The suggestion had been made that she spend some time in the gardens today, to get some fresh air, instead of the dustiness of being shut up in the room she had been given. it was close to her dear friend's, and it overlooked the garden nicely, so it fit her needs. She had asked for little, thus far. A black dress, of mourning, and a black hair ribbon, and a bit of yellow and black thread and a needle. Sitting under a lemon tree, which she saw sported a small scar where a cutting had been taken from it's trunk -- she suspected that the lemon tree she had been gifted to place in the courtyard of the Orleasian University gardens had been taken from said tree -- she had set to work embroidering two bees on the ribbon. She had embroidered bees into Rene's pockets, so that if there had ever been a question if a coat was his or not, a quick slip of drunken fingers into the pocket would reveal the bee inside -- close enough to sting. It had been a reminder to him, some joke in the past she had made and had turned it into some small think between them both.
She missed her brothers, her sister in law, and her nephew so much. The pain squeezed in her chest like a vice grip, taking her breath away as the rush of faces she knew that were no more came back to her. Rene, Luce, others.. down to her in-law's brother who had always treated her kindly, had been the one to find her when Luce had taken back over the manor.. all gone. All of them.
And with that, the tears were back as she paused her embroidery, not even setting the ribbon aside, no, she let the tears fall for a few moments before she was trying to reign the emotions back in. She could cry when she didn't have anyone watching her -- in the bath, or at night when she was trying to fall asleep -- but she couldn't cry in the open, not yet. At least here, she couldn't hear bells. Couldn't hear them ringing out any longer, as she blotted at her reddened cheeks with her sleeve, improper, she knew, but, once couldn't have her remember all her manners while dealing with grief. So the sleeve it was, as she sniffled quietly, there under the lemon tree that felt familiar, before she started her embroidery again, a third bee now starting to take shape on the silken fabric as she heard people moving about close by, was someone coming to the garden?
The gardens, a rare excursion. And when her father was not there to ensure neither she nor her demon broke the rules, she wore a leash. Shackles around her wrists, separating her hands, and the end was in a nursemaid's grip. She'd only acted out once, since they'd started allowing her out of her room, but it had immediately earned ire.
She was in high spirits today, though one would never tell this from looking at her. Healing wounds to her face; clawmarks, the last of her bruises were a week old, by now.
The nurses with her tried to talk to her, but she simply continued on a path, wandering, weaving through the gardens, and nobody seemed willing to call her down. She supposed they feared her father's temper.
"Won't you let us stop and rest?" One of the women asked, as they rounded a corner and came to stop while their charge studied her surroundings.
It's my day out. Not yours. Novella's response was petulant, like that of a spoiled child. You can stay here and I can keep going though.
The women drifted into silence at that; she'd tried to escape one too many times during her fits for them to trust a word out of her mouth.
Ella didn't seem to mind, as she knelt to study a delicate bush, which is when she caught sight of a leg—a person under the lemon tree...
Does father have another guest? She inquired, sitting next to the bush to study the stranger. The nurses behind of her just stood silently, more than one of them wore a weapon; whether a staff or a sword. Not all of them were nurses; only one was, the rest were Eyes in disguise.
She startled when she heard how close the voice was to her, tilting her head to the side at the words, "Does father have another guest?" Father? Was this Malachai's little sister? Or? She found her grief retreating some, as she pondered that, her fingers paused in their embroidery as she looked up at the entourage of people on the other side of the hedge from her. Nurses, it seemed like, much like the one that stood some feet back from her, a respectable distance, but still, a pair of eyes on her.
H-Hello? I'm not intruding on a favorite space am I? I can choose another if this is somewhere you'd like to be instead. She was a guest here after all, and under the lemon tree was a nice bit of shade, smelled amazing, and the bees, the subject of her sewing this afternoon, came and went from the blossoms in a quiet hum of movement. A gentle lullaby for her shattered nerves.
Ella tilted her head, assessing the other woman. Her gaze flickered to the other set of nurses, and she huffed, sitting back for a moment. Before she moved to crawl to sit next to Lia.
Only for one of her minders to stop her. And in response, she rolled onto her back and laid on the ground, glaring upwards at the minders. Eventually, they settled around her, and Ella hummed pleased. Even though she was sprawled on the ground, she maneuvered herself so that she could study the newcomer.
This is as close as they're allowed to let me. She responded, gaze flickering to the minder nearest to her face. Almost seated in-between the two women, not quite blocking their view of each other.
Are you allowed to leave? She inquired, dark eyes curious. She wasn't, but she knew perfectly well why she wasn't. But the woman might be useful. And are you allowed to write? She didn't like asking the minders to write letters for her. They never wrote quite what she said.
Lia looked at the younger woman's face, and then to the guards. Did you murder someone? Or your leader? Her mild Orlesian accent was more pronounced when around those who weren't from the same place as her, she noted with mild annoyance, she didn't like it in such an intimate setting -- when she was out in public, it helped hide her, keep her from being too noticeable by many of the Tevinters she had been around. Only Tiberus and Enzo hadn't immediately dismissed her for her oddness in the land. She felt eyes on her, as she moved to where she could see better, raising a brow at the guards.
Well then, I'll come closer to you, I'd rather not like to yell. She moved closer, but she was still out of arm reach, it would give them enough time to react, and to be fair to the young woman, Lia didn't think she would attack her. Regardless of what the crime had been. I've not tried to leave, I have no where else to go right now, my family home was overrun by Blight. It was matter of fact, even if she felt the tears threaten again. She didn't need to burden the younger woman with details, it looked like she was in rough shape as it was. I can read, and write. I can also heal, would you like me to try and take care of those bruises?
Lia touched her face, under her eyes, where the scratch marks were, her face drawn some at how much it had to hurt. I'm not that good at it yet, but I can usually take care of scratches and bruises.
Novella giggled, at the question. It wasn't quite an amused laugh, but a laugh, nonetheless. I'm the most dangerous thing in these walls. A truth, for the moment. Until they got her demon under control, she was safer here than anywhere else, lest her father have to put her down. She didn't answer the question, though. She'd killed many leaders, murdered many. Too many to remember, they were faceless pawns in a game she played at the whim of the country.
But then, the woman was moving closer to her, and Ella watched with wide eyes. The guard in-between the two had stepped to block Ophelia, only to consider her place in this home. And the wards behavior.
So, while they let her settle next to Novella, it was only in exchange for those who were armed to settle in nearer. Novella listened, brown eyes fixed on her new companions face; ignoring the quiet shifting of their minders, hers had come nearer too.
How did you come to be here? She was curious; she hadn't attempted to find her way out of the cage. She didn't want too? An interesting concept for Novella, who was of two minds about her confinement. Part of her felt safe. Part of her felt suffocated.
And then, she beamed, brightly at confirmation that the other woman could read and write. Can you help me write a letter? Father doesn't let me write myself, she brought her hands up, shackles ignored as she tapped a particularly wounded section of her face, indicating that she'd done that to herself the last time she'd gotten hold of a writing utensil, not realizing there were other ways to take the gesture. But you could write what I tell you. She seemed enthused at the idea.
And then the other woman was touching her, and Ella stilled. Mmm, no. I didn't let Father's healers help me either. They had offered; but the pain was something to focus on, even as it faded and got better. The longer she went without new wounds, without new outbursts, the more progress she made. And as long as her wounds weren't life-threatening, they were left alone, treated without magic.
Her hands settled back against her chest, for even though she could sit up and face the woman, it was easier for her to maintain one position so nobody got too fidgety.
Oh I rather doubt that, Malachai has a plant over there that would drop a dragon dead in the right distillation, very easily. It's a pretty little thing too. I find that those things that are the most beautiful are dangerous, so you may be right after all. She nodded as she talked herself to the logic of it, letting the guards shuffle about, she for the most part tried to ignore them as much as the other woman did. They were simply minders in the house, a part of being a guest, she assumed, and more so that she was what was looking like one of the only survivors of a place.
She shuddered at the thought, but knew it was most likely the case as to why.
The master of the house came and found me, after I escaped, my brother had paid an elderly gentleman to take me to somewhere we thought was going to be safe, but none of them arrived there. I waited a few days to see, and then took to a horse and rode north. I think. I don't remember that week very well right now. One of the healers says it'll come back to me if I stop forcing it. I don't like having questionable memories in my head. She smiled gentle as she nodded.
I'd be happy to write a letter for you, there are some concerns you'd use the ink pen as a stabbing implement then? I could see why your father might hesitate to let you have use of one. I didn't know Malachai's father was in this house too, I'm assuming your his younger sister, of course. She looked over to one of her minders, May I have ink, a pen, and some parchment please? She looked back to the younger woman now, Have they not been taking dictation properly for you then? Writing a letter for someone means writing it exactly as it's said, not adding a flourish, or omitting something that you feel might be distressing for someone else. And I suppose, since I'm a stranger, it would be easier for me to not have context to the letter itself. It's logical. And it was, she nodded, settling into an easier sitting position.
Of course, it's a hair ribbon. She took her embroidery off the ring, and set the needle and sheers aside to hand over the black ribbon with it's two finished bees on one end, a third started on the other end of the ribbon. I don't know why, but, I've always liked having them braided into my hair, and they're so useful when I'm working in the lab to keep my hair from falling into the fire, or an acid I've been working with.
The lady was talkative. Not something that Ella enjoyed, typically. But for the moment, she seemed more than happy to lay on the ground, and simply listen. Her minders were silent, watching Ophelia as she dropped the needles and shears, much too near to the woman on the ground.
When Ophelia decided that Ella must be Malachai's younger sister, amusement lit in the younger woman's eyes, though she didn't correct her. And neither did the minders tending to them both. When she declared she'd be happy to pen a letter, Novella rolled over and settled on her knees in a fluid motion, as if she was used to not having the use of her hands. And while her minders went to retrieve the requested items, Ella's were pulling her away from the house-guest. To her credit, Ella shuffled willingly backwards, gaze locked on the stranger.
She was still holding the hair ribbon, fingers studying the craftsmanship. No. They're afraid of me. She tossed her chin towards the minders beside of her. But Father tells them what to do, and they're more afraid of him. She answered, when asked if they didn't quite get the dictation correct. They want to be done as quickly as possible. She wasn't angry, and there was no malice to her words. Simply facts being shared at an opportune moment.
Your craftsmanship is nice, she eventually stated, offering the ribbon to a minder to return to the house-guest. Will you teach me more about the plants? She knew enough, but clearly this woman could tell her even more. And it'd be more fun than reading in a book.
What Ella didn't respond to, or acknowledge, was simply because she had no desire to do so. And the corrections that never came, was again, simply for her own amusement. Perhaps the other lady would talk to her Father about her, and she'd be allowed to witness the ensuing confusion.
Lia paused as the ribbon was passed, head tilted to the side, as her eyes looked vacant for a moment, skin to skin contact oft times triggered images in the woman, and this time was like many others, the image of the young woman swinging from a noose in a tree, obviously Minrathous architecture, the time of year, had to been close to now. Lia's fingers instinctively tried to curl around Ella's holding the contact longer, trying to capture as many details from that brief glimpse as she could before the contact was broken and a writing desk was brought to her.
She discretely cleared her throat as she looked around the garden, sighing heavily as she did, there didn't seem to be a tree like that in the gardens, so where could that tree be? I don't see any reason for them to be afraid of your father, unless of course, She trailed off some, letting the possibilities play out in her mind, one was that the woman was not a sister, but a child, that would be possible, of course. The second was that she was not in Malachai's actual home, that would be ... that could be a possibility, considering his position, that she now knew was quite powerful, and the third, would be something she'd have to focus more to figure out because they were pulling the woman backwards, and Lia frowned at it. Is that really necessary that you be that rough with her? She didn't like the woman being chained, and she didn't like how she was being man-handled either.
Thank you, it's about the only "lady's skill" I possess. I was running around with my brothers more often, getting scabbed knees and busted lips than practicing pianoforte and drawing and the likes. I grew up a as a piss poor servant in a noble house, which, turned out to be my father and brother's home in the end. They never really forced me to work. She chuckled a little as she picked up the pen and drew a piece of parchment over to write at the bottom that it was via dictation and whom did the dictating. I could, if you would like that. I did my dissertation on adjusting healing potions and poisons to be maximum efficacy for the age and weight of a patient or mark. I included the assassin trade in my paper because there's no sense in ignoring that it happens, and I'd rather make sure that if someone is going to kill someone, they use the dose that will bring about death the swiftest and most painless as possible, if an assassin decides to use that in their work. I'd love to get my hands on some of their recipes to study them. Lia realized, a little too late, that she hadn't felt like crying for almost ten minutes now. I'm Ophelia, by the by, I think.. I've seen your face before around Malchai, or... maybe .. at the party. This is your father's home? I don't see any tall older trees within the gardens.. is there a large oak nearby? She was certain the tree had been an oak, just recently having lost all it's leaves to head into the wintering months.
Ella giggled, as the other woman scolded the minders. They treat me like a weapon, because I am a weapon. She stated, once she'd stopped giggling. The minders likely wouldn't be left alive, once Ella was well enough to leave the confines. It'd leave too many people knowing her downfall, her secret.
Mmm, I go to many parties. She settled, eventually, with her legs crossed. Usually as part of the security. She nodded once, and let her gaze flicker to her minders, when the other woman introduced herself and asked about oak trees.
Ella went still, studying her shackled hands for a moment, before she smiled brightly across the garden, Nope, no oak trees. She confirmed, with another nod.
I would like you to write a letter to my wife. She began, not waiting to see if her impromptu scribe was prepared before she began to weave the sentences of a response to the latest letter that had been screened by her father and given to her.
When she was finished, she hummed, quietly, sending a minder to return the ribbon. Oh. I have to go to my rooms, now. I'm having a lesson, she chirped, as a minder murmured the schedule in her ear. She was brought to her feet, and she wiggled her fingers in a wave.
You're only a weapon if you agree to be a weapon. A knife is not a weapon by choice, it is a tool, it can create or it can destroy. It's the intention of the person wielding it that gives a weapon it's .. for lack of a better description, purpose. Artisans use knives to create works of art, I myself use a knife to create arrangements, and cut flowers into tiny pieces. I am a flower murderer, at my core, through and through. I hear their silent screams at night. A bit of humor on her part as she nodded. You.. you danced with the Lord Tilani, yes? Tall woman, gave me a lot of money to continue my research, mind you, I hate to have to go tell her eventually all her money was for naught. Blight and all. No amount of money could save her family either.. she knew Luce and Rene had thrown everything into their plan, and she was the only one who got out. Money did no good.
Hmm, having one around would be good. The acorns make good flour once they've been treated, but the toxins they produce can make someone lose control of their bowels. Lia explained as she took up the pen, her loopy, precise handwriting filling the page with the dictated note. She powdered the page down to dry the ink quickly, and then blew the fine grit from the page and handed it over to a minder to be sent.
It was nice to meet you. I hope I can come visit you sometime soon as well.
~~ A few days later ~~
She arrived to the room of the woman this time, her minders having taken her and the writing desk with them as they went. Lia took a book with her this time, one that she had been lucky to procure from Malachai's library, she hadn't realized that he had the book, but it had been a well thumbed copy on her desk during her entire graduate and doctoral studies, annotated in places, dog eared, and some pages so well perused that they had been faded with age. This copy was less worn, and featured none of the annotation she had done with her personal copy -- probably still on her desk at the University, covered in a layer of..
She shut that door in her mind as she came into the room, still dressed in black, and the ribbon, with it's five bees, had been braided into her red hair.
Hello my friend, I'm told you want to send another letter? She sat down where her minder indicated for her to be, before she leaned forward in the seat before the desk could be placed before her. I brought you a book, Malachai had it on the shelf in the library, but it's the primer I was re-writing in my spare time, this isn't my copy, but if you want to learn more about the plants, this is the most complete text to date to be studying. I made some notes in bits of parchment stuck through out, about ones that my research showed to be different than the figures in the book. She wished she hadn't been forced to leave everything behind...
It was cute, how the other woman spoke. That one was only a weapon if one agreed to be a weapon. But what if one was born into nothing, and crafted into a weapon? Knowing no kind touch, no familial ties, until much later in their life after they'd proven themselves to be a fit military dog of war. And their entire existence hinged on being that dog of war, to keep the place, to find that familiarity that they'd always wanted?
But she doesn't ask, because she's being ushered away. A lesson, more medication, and a man to vex—
...
A few days later, Novella's shackles were off and she was roaming her room; a nurse seated in a corner, always watching, forever watching. She was never to be un-watched. She'd caused a minor explosion earlier that morning, and had been shifted to another room until hers could be repaired. Nothing too bad; she'd been practicing and gotten... overzealous, let us say. The Eye that had experienced loss of life had earned her temper and before she could register what was happening, he simply wasn't before her in one piece.
After she'd settled into the new room, and taken yet another dose of medication, she'd asked to see Ophelia. And henceforth came her new friend; a book on plants offered upon her entry, which made Ella grin. You could write in the books, you know. I doubt he'd mind. Her father indulged her fancies, and why should he not do the same to her new... friend?
But yes. My wife, she writes... often. Multiple times a day, sometimes. Quite bothersome. Father does not let her visit, anymore. That had been the week before she'd met Ophelia; the worst week, the last time she'd heard Kaczor at the front doors, pleading and begging.
Weak. She's weak. I can find a better mate. For her credit, Ella ignored the demon better. She was learning, even if it was slow going. I would like to pretend that everything is okay. Will you make it extra... cheerful?
Lia situated herself at the desk once the minder set it down in front of her completely, rolling her eyes at the man, This one is annoying and liked to hurry me through the books this morning, but I'll remember that for the book I'm currently annotating for you. I really do love that Malachai has in the library all these books, some of these are first editions though, so I hesitate to write in them. Even if she was fairly certain some of the text books wouldn't have been in his library if it hadn't been meant for her to make use of.
Do you not want her to worry, or do you want to outright lie to her? She asked gently, as she flipped open the cap of the ink well, and took up the pen, dipping it in the ink and letting the nib fill slowly as she added the same at the bottom, "As dictated to one Miss Jolfy", and then posed the pen, ready to start. I only ask because that's not.. it's not always cheerful to make someone not worry, to pretend things are okay, sometimes it require creative truth telling, and sometimes it can be better just to stick to fact as they are, and let the reader decide if it's okay or not, even if you mean for it to be read as okay. Or so I find, but truth be told I'm not the best person to take advice from. I fall asleep over my work and wake up with ink on my face, stained there for days sometimes. And that was before I was observing a mourning period.
She liked how the shackles were gone, that was better, she liked that she was down to the one minder, even if hers today was being especially cross with her. Normally her own tail stuck to the shadows, out of sight, and allowed her to wander and explore as she saw fit, only moving to steer her away from places she shouldn't be before vanishing back into the corner of her vision again. Or is she overbearing and you're relieved for the vacation from her, even if it really isn't the best of circumstances? Is she a rather horrid person, your wife?
Ella let her gaze flit to the minder, and she stared at them for a moment. Why don't you tell someone? That the minder is misbehaving? An unsettling grin found her features, though she softened it after a moment. They deserve punishment if they act against your wishes. As long as those wishes are within the purview of the rules the minder has received, they must oblige.
Talk turned to the letter at hand, and Novella hummed. My wife is... eccentric. She worries, often. She was coming daily, in attempts to see me. Sometimes I think she'd stay outside quietly, waiting for me to pass a window. She chuckled at the absurd idea, and yet, she knew her wife was most likely to do that. Though, she'd not shown hide nor face since her father promised he'd take care of it.
She's... very loyal to me, but we were an arranged marriage. And we see our duties as spouses very differently. She believes that she should care for me, and doesn't understand that she upsets my... She tapped her temple. If we must lie to her to make her worry less, it won't mar my conscience any. She nodded once; vaguely wondering if she had a conscience in the first place.
She held the letter she had received; read by Malachai or one of the doctors on hand prior to coming to her hands, out to Ophelia. This is what we are responding to. She'd avoided answering questions about where Ophelia had seen her before; but the letter's sign-off would certainly clue the other woman in to who Ella was married to.
My older brother looks after Kaczor and my daughter, in my absence. She explained, as if that made it better that lying didn't affect her ability to sleep at night.
I could, certainly I could, but it's not really misbehaving is it? It's just rather being quite rude. That sort of attitude would never be tolerated in the south, but you see, I am not from here so what I deem rudeness may not be so much the case in this place, no? Lia knew from the younger woman's words that her minder was most likely now in a very precarious position, probably would lose his job if word got back to Malachai. That wouldn't stand, for all Lia knew, the man had a wife and child, or husband and child at home and needed the money that was included in his salary, and she was just a silly old spinster being content as a house guest until her host threw her into the street.
She really needed to have a good think about what she could do in the case that ever came to pass. She could find Rosalie, that might be something. Vincent's to-be-wife, would have been family had ...
No, she was going to make it the whole way through the day without crying today, no, she couldn't think about that.
Ahh so a romantic at heart then, I bet she's very flowery with her language and declarations of love, isn't she? I have a serial one of the ladies at the University tried to get me to read but it bored me to no end. I don't really think one can actually love romantically. Family, yes, romance? And then she thought about the easy smile, and the way her insides felt molten when Malachai touched her arm to guide her around. Maybe there could be something to it.
When the letter was handed over, she noticed the name immediately, So you're my patron's wife, I missed meeting you directly when I was here for the Archon's ball. She talked to highly of you that night for the brief moment she came to tell me that there would be more than enough gold in my research coffers for the next five years. That means.. Lia let the pause go on another few beats as the final tumbler fell into place in her mind. Oh goodness, Malachai isn't your brother, he's your father! She looked startled for a moment, and then the flush in her cheeks started to match her hair, why had the girl been chained in her own home?!
It is absolutely none of my business, so I will keep my mouth shut, but Hells, she should not be chained in her own home, she thought to herself as she turned her eyes back to the paper, and then started to craft the reply, something she had had practice with in the past. Too many days in a row spent sleeping on the settee in her office at the University had had Luce sending a search party, and since then she had sent letters with updates that would put her brother's mind at ease.
Do you miss your daughter? Should I ask to have her brought here for a visit? I'm sorry, that's truly none of my business, but, it ... it might help. Maybe the daughter would stop the younger woman from trying to hang herself, Lia still hadn't forgotten about the brief image she had captured off their touch the other day. She filed the information about the woman's moral flexibility away for a later date. That might come in handy if she needed something particularly not legal procured for an experiment.
How's this? She handed over a short draft on the parchment.
