Record of Ashes War

Chapter 4 - Death and Beauty

High Lord Agrienne Caranel looked on with stinging, sleepless eyes, pressing one hand against the back of his nephew, Agrathar's head. The black haired boy had his arms around his uncle, weeping with his eyes shut. The poor child, Agrienne thought. To not even be allowed the chance to see his own mother as she was buried. Lady Noreen's mutilated body was covered in a white sheet. A sight too gruesome for a mere ten year old boy. "It's alright," Agrienne whispered. "I'll protect you. I'll make sure you grow strong."

The coffin was closed and laid inside the pit. The boy's head turned as undertakers shoveled spades of raw earth into the hole. He turned completely then, finally mustering the courage to see the remainder of the funeral through. Agrienne rested his hard hands upon Agrathar's shoulders. He squeezed his eyes shut, forcing a tear to come out. Noreen had been a strong House leader. Cruel to some. But strong. Agrienne had learned much from her. Wished he could have learned more.

But time was cruel. An overplayed hand. Then, Noreen Caranel was no longer.

The grave, once filled, seemed so out of place to the rest in the yard. A mound of brown surrounded by green. Agrathar walked forth and picked out lingering dandelions that still stood despite the approaching winter. The hardy flowers of weeds were one of the few plants capable of surviving the harsher temperatures so far north. Agrienne looked around as his nephew placed several yellow flowers on the fresh dirt mound. Weeds infested the cemetery. They would soon cover Noreen's grave as well.

Only two of House Caranel remained. The family had fallen to themselves, plagued by their own desires for power, scheming against siblings, parents, and aunts and uncles. Noreen was the last of them. The one that had survived. The one that had managed to consolidate all power to herself and reorganize the Caranel demesne. A few years of silent murders and ill-mannered plots had decimated the noble House. Within a few months, Noreen's sharp wit and forceful nature had re-established much of that lost reputation.

But nothing is ever made to last. Some things, even less so than others. Agrienne looked down at his feet, recalling his sister's sweet words. None would ever give him the time of day. The bastard of the family. The one with no stakes in the claims of power. The easygoing womanizer of House Caranel. None but his half-sister. And she was taken away in a single unfortunate night.

A vicious bandit lying in wait. Noreen stepped out of the mansion for a walk through the surrounding hills. A half dozen stabs and twice that in slashes. Moonlight upon the red staining both dagger and sword. Agrienne gagged at the thought. At the image his mind had crafted when discovering her corpse. Her sapphire necklace had disappeared. Her earlobes, torn, matching blue earrings missing as if they'd been ripped away. "Why did you have to…?"

Agrathar knelt before the mound, uttering silent prayers to Trillia. Cold wind rustled his hair. He turned around, deep orange eyes full of sorrow and anger. "Did you find him, uncle? Did you find the killer?"

Agrienne sighed. Even a ten year old could harbor such cruel feelings. "No," was the reply, along with a shaking head. "Tracks were found heading south. We'll get him, son. And your mother's jewels which he stole. Come inside. You'll catch a cold if you stay here any longer."

The boy nodded and picked himself up. Dried salt water marred his cheeks alongside new wet lines. Agrienne allowed his nephew to walk ahead. He would become master of the House when he came of age. Until then, all responsibility belonged to Agrienne. The old stone mansion of House Caranel matched the bleak color of the sky. Shade offered by clouds had deepened since morning. Rain was imminent for some point in the day. A fortune that it hadn't accompanied the weeping during the funeral. Agrienne's lips thinned, spreading wide, cracking from excessive dryness as if to mimic the grey walls of the mansion. He was tired. A long, sleepless night along with extensive preparations for the funeral since dawn had drained him of all his strength. He hadn't anything to eat or drink since the night before.

Hardly had much of an appetite for that matter. Even he repulsed after seeing his precious half-sister's miserable corpse.

Agrienne followed Agrathar through the mansion's backdoor. The surrounding gardens maintained little of their summer colors. Flowers had darkened and every breeze shook fragile petals, some falling. Their faint scent lingered, though more bitter than what once was. Servants led the boy away to his own room. Agrienne glanced back one last time at the Caranel graveyard. At tombstones sitting atop a low incline like grey trophies on a jaded green shelf. Then, he closed the door, licking his lips to ease their pain, tasting iron from the cracked spots.

He tried hard not to look at the checkered flooring. Their smooth surface reflected light from palm sized white luminite stones embedded into the walls. In his exhaustion, they seemed to move about in a hypnotizing manner. He wanted to collapse right then. Just fall and lay asleep. Maids in brown tunics offered to take his maroon coat. He waved them aside, dragging his feet towards the main hall. He pulled himself up by the railings of the grand staircase.

Agrathar had already reached the second floor. The boy glanced back and offered a pitying smile at his uncle's exhaustion. Such a kind child. Agrienne returned the gesture, lips cracking further. He eventually made it to his own room, the farthest down the east hall. It was isolated from the other two dozen bedrooms of the mansion. Because he was a bastard. A nobody. Noreen had offered him a better room. He'd declined. He was sentimental about leaving the room in which he spent his childhood nights. It was smaller than the rest. More cozy, in a sense. A bed in one corner, its mattress blissfully soft and its frame, an intricately carved red oak. A night table beside it. A wider than normal wardrobe opposite the bed where all of his lavish shirts and coats were stored.

Every coat had seen their own share of use, all of them succeeding in wooing multiple women to his arms. A stand with a gorgeous suit of armor which he'd never worn before. Its craftsmanship was that of Estraea. Something he just couldn't resist buying when he'd been there. It had also been the place wherein he would meet the love of his life. A woman whose painted portrait hung from his wall.

Agrienne stared long and hard at the portrait, seeking solace in its beauty. In her beauty. He then walked to the window and looked out beyond the horizon. His own vague reflection caught him off guard. Dark spots beneath his eyes made him appear as a spectre. Threads of his shoulder length black hair hovered like ominous tendrils of malice. Frowning and grumbling, he brushed it with his hands, creating a split down the center. He licked his dried lips once more and pulled at his cheeks to stretch his tired face. She would appreciate this more. She always fancied handsome things, roses especially, not caring for their thorns. Agrienne's gaze moved back towards the horizon. "Where are you…?"

Sighing, he fell back on his bed, sinking into the soft mass. He wanted to end the day. But dinner was nigh and Agrathar would need him then. He couldn't leave the boy to eat alone. Not on the same day of his mother's death. Frustrated, he rolled over and sat upright. His hands found a small brown book on the night table, its cover bound by a worn leather lace. A diary. He removed the lace and brought the book to his face, inhaling deeply. Even after years, his beloved's seductive scent still lingered.

Agrienne opened the book. Every letter was written with a delicate majesty, each one a display of masterful calligraphy. He ignored it all. All of it save for three words; Lera Ignis Zz'tai. His fingers brushed upon those three words over and over as he imagined them caressing her smooth cheeks. They grazed through the many pages of the diary —half of them empty— as he imagined running his hands through her lush brown hair.

Agrienne knew it foolhardy to have fallen in love with a whore. But he couldn't help himself. He bought her freedom. Took her to live in the Caranel estate, knowing she would be shunned just as he was growing up. She had been surprisingly resilient. But also distant. Her regal eyes always lingered beyond him. Beyond everything. They desired more. Deserved more. He knew she would leave one day. He just hadn't expected it to have been so soon.

Agrienne recalled the sting on his palms. The feeling of striking Lera over and over. Some thirteen or so years past, she'd come to bear a child. His child. A responsibility he'd been afraid of. He buried his head in his hands, regretting every second of that day. Yet, that hadn't been the reason of her flight. It was because of her diary. Because he had discovered it. Before then, she was just Lera. A Zz'tai who'd been found was not long for the world. They were hunted still. Many continued to believe that they were Disciples of the Tortured Throne. It was stupid of her to keep a diary. One with her name in it at that. But she was a mere girl all alone in a wide world. Fearing death, Lera, pregnant, ran one night, disappearing just as the wind.

A Zz'tai. A remnant of Xenaria's former rulers. A link to the throne and all its power. All of that had slipped away because of a misstep. Agrienne lamented. She had never loved him. "I would have taken care of you. Why did you have to run?" He left the Caranel estate, chasing after her, never finding her. It would have been a simple task had his relatives agreed to help. But none would aid a bastard. "If only I'd held the reins of this House then," he mumbled.

Agrienne set the book down and opened the drawer to his night table, revealing a necklace and two matching earrings. The wood beneath them was still slightly damp from when he had washed the jewelry earlier in the morning. He pulled out the necklace and held it up before him with both hands, moving them to fit his line of sight along with Lera's portrait. She looked lovely, the blue gems complimenting her fair skin and brown hair perfectly. His hands grew tired after a while and he set the necklace back in the drawer.

Time passed. Thunder rumbled. Rain began just as the sun was setting. Agrienne, delirious, looked up when a small knock came from behind his door.

"My lord?" a soft voice inquired. "Dinner has been set. Would you prefer I bring it up?"

"No," Agrienne replied as he stood, surprised at the rasped sound escaping his dry throat. He opened the door quickly, surprising the young maid. She gasped at his image, blushing and quickly stepping aside. Her thoughts clearly lingered on three nights before. She dusted off her brown tunic and held her hands behind her back, puffing out her more than adequate chest.

Agrienne rolled his eyes. It wasn't bad though, her brown hair especially appealing. Her clacking footsteps mimicked his heavy boots as they followed him down the grand staircase and to the dining hall. Agrathar was already seated at one end. The servants had prepared him well. His black hair had been neatly combed and his frilled white shirt made him seem every bit a nobleman's son. His slumped posture was another story. And his eyes still held despair.

Agrienne, instead of seating himself at the opposite end of the long table, sat closer to his nephew. Chandeliers of orange luminite spread a flame like glow throughout the room. Thunder rumbled yet and rain battered the windows. The maids brought out the food and set them on the table. One of them glanced at Agrienne. He nodded and gestured towards his nephew's empty plate.

The maid took hold of a knife. She bent over and sawed into the leg of a chicken. Once through, she placed the leg on Agrathar's plate and helped him to a serving of bread and soup as well. The boy dug in, clearly hungry. The maid then began going through the remaining leg. Agrienne watched the motions of the knife as it moved back and forth, slicing into meat with a solemn swish, grease spilling out in thin dribbles. He swallowed back his nausea, recalling the moment of Noreen's murder. He closed his eyes and covered them with one hand. The maid backed off and stood with her peers at one end of the room, waiting for her masters to finish their meal.

"Uncle, will you not eat?" the boy asked after a while. Half his soup was already gone. The bread was left untouched and portions of the plump chicken leg, missing. All this without a single blemish around his mouth or on his shirt, causing Agrienne to question how long he'd been sitting with his eyes closed.

"I will," he answered, poking at his own leg of chicken with a fork in un-interest. He looked back at his nephew. At his reddening complexion. At his widening eyes. Agrathar gagged and coughed. "Slow down," Agrienne said, offering a cup of wine.

The boy frowned at the drink, likely having expected water. He continued to cough and took the drink in desperation, downing large swaths in a single second. He choked and fell off of his chair, red wine staining his white shirt. A deeper red rolled down his chin. The maids stood still, fidgeting. Agrathar looked up, eyes pleading for help. His hands reached up towards his uncle.

Agrienne sighed. Now he'd really lost his appetite. His nephew fell flat against the checkered floor, blood more clearly visible upon the white tiles than the black. The body jerked before coming to a still.

Rain battered the windows.

Agrienne stood up, careful to avoid stepping on blood. He had already ruined a nice set of clothes the night before. He tucked in his chair and then Agrathar's as well before turning to the maids. "Clean this up. Bury him when the weather eases."

Another trophy upon the green shelf.

Another maid rushed to the dining hall. The same one that had followed him there. Agrienne frowned. He hadn't noticed her leave. "My lord! At the door. The… um… the baker's daughter is here again."

"Now? In the rain?"

"Yes, my lord. Should I send her away?"

"No. You can send her to my room," Agrienne responded, shaking his head. To have walked the half mile distance from the small town of Red Vine to the Caranel estate in such weather showed commitment. Commitment that was worth rewarding.

The maid looked disappointed. She glanced at the corpse behind her master and gasped. Agrienne stepped before her line of vision, shielding her eyes from the terrible sight. She turned away and left shaking. He too left the dining room and dragged himself back to his chambers. He finally began stripping himself of his clothes and waited at the edge of his bed.

Rain battered his window.