The Historian’s Novel

In that dark dreary forest wherein only a dim moon’s light showed the way forward, Amelia ran with a bundle in arm, hoping her bone-tired feet might know how to escape the shouting voices that pursued on all sides. Louder than ever and with torches in hand, whoever the flickering shadows she could catch glimpses of were, they most certainly did not have her best intentions at heart.

It all felt so familiar. Both the dream, the forest, and the unmistakable silhouette of a distant building; fast approaching in view.

Ducking to protect her bundle, Amelia burst through the tree-line onto what had once been a front lawn, now covered in weeds, bramble, and saplings. Over-grown with vines that creeped to cover even its windows, the aged Strightsworth Manor she aimed for looked as if it hadn’t been maintained for years, perhaps even decades.

“We’ll be safe soon,” Amelia whispered, pulling back on the bundle’s wrapping to reveal an infant, who upon being exposed to the cool air began feebly whimpering for its mother’s affection.

A pang of hurt traversed Amelia’s heart. She didn’t have any other words of comfort to offer the child. Not ones that felt truthful at least. Not when the closer they got to her family’s manor, the more the place appeared to have been truly abandoned.

Amelia wondered what had become of her mother’s greenhouse. But with a quick check over her shoulder confirming those in chase had made frightening progress in closing the distance, it didn’t seem like she would have time enough to check.

Unable to process the sudden sensation of loss, Amelia stumbled the last few steps towards the Manor’s front doors, fell against the hard wood, and painfully shoved to slip inside her familial home, into a world frozen in time.

Her feet pressed onwards without needing guidance, leaving Amelia free to marvel at what the manor had used to look like under her mother’s careful eye for expensive décor and furniture: No longer in storage. An unexpected trip down memory lane, while she continued the futile endeavor of shushing a baby who knew only that something was wrong.

“We’re almost there,” Amelia whispered, as they arrived and entered the drawing room. Where she found a lever disguised as a book, and pulled it to try and open a hidden room’s door.

Causing the world to fall silent.

The cries of the babe, the distant haunting shouts of the men, it all fell away in an instant, allowing Amelia’s concern to remain utterly focused on the opening safe room which stopped on its rails after only revealing a crack.

“Please, don’t do this to me!” Amelia yelled, and she fell onto her knees in despair, knowing even as she tried that there was no hope of prying the secret entrance open on her own. Not when her father would have needed to put his back into it.

Abandoning the effort, Amelia hugged the infant tightly to her chest and slumped against the jammed bookshelf, fearing that at any moment the room’s door would burst open to drag her away. A thought terrifying enough to petrify even her thoughts, until there came a small voice, which sounded just like her own.

“Don’t cry,” it said to someone, as the bundle Amelia carried began to grow lighter. “It’s not your fault mommy is sad,” the voice added, before the babe’s blankets fell through Amelia’s grasp, leaving her hands clutching at empty air.

“No! Don’t take him from me!” Amelia shouted, as sight followed hearing and vanished completely. “Give him back! Give him back!” she begged, while searching the floor around her in desperate want for what had been stolen.

“It’s okay,” soothed the small voice Amelia pinpointed as coming from the other side of the sealed room, “He’s with me now. He’s with us. You’ll have your chance to spend time with him in the future.”

Amelia flung herself against the bookshelf. Beating against it with her fists until she no longer could, “I… I don’t understand,” she sobbed, despite somehow knowing the voice harbored neither malice nor falsehood, “Who are you? And why do I feel so horrible in my own home of all places?”

The small voice took its time in replying. “It’s… Been a long time since I’ve held any affection for our household… Are you sure it was a happy place to begin with?”

“O-Of course it is… You… You’re speaking n-nonsense.”

“Words from the other side are often like that. It’s okay, you’ll understand eventually.”

“B-But I want to know now,” Amelia whined, as the pain in her heart grew along with her frustrations, “At least tell me, how is it I can miss the face of a child I’ve never once seen in my life?”

This time in response, Amelia heard a baby happily gurgle.

The small voice reluctantly suspired. “Yes, I know we’re running out of time,” it said, only for the babe to coo once again, “No, don’t be silly. I’m upset I can’t answer directly as well…”

There came a brief pause, before a baby giggled like its belly were being tickled all over.

“Fine, you can say goodbye. There shouldn’t be any problems with that.”

The hidden bookshelf Amelia leaned on, lurched. Not sufficiently to allow entrance, but enough for her to press close and look, bringing Amelia face to face with a woman holding a child in arm.

“But you’re… No, this doesn’t make any sense,” Amelia gasped, as the woman offered a sad smile and showed off her canines, which on close inspection looked only a bit sharper than average.

Amelia’s body began to tremble. And the longer she looked, the more certain she became that the woman who resembled Ophelia Strightsworth… Was not her mother.

She reached into the safe room, towards the woman who let her child rest its head tenderly against the warmth of Amelia’s skin.

Tears began streaming. “You were mine,” Amelia sobbed, as the dark world began fading, “You’re my baby. Mine,” she lamented, until her eyes opened wide and Amelia returned to the land of the living.

**

Gasping for breath, Amelia’s attempt to right herself resulted in a full-bodied spasm as every muscle inside her screamed out in protest. As did she, both from the pain and because the little life she had been touching was gone and could no longer be found.

“Where is he!” Amelia shouted, despite her throat aching like it had been rubbed raw with sandpaper, “Where is my baby!” she cried, fighting against her own body to drag herself towards her bed’s side, where on the nightstand had been left unattended a plate bearing an apple and a sharp pairing knife.

Her thoughts filled with nothing but a want to return to the dream, Amelia barely even noticed the clamor of footsteps as Grace and Martel slammed the door open and entered. Wasting no time, the two women forcefully confiscated the pairing knife before it could pierce something other than fruit.

“Get her father, something’s gone wrong this time,” Grace ordered, as she climbed onto the bed to better restrain Amelia by sitting atop her.

“On it,” Martel answered. Her heels clicking heavy and fast, she left to find Havoc. Leaving Amelia to struggle and sob against Grace.

“I… I had a child,” Amelia told Grace, driven by an overwhelming desire for comfort and safety, “And I didn’t protect him! I know I must sound insane, but I’m sure of it… I didn’t… I don’t…”

She didn’t dare say any more. Not when Grace’s face morphed into a pained expression that had Amelia believing the princess must think she’d turned crazy.

“Amelia,” Grace said, as she lifted some of her weight and tenderly left a kiss on Amelia’s cheek, “I’ll make sure you have all the babies you want in the future. But right now, I need you to calm down.”

Amelia melancholically sniffled. Her struggling diminished as reality started to weigh more than the dream. “You… You can’t promise that,” she said, relieved her words had been so casually dismissed by the princess. “That’s… That’s not how it works.” She added, deciding to play along with Grace’s attempt to distract her from the empty hole in her heart.

“Watch me.” Grace said, with such conviction Amelia was stunned into feeling less worse.

“I’m... sorry,” Amelia said, trying not to fixate on how close Grace’s face was to her own, “I don’t know what came over me. Can… Can you please get off and tell me where we are?”

Grace’s eyes narrowed. Her blue pupils began softly glowing, like in assessment of whether Amelia could be trusted when in arms reach of a knife. They stayed like that for nearly a minute without talking, until finally Grace got off and began moving pillows around with only a warning.

“I’m not above tying you to this bed.”

“That’s fine.” Amelia said, knowing that if their positions were reversed, she would probably act the same way. “But I really do want to know where I am,” she added, taking in how white the walls were. “Is this a hospital?”

“We’re at your Grand-father’s mansion,” Grace answered, “Your dad healed you. I’ve been working on waking you up for a few days now. I… Might have also shifted a few memories around while trying. So, I need to know if anything feels… out of place? I’m really sorry for acting without permission, but it had to happen. You… You trust me, right?”

Wanting to relieve Grace of her worries, Amelia contemplated her body’s condition.

“Of course, I trust you,” Amelia said, as she stretched and internalized how surprisingly versatile Grace’s magic could be, “Though it feels like I’ve been running for days,” she confided, before discovering a peculiarity, which caused her to start patting the bed’s mattress for lumps. “Did you put something under the mattress to make it so warm?”

Grace turned her head to where a sword rested against the wall. Amelia recognized it as the one her father had gifted Stanton, only now its flames were completely extinguished.

“You’re feeling… warm?” Grace asked, treating Amelia to the rare sight of an utterly baffled, tongue-tied princess. “Because when Havoc brought you in, the thing was already doused… Do you think they’re connected? Do you want it? I could probably light it again if you want.”

Amelia shook her head no. She knew her father’s flames could only be snuffed out by his will. Which meant the warmth inside her, dancing about as if happy she had noticed its presence, must be from something else.

“Well… If you say so,” Grace said, and the princess conjured a hair-brush out of thin air, “Let’s focus on other things. Like you turning around so I can do my job as your lady in waiting. Your bed-head is awful.”

“Okay,” Amelia said demurely, more than willing to give Grace whatever she wanted, despite her mind having fully awakened with a bevvy of follow up questions regarding the state of the world. “Has there been any activity worth mentioning from the Rutherford’s?” she asked, wincing when the princess pulled hard to untangle a knot.

“No statements from him,” Grace answered tersely, “And the duel’s been postponed.”

“Postponed? Why?” Amelia asked, thinking it strange the Marquess wouldn’t have seized the opportunity to drag her name through the mud… Until she remembered how Stanton had saved her, and killed every witness who knew what had happened.

Wait… What exactly had happened underground? Amelia’s head hurt as she tried to recall what felt like a recollection mushed into an unrecognizable mess. Sure, she could recall negotiating with Richter, and how she was carried underground by Gregory… Everything was there. Including her hatred for the Marquess of Rutherford and his tactics. Though… It now felt more detached, as if she were thinking of a character from an unfortunate novel who simply happened to look exactly like her.

“Old venue isn’t suitable anymore,” Grace said simply, drawing Amelia away from her thoughts with another sharp tug, “Not after your dad took the shortest route to rescue you.”

Amelia’s recollection twisted inwards at the mention of a singular rescue. “Wait, where’s Stanton?!” she yelped, turning her head to pull the brush Grace was using out from her hand, “Where is he?” she asked again, when Grace only grumbled and went to retrieve it, “He… He came to protect me, but I’m not sure what happened after a point. Is he… Is he alright?”

Especially the explosion she had heard near the end of their meeting. She feared Stanton might have done something extreme.

Grace clicked her tongue. “The fool is alive, yes,” she said, which to Amelia seemed like a rather cold-hearted way to speak of the man who had saved her.

“Grace,” Amelia began, nervous yet determined to admonish her friend’s attitude, “I’m not sure what Stanton did to earn your ire, but—”

“He ripped off his slave collar to get Havoc’s attention.” Grace interrupted, thumping a clenched fist on the bed, “I’m calling him a fool because that’s what he is. If your father hadn’t decided to immediately investigate, Stanton might have accidentally killed both of you in a cave-in.”

“W-what?! But that’s suicidal!” Amelia cried, flabbergasted to learn of what Stanton had done. “Did anyone get hurt?” she asked, wanting to shake the answers out from her friend. At the very least she needed to know what state Stanton was in.

Grace pinched Amelia’s cheek. “A few people got hurt when your dad started digging. Nobody died.”

“O-Ow, why are you —”

“Why am I doing this?” Grace asked, before Amelia’s other cheek joined its sibling in its suffering, “I’m doing this because you’re not putting yourself first. And I’m not letting go until you tell me you’ll start, because it’s that type of thinking that got you in trouble in the first place!”

“I… I promise to try!” Amelia mewled, and the princess let go to replace discipline with reward as two quick kisses landed to cure the spots she had hurt.

But before Amelia could ask Grace why she would do such a thing, or find out if there might be a chance for some more, the door to their room opened once more as Martel returned with not only Havoc in toe, but also the Duke of Winchester.

“Incautious child!” the Duke of Winchester barked. His cane loudly thumping, he pushed his way past Havoc. “Tell me, who did this? Who dares try and spirit away my grand-daughter while I’m still alive?”

Havoc shoved his father-in-law out of the way in kind, “Why would you have gone off by yourself? Are you trying to waste the life your mother worked so hard to give you?”

Their concern weighed far too heavy to easily answer. Amelia shrunk back into her pillows.

“It was the Marquess of Rutherford,” Grace said dryly, grinding her teeth as she spoke.

Martel hugged Havoc’s arm. Tightly. To the point he looked at her in surprise. “You’re not blaming Amelia, are you?” she asked him, before turning her glare on the duke. “It’s the Marquess of Rutherford’s goons who should be blamed. Going off on her own might not have been the smartest idea, but none of this is her fault.”

Her criticism cut the energy away from both men like a knife.

“Forgive me,” Havoc said, sinking down on both knees to reach out and hold Amelia’s hand over the bed. “Martel… Is right. This is my fault for not having arranged for our family’s knights to protect you even while I’m nearby. I shouldn’t have left to meet with the king before having done so. I thought… I thought a few minutes apart wouldn’t matter.”

“And I ought to have had the Marquess kept under closer watch until this feud between our two family’s was resolved,” admitted the duke with slumped shoulders.

Flustered, Amelia tried to come up with a way to stop two of the most powerful men in the Kingdom from blaming themselves. Rather, how did things manage to become their fault to begin with?

“Father, Grand-father,” Amelia said, after finding no likely help from either Martel or Grace, whose stern faces made it clear they both thought the apologies from Havoc and the duke were only barely passable, “The matter of blame aside, do either of you know why I’m feeling so warm? I woke up changed, and I would like to know why.”

Havoc looked to the duke. Who returned the regard with a distasteful frown.

“I was born with a fire inside me,” Havoc said, passing the buck.

“Don’t look at me,” replied the Duke of Strightsworth, “A sudden change reeks of divine intervention. Isn’t that your specialty?”

There it was again. Once more, the duke had alluded to a relation between Havoc and God. Amelia did not like the thought. If God truly did exist, she couldn’t bring herself to believe they could be a benevolent one. Not while their intentions remained unexplained at least.

She pondered the merits of trusting a higher power without explanation, no matter how unsuspecting or beneficial it might appear at first glance. Goosebumps arose on her arms, brought about by a newfound understanding that continuing to meddle with the Historian’s novel, might very well end in her death. Or, as she remembered her dream, a fate worse than death.

There was no doubt in her mind now, that had she confided in her father upon first discovering the Historian’s novel, she would not currently be recuperating in bed.

Maybe… Maybe she could skip straight to the ending of the Historian’s Novel?

A selfish dark spot found its home in Amelia’s heart, next to her secret desire to keep Grace for herself. Couldn’t she beg her father to burn away the Marquess of Rutherford, along with the Caneo fleet who would invade cross the Ocean? They might receive a torrent of sanctions, and their family could quite possibly be confined to their territory for the foreseeable future… But Amelia felt she could live with that if it meant waking up beside Grace every day.

She calmed herself down, knowing her mother would never approve of such a deception. No, the Marquess of Rutherford deserved to have his crimes dragged through the streets. Only now, Amelia didn’t want to do it alone. Thus, with great care, she began her greatest attempt at weaving falsehoods with nothing but truth.

“Um… Actually, I had a good reason to follow the Marquess,” Amelia said to the room, which listened intently, “Since a while ago… I’ve been receiving these… Visions… I, uh, didn’t think much of them at first… But… Well…”

And just like that Amelia floundered. Having nowhere near Grace’s talent to lie on the spot. A depressing thought that caused Amelia to abandon her attempt at speech and burry her face in the folds of the princess’s dress.

“Are you talking about the stuff you mumble at night?” Grace asked, as she stroked Amelia’s back. “I thought that was your sleeping medicine talking,” she said, before addressing Havoc, “Has anyone in your family received prophetic dreams in the past?”

“No.” Havoc said, crossing his arms in deep thought, “Though such a thing wouldn’t be out of the question. Amelia, could you please share what you’ve seen in these… visions?”

Raising her face, Amelia’s admiration for Grace swelled to newfound heights. The mere fact the princess would support her without any evidence made her want to propose on the spot. Was it really that easy? If she presented the Historian’s novel as a dream of all things… Would her family believe her, and be willing to help?

Had someone asked her this question upon first receiving the Historian’s novel, Amelia would have resolutely said no. Now, knowing her father and grandfather did in fact love and not hate her, she wanted to give it a try.

“Then… would you believe me if I said that in the dream, I saw… That the Velvetican Kingdom is destined to fall into ruin, and that the Marquess of Rutherford is involved?”

“Impossible,” Havoc said, without hesitation and Amelia’s confidence crumbled in heartbreak.

“Havoc!” Martel shouted, “You’re not invincible!”

Understanding dawned on Havoc’s face. He got up, and slammed a fist into the wall. “HIT ME!” he bellowed. A demand the Duke of Winchester was more than willing to grant with his cane, which delivered a strike harsh enough to turn Havoc’s cheek.

“Thank you,” Havoc said, as if his thoughts were now clearer. “Sorry, Amelia. I believe you. I do. I just have a hard time accepting our Kingdom could fall as long as I’m here. In this vision… Was I not there to protect you?”

A lump formed in Amelia’s throat. Of course her father would misunderstand if she left it at that. “In my vision you… you were different.” She said, “Colder… More distant… Like… Like before, when I still misunderstood what had happened with mom… And in the vision, when our Kingdom began burning, I tried looking for you… But I couldn’t find where you had gone.”

Havoc’s eyes wandered to a wine cabinet placed in the corner of the room. “I think I understand.” Turning about, he marched for the door. Martel, as if sensing trouble, caught him before he could leave.

“Where are you going?” she asked.

“I… am going to solve the problem.”

“You can’t kill the Marquess of Rutherford!” shouted Martel and Amelia at the same time. (Differing only in how much one of them stuttered) Martel, with fondness, gave Amelia a wink, and then turned on a dime to begin tearing into Havoc’s decision.

“What if that’s the reason your daughter was sneaking around? Because she wanted to prevent our Kingdom from falling without your family coming off as murderous tyrants! She could have easily asked you to burn the Marquess’s estate to the ground. But she didn’t. Haven’t you considered there might be a reason?”

Havoc pulled Martel into a deep hug. “To think you would be as smart as you are beautiful,” he said, before pulling away, “Take care of my daughter. We will proceed as she wills but I must still leave. I need permission from the King for certain… Restrictions to loosen.”

Watching her father depart, Amelia could only remember in embarrassment the stalwart commitment she had made to change the future on her own while burning the Historian’s Novel, and hope her dark past might be buried forever.

The Duke of Winchester tapped his cane on the floor, steering Amelia’s attention towards him. “The Marquess alone does not possess the strength to threaten the Kingdom,” he said to Amelia, “I take it he has a backer?”

“T-That’s right!” Amelia said, impressed by her grandfather who had already begun putting the puzzle pieces together using what little she’d told, “He’s been working with the Caneo Kingdom. Whose prince is here to sew chaos, on behalf of his brother, the king.”

“A prince who our own King would be forced to detain should our ransacking of the Marquess’s estate reveal their collusion,” the duke said, drumming his fingers atop his cane, “Giving them the justification to launch an invasion.”

“Actually, they’re already here,” Amelia began, hoping to clarify further. Only to instead squeak in surprise when her grandfather burst into fire.

“Those rats!” The duke shouted to himself, “No wonder their merchants have been running circles around us. Only one of their ships must have any goods! They’ve come looking for a fight and are lying in wait for nothing more than an excuse!” His expression grew fierce, “And if things are like that… Then… Could the West have been involved as well all along? Bastards! Do they think we’re that easy to stab in the back?”

A taste of iron seeped past Amelia’s tongue as she punished herself by biting her lower lip. She wanted to cry. How hard would it have been to write an anonymous letter to her grand-father? Could it have always been this easy to thwart the bad ending of the Historian’s Novel?

“Good job,” said the Duke of Winchester, laying a hand over Amelia’s shoulder. “And I suppose you’ve already dealt with the reason why your father left in the visions?”

“I… I think so,” Amelia murmured, as the floodgates of her tear ducts opened upon hearing her grandfather’s recognition that she had still managed to at least save her father.

“Then, do you have any plans to secure proof regarding the Marquess of Rutherford’s betrayal?” the duke asked. “Because we’re still going to need that, even after he’s gone.”

Wiping away her tears with a handkerchief Grace gave her, Amelia resolved to accept her mistakes, be thankful for what she had accomplished, and finish what she had started. Pushing past the dull ache in the back of her head that still wanted to cower and run, she answered his question.

“Something like that,” Amelia said, enjoying the touch of her grand-father’s hand, which brushed aside a few strands of hair that had gotten stuck on her face from her crying.

“Good,” said the duke, when there came a loud knock on the door.

“My lord, there’s a wizard and a man who are here to see the young miss.” Came a voice from the other side, in the trained cadence of a knight reporting to their master.

“One of ours?” asked the duke.

“No, it appears to be one of the eccentrics for hire. Not sure about the name, but the wizard’s companion is a merchant named Thompson Brown if that helps.”

“It doesn’t.” Said the Duke. “It does!” Amelia said with excitement, at the same time.

The Duke of Winchester chuckled. “One of yours?” he asked her.

“I’d like to think so,” Amelia said with a mixture of nervousness and excitement. For with the arrival of Thompson Brown and his wizard…

The Historian’s novel would soon be put to a close.