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Grayson thought it appropriate to deliver her condolences personally. It was not, after all, a task that could be trusted to a subordinate- That of informing two of the most powerful people in the most powerful city that their daughter has breathed her last. Even that was to disregard the two other blameless victims. Upon taking her leave, Grayson would travel the short distance to the Talis estate and repeat the process. Already, she and Vander had exchanged words. Such devastation from a man of his reputation was enough to force tears from even one as stoic as she.
Grayson’s immediate instinct was that she had caught Lord and Lady Kiramman at an inopportune moment. She planted her feet in the foyer as members of nobility strolled past. Apparently, word travelled with exemplary speed for after what couldn’t have been more than a minute, Cassandra descended the stairway with Tobias on her heels. Curiously, she was fastening her earrings without breaking stride. Tobias looked sheepish, tailing her with an expression not unlike that of a schoolboy. Sheer adoration, Grayson recognised it to be. She sympathised with the feeling.
The knowledge that she was to be the one to shatter their blissful solace- And in their own home, no less- was perhaps the worst instance of dread she had experienced in her career.
Cassandra greeted her reverently, “Sheriff.”
Tobias mirrored his wife exactly, though his expression held far more scepticism.
Grayson cleared her throat. She addressed Cassandra, “I know you too well to lie so I think it will be best just to say it.” Cassandra nodded, exchanging a glance with Tobias. Grayson continued, “There was an explosion at one of your workshops. The cause doesn’t matter right now. But there were… Three casualties. A girl from the undercity. Jayce Talis-” Cassandra grasped Tobias’ hand. Her skin had taken on a peculiar ashen quality and, as Tobias glanced at her, Grayson noted the very moment in which he, too, came to the rightful conclusion, “-And Caitlyn.”
As her name graced their ears, immediately all noise in the room seemed not only to cease but to evaporate. The band refrained from their song and the merry partygoers reduced all forms of conversation into mere gestures and glances. Whether out of respect or fear, it was not obvious.
Cassandra clasped a gloved hand over her mouth, that which wasn’t clutching Tobias for dear life. They seemed to mirror one another in their grief. As Cassandra collapsed upon a side table, Tobias sunk to the floor by her feet. As Tobias threw his head forward, allowing strands of hair to obscure his vision, Cassandra took no notice as silent tears fell, blurring their company and their home into blatant unfamiliarity.
Grayson could do no more than look upon these proceedings with the mentality of someone gazing upon a painting in a museum. She was not truly present, you understand. Although a contributor, she could never invade upon this moment.
The simple fact, after all, is that no parent wishes to outlive their child.
In the following weeks, Cassandra distanced herself from all council proceedings. Tobias, in direct contrast, tackled any project which offered itself to him. Firstly, he took to organising and reorganising the library category. Then, he tackled Caitlyn’s possessions- That which Cassandra could not bear to so much as glance at. He changed the sheets on his daughter’s bed, ensured her uniform was pressed, marked the days off on her calendar… Anything, Cassandra supposed, to avoid the reality. She grew, frankly, to resent him in every act. Tobias shared the sentiment. He had taken to sleeping in a spare bedroom, in full knowledge of the staff. Months ago, Cassandra might have brought herself to care about the damaging consequences of such a rumour on her own reputation. Now, however, she was fortune if she could muster the energy to move to the kitchen for a cup of tea. The gossip mill was eternal and invincible. To fight it, one required far more influence and fury than she currently possessed.
Cassandra moved like a phantom in her own home. Avoiding Tobias, yes, but also the echoes of what she had lost. There is no connection, as they say, greater than that shared between mother and child. Perhaps it can extend even beyond the grave.
Often, she found herself transfixed, gawking openly at the portrait which hung in the foyer. It depicted herself, alongside those whom she could not live without. She recalled the day in which they had posed for it- A beautifully mild spring day. More than anything, however, she recalled how Caitlyn had despised the entire ordeal. Traipsing through the wood in her finest dress, tugging ceaselessly at her father’s hand. At the time, Cassandra told her there would be countless afternoons in her life free to devote to play, but a family portrait is a special event. Caitlyn pouted, of course, but she allowed her father to sweep her off her feet and lift her up to the sky. He hoisted her on his shoulders, and they continued the walk in that fashion.
Cassandra thought it to be a fond memory for many years. Now, however, she saw every moment of Caitlyn’s life in a new light. She acted so often under the assumption that Caitlyn would live for decades after even Cassandra was gone. How would her actions have differed if she had only known? Known that her daughter would receive a paltry sixteen years? Would she have allowed her the afternoon to play?
Although she knew asking herself such questions was utterly irrelevant, somehow Cassandra could not refrain.
For a time, Tobias could not imagine a universe in which he truly loved Cassandra Kiramman. He possessed the memories of their meeting and subsequent marriage, yes, but any feeling of warmth was simply absent. The only good she ever did for him was give him Caitlyn, after all, and that was wholly revoked in the instance of her death. Cassandra, of course, was to blame, as she was for everything else.
If she had not succumbed to Jayce’s charm, Caitlyn would have attended the party with them as intended and she would still be gracing Tobias with her laughter today. If not for Cassandra’s ambition, Caitlyn could be training with her rifle that very minute.
Instead, Tobias looked out upon a barren garden. For weeks, it went untamed and rabid. Cassandra had cared for it- If she ever truly cared for anything- before her time became otherwise occupied. Hence, that very morning, Tobias had taken a pair of gardening shears and set to work alongside a number of burly gardening staff.
Unashamedly, his actions were malicious. He wished only to hurt Cassandra as she had hurt him. Not by a knife’s blade or a rifle’s bullet, but by the loss of something beloved.
On several occasions during the massacre, he glanced her in an upstairs window. Once, he waved, smiling brightly, but her expression was unreadable. She did not deign to descend the staircase, so he continued his work unobstructed. If she wished, Cassandra could throw him out of the house with a flick of her wrist. Why she kept him at all, he did not know, but he was glad.
Cassandra did not take visitors in her current state- None, with the exception of the Sheriff. In fact, she rarely left the bedroom at all. A journey to the kitchen was as far as she ventured into the outside world, despite the many callers wishing to offer condolences. The first dozen, Tobias attended to. After that, he instructed the staff to turn them away at the door.
Councillor Heimerdinger was among those who managed to weasel through. He said something curious: “The loss of a child often exposes all the fault lines in a relationship.” He said, “Only the strongest of couples battle their way through it.”
Tobias scoffed, already directing him toward the door.
He stumbled upon Cassandra outside her quarters only once in those weeks. She stood clothed only in a nightgown by the foot of the staircase. Openly, she gawked at the portrait hanging in the intersection. Their ‘Family’ Portrait.
Despite his rage, a certain melancholy stabbed Tobias’ chest when he noted the tears collecting in her eyes. Silently, he slipped away, allowing her the moment’s privacy.
Cassandra lay upon the duvet, eyes glued to the ceiling. Grayson sat in an armchair by her bedside, idly reading over a report issued by some officer or another. Every thirty seconds or so, she glanced at her companion, only to find that Cassandra had hardly moved the span of a breath.
“He thinks we’re…” Grayson trailed off, her words evaporating as they so often did in Cassandra’s presence.
She scoffed in reply, “You can say ‘Sex’, Grayson. My daughter may be dead, but I haven’t become a nun in her absence.”
“Tobias.” She attempted again, “He thinks we’re having sex. You should talk to him. A conversation between husband and wife.”
“Why should I?” Cassandra’s voice was sharp, laced with malice, “He killed my daughter, and I’m meant to speak with him?”
On the morning of her demise, Caitlyn had pleaded with her mother to be allowed to visit Jayce in his workshop of wonders instead of attending their event. Cassandra had plainly denied such a request. It was Tobias who stepped in, taking her hand and arguing on Caitlyn’s behalf. He claimed that Caitlyn would have years to learn etiquette, but the experience offered by Jayce was unique. It was not difficult to force Cassandra into agreement as he rubbed soothing circles into her palm.
The chair creaked as Grayson leaned forward. Cassandra heard her set aside her work, sighing, “It was an accident. Nobody’s fault.” When Cassandra didn’t reply, she persisted, “I saw the way you used to look at him, Cassie. You can tell yourself that you married him because it would provide a better reputation for your house, but we both know that if that was true, you would’ve married Torman when he asked. You loved Tobias. I don’t think that just stopped because Caitlyn died. It couldn’t have.”
“Torman didn’t ask.” Cassandra replied harshly, “He demanded.”
“Cassandra.” Grayson spoke her name with a certain irritation. Finally, Cassandra thought it appropriate to stand and face her.
Grayson thought that, should she wish to, she could have mapped the devastation displayed on her features. This was not the woman she lay upon a rooftop with, mindlessly stargazing, or planted rosebushes with, sweltering under the summer sun. Grief had changed her, as it changes everyone in its time. She was no exception.
Cassandra groaned, laying her head in her hands, “I need to assign blame somewhere. If not, then it was wholly random. My daughter cannot be dead because of some spontaneous attack. I refuse to accept it. Caitlyn is- was so much more than a name in the list of the dead. Not a footnote in a history book. She is more important than that.”
She shook with silent sobs, failing to condense her pain into words. Language failed her in the moment least opportune.
“Tobias bears the same burden.” Grayson told her earnestly, laying a hand on her back, “Talk to him.”
Begrudgingly, Cassandra agreed.
Rain lashed against the conservatory’s exterior, drumming upon the glass with a certain hysteria that appealed to Tobias. Previously, he had enjoyed such days within the confines of the library, but Cassandra had commandeered it in recent days. Her vengeful visits with Grayson had ceased, a fact which brought him some measure of joy despite his distance.
He had entered the library on one occasion only to find her curled up in one of the armchairs, knees drawn to her chin, and poring over a child’s storybook. He recognised the crease of the spine and the familiarly dog-eared pages. Together, they had read it to Caitlyn when she cared to be stationary long enough. Such an energetic child, the moments were rare and few.
On silent feet, he crept toward the conservatory instead. Cassandra could have the library. It was far preferred to the desecration of their bedroom, after all.
Tobias lost himself in the steady rhythm of rainfall. As all too often, he chased memories of Caitlyn through the corridors of his mind. Always, he advanced, reaching for her, but not once did he lay hands upon her. Her laughter filled his head, making him dizzy, but all too suddenly he was wretched from the fantasy.
A china vase toppled to its side with a magnificent crash and there she was, like the angel of death. Cassandra drew her housecoat tightly around her shoulders, lips pursed, before briskly and purposely striding toward the door.
Tobias had risen on instinct at the collision. Now, he meant to follow her, another habitual motion. As he sighed, all the strength left him, and he collapsed onto a creaking wooden bench- That which Caitlyn had curled up on in her youth, a puppy often lazing in her lap.
Once again, Cassandra retreated to the meagre comforts of her bedroom. For years, she had taken solace in her garden when required, but Tobias had taken care of that particular sanctuary days previous. With only a pair of shears, he had set alight decades of hard work. Although Cassandra could, admittedly, understand his reasons, she could not deny the aching grief which rose in her throat.
He had waved to her from the garden during the act, his features a facsimile of joy, all the while brandishing the torturous tools. It was all Cassandra could not to allow the devastation to bleed into her carefully neutral expression.
However, after a number of hours, the feeling had entirely dissipated. Her sorrow, her rage, her thirst for vengeance; All absent when she reached for them. The cavernous well of grief inside her remained, of course, but no other emotion served to heighten it.
The act of blaming Tobias could only dull the blow for a time and, apparently, such a time was past.
Truly, her intent had aligned with Grayson’s request- She wished to speak with Tobias, to resolve the gorge which separated them. However, when faced with her husband, Cassandra found herself disarmed. Wholly unable to confront him, she dashed for escape, only to upset a vase in the process.
The blow was only worsened once she managed to place such an ornament in her mind. It had been a gift from House Ferros to celebrate Caitlyn’s arrival. At the time, Cassandra thought it ridiculous- “Why, who sends a vase to celebrate a baby? It’s as inappropriate as sending a set of knifes to a funeral!”-, but now she recognised it only as a link to what she had lost.
The kitchen was truly neutral ground between the couple. Cassanda often wandered into the sterile environment searching for a cup of tea or a slice of whatever confection the staff had baked for dessert that evening. As the dinner frequently went untouched, there was sure to be sustenance available. Tobias, on the other hand, frequented the pantry during working hours. He had taken to shadowing the chefs as they went about their daily work. Occasionally, he posed polite questions or made hesitant suggestions. Mostly, however, he was content to merely watch.
Never had their paths crossed. Tobias frequented the day-light hours, whereas Cassandra behaved like a blood-thirsty creature, dashing under the cover of night.
Therefore, the clinking of dishes in the early hours of the morning was, to Cassandra, utterly unexpected and wholly unnerving.
Tobias ate heartily from a serving dish piled high with Ionian delicacies- Slices of smoked meat and vividly coloured fruits, sweetcakes and the richest, finest spices known to man. He possessed many memories from when Caitlyn was a mere sprout in which the two shared platters such as that. She favoured the sweeter concoctions, while Tobias gladly ate from her scraps.
From a young age, he had pictured himself as a doting father. Caitlyn’s arrival had only solidified this belief. She mirrored Cassandra in every action, even as a baby. Her tantrums and fits of stubbornness were all to familiar to him. Tobias had always been more patient than Cassandra when it came to their daughter. Perhaps because they were so similar, Andie simply could not feign consideration toward her daughter. It was an odd exchange in which they participated, one which Tobias acted as audience toward. It was all he could offer, after all. Their relationship was a time honoured Kiramman tradition, wasn’t it? The matriarchal tradition of conflict.
Hence, it was no surprise when the two clashed. When they exchanged blows, it was all Tobias could do to run between the two in the aftermath, nursing and offering what words of comfort he could. Often, it was to no avail. Regardless, he fit the role and so, willingly he portrayed the character.
Scouring the trenches of memory as he was, Tobias did not take note of Cassandra’s softened gaze until she cleared her throat. The sight of her brought forth an instinctual reaction from him. It stole the very oxygen from his lungs while, in the same instant, offering exactly what he felt was necessary to survive.
“Tobias.” She breathed. A strand of prematurely grey hair escaped the careful arrangement, brushing her cheek. Cassandra, despite her regular fastidiousness, hardly seemed to notice it while Tobias was in her sights.
In the dim, moonlit kitchen, Tobias could draw every resemblance between mother and daughter. A more desperate man would attempt to fool himself on the question of to whom he spoke. Weeks previous, Tobias would have gladly accepted that fate.
But now all his rage and fear simply dissipated.
"Cassandra.” His voice shocked him- So small, so insignificant. He cleared his throat, “Andie… What are we doing?”
Cassandra rolled her shoulders in a familiar motion, drawing her arms across her thin nightgown in a vaguely protective motion. She stood before him without armour or guard. Not the matriarch of House Kiramman nor the cut-throat councillor. No, this was the same girl who allowed Tobias to carry her rifle and kissed him in the hedge maze. This was Caitlyn’s mother.
With unsteady hands, Cassandra tore at her cuticles. The rope of scar tissue across her bicep was clearly visible, even in the gloom. Tobias winced at the memory of the wound; despite all it brought him.
His breath came in a shudder, “Shall we… Talk?”
Cassandra nodded hastily, “Please.”