. "I have to go now."

"Mhm."

Daniela released her, her laughter trailing behind all the way down the hall.

---

Isolde was late.

Not that it mattered. Cassandra hated punctuality. She’d mentioned once that she did it just to piss Bela off; now she’d made it a point to convert Isolde to her way of thinking.

The room was a renovated trophy hall, mostly gutted. Though the animal heads were still there. Dozens, packed in tight, climbing the walls from floor to ceiling: boars, wolves, stags, and a bunch she couldn’t even name, all fangs and antlers at weird angles. A bear skull the size of a keg glared down from the far end, jaw open, yellowed and cracked. Below all that, the floor was mostly empty now, except for a few heavy bags hanging from the beams and enough weapon racks to stock a small army.

Everything was on display, be it old, new, ceremonial, or just improvised. Swords with gold hilts and chipped blades. Cudgels stained so dark she didn’t want to guess why. Axes catching the gray light. Some polearms with wicked hooks. Maces like steel flowers. Guns lined up by size: bolt-action rifles, shotguns, ancient muskets with brass that had seen better days, even a submachine gun that looked like it’d gotten lost on its way to the last century.

She crossed the floor, footsteps echoing. Picked up a fencing foil. That, at least, felt familiar and balanced, light in her grip. She ran her thumb along the edge, out of habit. Dull, but that didn’t mean it hadn’t seen real use.

She glanced over the rest: hooks meant to grab or tear, brass knuckles with spikes, whips like wires, knives with teeth. A few tools she couldn’t even name.

As she inspected a pair of crossbows, the hair on the back of her neck lifted, and a buzzing irritated her jaw.

"I’ve been thinking. You’re a decent shot. When it warms up, we should go after geese."

Isolde turned. Cassandra had slipped in without a sound, pausing only when their eyes met. She tilted her head, all predatory curiosity.

The little soot-dark drones peeled off Cassandra’s shoulders, drifting across the space, settling on Isolde’s skin. She shook them off with a flick and shot Cassandra a look.

"Stay out of my head."

Cassandra grinned, started to circle her, loose and easy. "No fun at all. Daniela already wore you out?"

"How—"

Cassandra shrugged. "Trade secret, Rabbit."

"Try a new one."

Cassandra snorted. "So. The new girl sniffing around Dani isn’t making you twitchy?"

Isolde rolled her eyes. "If I wanted someone rooting around in my brain, I’d just go see Lady Beneviento."

"And miss out on all the angst? Dani’s right, you are mean." Cassandra’s words got cut off as Isolde tossed her vest at her face.

Isolde rolled her sleeves up, headed back to the center. The room was a furnace. She’d learned the hard way about overheating. No repeats.

Cassandra flung the vest aside, smirked, and was suddenly too close. "Boo." She jabbed Isolde in the ribs.

Isolde doubled over. Wind knocked clean out of her. She tried to look up at the wrong moment—

Cassandra swept her leg out and Isolde hit the floor, catching herself on one knee.

"C,mon, that’s the first lesson," Cassandra said, circling like a shark. "Don’t drop your guard."

Isolde tried for a comeback, but all she managed was a wheeze. Her ribs throbbed. She got upright, hands up, just in time for Cassandra’s next hit.

It rattled her arms, made her stumble. Cassandra pressed the advantage. Suddenly Isolde was on her back, staring at the ceiling, pain shooting through her shoulders. She rolled, barely dodged Cassandra’s knee.

Would she have even survived that?!

"There you go!" Cassandra called. "You finally stopped thinking."

Isolde ducked, managed to avoid another blow. Tried to twist away from a grapple, but Cassandra kept her moving, kept her off-balance.

Cassandra laughed, all teeth. "Living up to your nickname, Rabbit. Something on your mind?"

Isolde saw red at the edge of her vision. "I’m not here to talk."

Cassandra grinned. "Apparently you’re not here to fight, either. Try a little? This is boring."

Fuck her.

"Aw, don’t sulk. Dani does plenty of that for the both of you."

Isolde lunged low, tried to catch her off guard. No dice. Cassandra flipped her easily, put her right back on the floor.

"It’s too easy," Cassandra said, jabbing her in the ribs again. "One comment, and you’re in your head."

"Shut up."

"No wonder Johanna’s making moves. You just stand there and watch." Cassandra paused, her grin turning lascivious. "Maybe you like watching."

Isolde’s jaw clenched. "Shut. Up."

"Ooh, scary. Is that your plan for scaring Johanna off? Stomp your feet, wiggle your nose?"

"What I’m going to do is wipe that smirk off your face." She swung wild, too off-balance. Cassandra ducked, shook her head.

"Points for trying."

Isolde growled, low and rough. She lunged again, sweat stinging her eyes as she aimed for Cassandra’s jaw. Cassandra just swayed aside, easy. That damn smirk widened.

"Oooh, so close," Cassandra sing-songed. "But still so predictable."

A harsh buzzing filled Isolde’s ears. She sucked in air through her nose, body shaking with rage or maybe just worn out. She tried not to let Cassandra see it.

"Come on, Rabbit. This is getting sad." Cassandra circled, slow.

The buzzing sharpened, turned to a whine in her skull.

"You know, you should probably consider the mess Dani leaves behind." Cassandra prodded. "Broken hearts, bodies, whatever. But, uh, let me guess: she promised it’s different this time."

Isolde didn’t bother with words. She drove forward, half-snarl, half-desperation.

Cassandra sidestepped and shoved her away, careless. "Again. Try harder."

Isolde grit her teeth, faked left, then threw a punch with her right. She clipped Cassandra’s jaw. Pain shot up her arm, but the brief jolt of satisfaction almost made it worth it. Cassandra just shook it off, still grinning.

"Not bad," Cassandra allowed. "If your target stands really still and lets you hit them."

Isolde’s vision blurred red. The buzzing in her head turned to a roar. She lunged again, yelling, but Cassandra danced out of range, that fucking smirk back in place.

"Did I hit a nerve?" Cassandra taunted, voice too sweet, eyes mean as ever. She jabbed hard. "Again."

Isolde swung. Cassandra batted the punch away, then yanked her close until they were chest to chest.

"Sloppy," Cassandra said, voice low. "You get angry, you get sloppy. Wide open." She shoved Isolde back.

"You said stop thinking!"

Cassandra rolled her eyes. "The ‘over’ part was implied."

"No it wasn’t." Isolde took the moment to wipe the sweat-slicked hair from her face.

"Ok, so, stop overthinking then." Cassandra retorted as they fell back into a slow spiral about the other. "If you can’t handle a little teasing, how are you going to handle Rowena? The new maids? The next time Dani has you pinned up against the wall?"

That landed. Isolde flinched.

Cassandra grinned, sharp and hungry. "Is this all because Dani left you hanging?" She danced back, easy, as Isolde swung wide and missed.

Cassandra dodged every follow-up, laughing as Isolde got sloppier, angrier, less careful. This wasn’t a lesson anymore; just Isolde, running hot, burning herself out.

Finally Cassandra snagged her wrist and spun her, yanking Isolde’s arm up behind her back. The other hand clamped around her throat, squeezing just enough to make her vision spark.

Isolde thrashed, panic clawing at the edges. Black spots. Cassandra leaned in, voice low.

"You’re weak like this. Unfocused. Prey." The grip tightened. "That what you want to be, Isolde? Helpless?"

Isolde choked out a rough "No," nails digging at Cassandra’s hand. The huntress just laughed, squeezing.

"You sure?"

Something snapped. Isolde slammed her head back, catching Cassandra’s nose with a crunch. The grip loosened; she tore free and spun. Cassandra wiped a smear of blood off her lip, eyes gone sharp with approval.

"Much better."

They circled, both breathing hard. Isolde’s head rang with Cassandra’s taunts, but she stayed up. This time, when Cassandra moved, Isolde dodged and drove her knee into her side. Cassandra dropped her with an elbow, but waited until Isolde hauled herself back up.

Again. And again. Most rounds, Isolde ended up flat on her back, but she refused to stay down. Her arms trembled. Sweat ran down her spine. She kept getting up.

Attack. Defend. Hit. Dodge. Cassandra stayed just ahead, but something shifted. The smirk she wore got sharper, more focused.

The pace picked up. They stopped talking. Isolde took hits that made her ears ring, landed a few herself, felt a spike of satisfaction every time.

After one lucky hit, Cassandra almost smiled for real, looked like she might say something. Isolde didn’t wait to go for the tackle. They hit the floor together, hard. For a second, Isolde was on top, straddling Cassandra, pinning her wrists to the mat.

They were both gasping, sweat everywhere. Cassandra’s breath was hot on her cheek.

"Yield," Isolde said, voice rough. Her grip tightened.

Something flashed in Cassandra’s eyes, hungry. The smirk came back. "Make me."

Isolde shifted, dug her knee into Cassandra’s ribs. Finally, for once, she had the advantage.

Cassandra bucked, trying to throw her off, but Isolde held on, heart hammering, skin buzzing with adrenaline. She grinned, didn’t dare let go.

"I said yield," she repeated, voice tight, arms shaking with effort.

Cassandra looked her up and down, eyes dark. The swarm buzzed between them. "I would, but you forgot something."

"I don’t think I did."

"You sure?"

"Very." Her voice shook but she didn’t care.

Cassandra went still. For a moment, neither moved, both feeling every inch of contact, every heartbeat.

Then Cassandra surged up, twisted, and in one motion flipped them both. Now Isolde was pinned, Cassandra straddling her, hair falling down around her face. She planted her hands on either side of Isolde’s head.

"Lesson one: Never let your guard down." Her lips brushed Isolde’s ear. "Especially around me." She pulled back, gaze hot. "Yield?"

Isolde stared up at her, out of breath, heart thudding.

"I yield," she said finally.

Cassandra lingered above Isolde, both of them breathing hard. Her voice lost some of its teasing edge, more serious now.

"You’re getting better. But you keep letting your head get in the way." Her eyes narrowed. "Dani’s got you chasing ghosts. You can’t fight me and them at the same time."

She stood, offering a hand. Isolde ignored it, getting up under her own power.

Cassandra shrugged, unbothered. "Suit yourself."

Isolde reached for her vest, skin still slick with sweat, heart still racing. She was about to leave when the air shifted; a presence shadowing the doorway.

Bela stood just inside, arms crossed, face unreadable. Silent. She’d clearly been there for a while.

Cassandra stiffened slightly, all casual ease evaporating. She glanced at Bela, wary. "Did you want something?"

Bela’s gaze slid calmly between the two of them, finally settling on Cassandra. "Are you finished for the night?"

Cassandra hesitated, watching her sister’s face carefully, before offering a slow nod. "We are."

"Good." Bela’s tone was neutral, but Isolde caught a faint undercurrent of something sharper. "It’s late."

The silence lingered again, charged and uncomfortable.

Isolde took it as her cue, grabbing her things and stepping carefully past Bela. Neither sister said another word, but Isolde felt their eyes follow her out, the weight of their silent tension pressing against her back all the way down the hall.

---

The fight with Cassandra had left its mark, more than just on her aching ribs. By the time Isolde made it back to her rooms, her body was spent but her head wouldn’t quiet. The adrenaline had never quite faded; her mind kept replaying the sparring, every hit and every word, until she was tangled up all of it. Sleep didn’t come, not really. Instead, she drifted, restless and half-awake, heat crawling under her skin.

By the time the first hint of birdsong reached her window, she gave up trying. The sheets felt like a trap. She dressed and slipped out into the halls, hoping a walk might bleed off the edge that fighting hadn’t dulled. The castle was still and shadowed, and every footstep echoed, every thought bounced louder and louder until she was somewhere in the South Wing where the scent of oakwood and cypress stained the air with no sense why she'd wandered there.

Further along, she caught something else: a low hum, a vibration that tugged gently at the edges of her bones.

She recognized the place as soon as she'd stepped inside. Bela stood behind the counter of her private lounge, the lamps turned low and washing everything in bronze. Half-packed boxes and scattered shipping orders lay everywhere. A melancholy song drifted from the radio, blending into the soft buzzing background static. Bela glanced up slowly from the paper she'd been reading.

Her golden gaze tracked Isolde openly as she stepped into the room. Bela was territorial; no one came here without permission, not even the Pride.

Except Isolde. She could feel the quiet, electric permission even at this distance.

A pale brow lifted, questioning.

"I couldn't sleep," Isolde said softly. She moved closer, eyes flicking across the mess on the desk: a decanter of cognac, a glass already half-full, sweating in the warm glow.

Bela offered a faint smile, sympathetic. "You'll get used to it."

Isolde tilted her head. "You think so?" She edged closer, following that strange impulse that tugged at her chest. She wanted—needed—to slip into that narrow space between Bela’s body and the solid bulk of the desk. And she didn't have the mental fortitude to drag her heels against it.

Bela rocked back slightly, making room, eyes quietly expectant.

Isolde hesitated at the subtle invitation, a flicker of guilt mixed with relief tightening in her chest. Then she moved forward anyway, stepping carefully into the small gap. The desk pressed firm against her hip, a solid, grounding pressure. Bela's warmth radiated against her opposite side. She was close, solid, reassuringly real.

Isolde found she didn’t mind the tightness, and didn't feel trapped. Instead, she felt steady… anchored, even. She glanced sideways, pulse fluttering in her throat. "Is it always like this?"

Bela’s hand settled lightly at the small of her back, warm through her shirt. "When we've been apart a while," she murmured. Her voice was low, close enough for Isolde to feel her breath ghosting against the back of her neck.

"Does it fade? Or is this just...normal now?"

Bela made a quiet, thoughtful sound that resonated deep in her own chest and sank slowly into Isolde’s bones. "You'll get used to it."

Isolde sighed. She knew this was as clear an answer as she’d ever get from Bela. It was enough...had to be enough, and the gentle weight of Bela's hand at her back felt like an anchor dropped into deep water.

Without realizing it, Isolde found herself leaning deeper into the loose circle of Bela’s arm. She caught herself just as quickly, heat flushing her cheeks when Bela’s eyebrow rose slightly, curious and a little amused.

Bela's lips twitched, and then she slowly pulled her hand away.

Isolde bit down on the inside of her cheek to keep from reaching after her, instead watching as Bela quietly peeled off one sleek, black glove. Her hand beneath was long-fingered and graceful, a lifetime of precise discipline shaped by reins and piano keys.

Bela laid the glove aside, bare fingertips coming to rest gently against Isolde's shoulder.

She pressed her cold palm against fevered skin, and sharp relief blended with something deeper, warmer. Isolde half-expected to see fabric melting away beneath Bela’s touch. It didn't, though it felt close.

She shivered despite the warmth.

"Does this help, Little One?" Bela’s voice was low and careful, like speaking to something skittish. Her fingers moved up slowly, brushing lightly along the side of Isolde’s neck.

Isolde nodded, throat tight. The restless ache under her skin was still there, but muted.

Bela didn’t seem convinced. She stroked again, slower, until Isolde’s breath stuttered softly. "May I touch you properly?" When Isolde’s only response was a wry huff, Bela smiled faintly. "Without the shirt?"

"Yes." Thankfully, the word came out steady, not betraying the quiet desperation crawling beneath her ribs.

"Flies are tactile creatures," Bela explained softly, stepping back just enough to give Isolde room to unbutton and carefully push the shirt off her shoulders.

Isolde still wore a camisole beneath it, but even this felt shockingly exposed, more than she'd allowed herself before.

Her pulse quickened. Beneath her skin, the swarm stirred faintly, the familiar prickle of awareness running just below the surface, coiling around the lingering scar at her neck.

Bela stepped in again, pressing gently against her back. Isolde shivered as the warmth returned.

She braced instinctively for pain, but there was only a deep, spreading relief, almost euphoric in nature. It felt like being dizzy and breathless as a child, spinning until the world was nothing but blur and color.

"And now?"

Isolde’s knees threatened to buckle, and she nodded so quickly it drew a clear, bright laughter from Bela that softened the sharpness of her own embarrassment. She gripped the desk hard, feeling the rush along her nerves, sparking like static in her fingertips. For the first time in days, something inside her finally quieted.

...

She lost track of time.

She blinked, and the lounge wasn’t the same. Shadows stretched up the walls, the lamplight harsh and angular, making the furniture look too sharp, the room somehow larger and smaller all at once. The air was thick with perfume layered over something sharp and metallic.

She stood near the bar, hands clasped in front of her, fingers bitten and raw, heart thudding behind her ribs.

Footsteps approached from the corridor. Mother Miranda entered first, moving with a surgeon’s precision, face expressionless, eyes always calculating. Behind her came Lady Dimitrescu, tall enough to dominate the space without effort. Her presence shifted the gravity in the room; every glance, every step, held the tension of a hunt.

Mother Miranda stopped just beside her. "Here she is, Alcina," she said, voice crisp and controlled. "The candidate I told you about. Strong, adaptable."

Lady Dimitrescu circled, slow and silent, studying her up and down. The weight of her stare was suffocating. Those gold eyes measured everything: posture, nerves, the state of her hands.

"Is that so?" Lady Dimitrescu murmured, low and dangerous.

Mother Miranda’s hand settled on her shoulder, firm, a warning and a promise. She didn’t move. Mother Miranda leaned in, her voice pitched for Lady Dimitrescu, but every word was still sharp. "No ties. Nothing left behind. She’ll do."

Lady Dimitrescu stepped close, gloved hand reaching out. Two fingers tilted her chin up, gentle but unyielding, forcing her to look straight into that predatory gaze.

"Do you understand what is being offered to you?" Lady Dimitrescu asked. The words sounded almost soft, but every syllable had weight.

She nodded, mute, throat closed tight.

Lady Dimitrescu leaned in, golden eyes narrowing, a faint smile curving at her mouth—

The world fractured, the light went white, and Isolde came up gasping, the memory’s pressure still caught in her chest.

The lounge returned in a rush. The hiss of the lamps, the weight of Bela’s arm around her, the smell of scorched wood and clove lingering in the air.

Isolde's breath hitched as she came back to herself, chest rising too fast, hands flexing instinctively like she needed to fight her way out.

Bela stiffened behind her. Her fingers had dug into Isolde’s shoulders during the vision and now loosened slowly, carefully, like she wasn’t sure if the danger was over.

There was just the lamplight. Just their breath. Just the quiet hum of the swarm beginning to stir and settle.

They didn’t speak for a few seconds.

Then--

Bela’s voice was rough. "Is that what all of your dreams have been like?"

Isolde dragged her tongue along the roof of her mouth, grounding herself with the taste of metal and smoke. "Some of them. Close enough." She flexed her hands, and noticed the slight tremble. "They’ve never been that clear before, though."

Bela exhaled, slow and measured through her nose.

Isolde glanced sidelong at her. "That was your memory, wasn’t it."

Bela’s jaw ticked. "Yes."

"Only… I’d forgotten it." She shifted to stand alongside Isolde, bracing her elbows on the bar’s surface. "Or thought I had. Until just now." Her fingers twitched.. "She paraded me like livestock. And I—" She laughed, it sounded bitter. "I thought I earned it. That it meant that I was worth something."

"You were a girl," Isolde said, quietly. "You didn’t—"

"I was twenty-nine."

That landed harder than it should have.

Isolde blinked.

Bela wasn’t looking at her, but something in her voice had folded. Turned in on itself like old paper. She repeated her age like it was something new to inspect. "I was old enough to know better. Old enough to feel the trap closing around me. I walked into it anyway."

The gas-lamps threw their warped light across the walls.

Isolde tucked a hand against her chest, trying to will the swarm back to sleep. They were stirred. Twitchy. Vigilant and alert. And through it all, a sharp certainty lodged somewhere behind her eyes.

This wasn’t going to stop.

She was picking up other people’s memories. Wearing them. Feeling through them. And it was getting worse. And she couldn’t understand why…

But she knew who might.

"I need to speak to Lady Beneviento," she said, quietly.

Bela froze next to her, then reached out to grab the hand Isolde had pressed to her chest. "No."

Isolde tilted her head, not pulling away. "You don’t get to say no."

Bela’s hand tightened around her wrist. "I hate that idea."

Isolde waited her out.

"The last time I met with Lady Beneviento," Bela said, voice quiet, "you were about two steps away from being a doll."

"That wasn’t your fault."

"That’s not the point." 

Isolde didn’t argue that. She looked down, traced the wood grain with her eyes. The room was claustrophobic now, pressing in at the edges and leaving her as restless as when she'd first entered.

"I’m not going to her for curiosity, you understand?" she said. "You saw what just happened. These visions? Memories? They're not mine. I need answers."

"She won’t give them freely," Bela said eventually. She glanced sidelong to Isolde, brow furrowed. "They’ll cost you dearly, and she’ll give you just enough of a taste to poison the well."

"I know." Isolde glanced up, met her gaze. "But I can’t sit around and wait for this to get worse, can I?"

A beat passed. Bela’s gold eyes searched hers, narrowed with something equal parts frustration and restraint. Bela let out another breath through her nose.

She didn’t speak again for a while. Just stared past Isolde as her jaw worked against whatever she was fighting to not say. The lamps cast her profile in bronze.

Then, quietly: "I’ll arrange the meeting. And I’ll take you there myself."