Chapter 8.2

Eirwen spread her senses in the direction of the main road. She could sense pretty far by focusing on a single direction, which allowed her to instantly notice Aoife and entourage rush through the streets up the hill. Three knights, a strange number. If Eirwen had to wager a guess, it would be the only ones able to keep up with Aoife as they used their mana to enhance their horses. The horses definitely would need a rest after this. So would the knights.

The Flameheart gates opened just before the visitors arrived, a response time most likely only possible due to having been alerted in advance. Eirwen could sense the knights letting go of their abilities, two of them collapsing from exhaustion at once. The third made a token effort to follow, only to immediately accept being refused entry. As for Aoife, she stormed in at a speed that was borderline hostile.

Eirwen withdrew her senses and gathered her thoughts. Aoife felt thunderous right now. Would it be best to meet her standing, ready to fight if needed, or would that only cause an escalation? Best to stay seated, in control, but ready to call upon her defences.

The thick doors muffled the sounds, but she could tell Aoife had arrived outside the room. A clang sounded out, as if she had thrown her sword onto the weapon rack. Three knocks formally announced her arrival. "Enter." The left door opened, allowing Aoife to enter without anything blocking line of sight between the two of them. 

The first thing that Eirwen noticed was the fully white surcoat covering Aoife's full plate. That was the sign of intense mourning. Not even Aoife's father had gone that far, he had only worn a mourning band. Aoife moved fast, instantly making two steps before kneeling. "Baroness Aoife Carraig greets her Grace, Duchess of Verglas and Flameheart." Her voice was cold and formal, even as she acknowledged Eirwen as her ruler.

"Raise your head." Her chin shot up, blazing eyes looking straight at Eirwen's. Only years of practice helped Eirwen keep her calm. That was the worst hatred she had seen in anyone's eyes but her own. She had been mistaken. Aoife didn't just carry a torch for Aodhán, but an entire bonfire. Somewhere during the war, it seemed Aoife's love had grown to a point where it rivalled Eirwen's. And right now Aoife was looking at her beloved's murderer, or so she thought.

Eirwen sighed audibly, a deliberate act. "Take a seat, Aoife. Your father should be here soon. There is something I need to tell you both." She could see the confusion flash though the woman's eyes, then replaced with determination once more. Aoife rose and turned away towards the couch and chairs, only to freeze as she saw the painting. Judging from that response, it was the first time she had seen the actual thing.

A few counts went by without a visible response, before Eirwen noticed Aoife balling her fists. "You... He... He loved you so much, yet you-" They were interrupted by the door swinging open, Ailbe Carraig flying inside, completely out of breath. His presence surprised Aoife, but Eirwen had long sensed him running at a speed that would have earned anyone else a quick intercept. She wondered if her advisor had handed out any recommendations, to prevent that from happening now. Probably not.

Ailbe quickly nodded in her direction, still somewhat observing formalities. "Your Grace. I." He gasped for air. "I came as soon as you called. Aoife. Why?" As he looked at his daughter, he saw her still transfixed, not properly responding to his arrival. Following her eyes, it was now his turn to be shocked at the romantic display on the wall.

It was a good thing Eirwen had known this situation was coming. It had given her the chance to decide on what to do, decide against leaving them in doubt. "He is still alive." The two turned towards her, mouths open in shock. In Ailbe's eyes, she saw relief. Aoife was still confused. "He is still alive. But he is no longer Aodhán. He forfeited his name."

Ailbe's knees buckled, falling to the floor as tears filled his eyes. His daughter quickly turned to him, kneeling next to him as she held him in great concern. Then her eyes flashed to Eirwen's, hatred still there but softened, confusion now having the upper hand. "I don't understand. They said-"

"Because I made them believe that. Because I need them to accept my rule without them feeling like it's a hostage situation. And because the council deserves to live not knowing the final consequences of their actions. But you, Aoife, you do not deserve such punishment. Even if I believed in carrying the sins of one's parent, I could never do that to someone who cared so much for him. Not to someone that was my friend. There was not a single part of me that considered it fair to leave you in such doubt."

Her eyes moved to face Ailbe's, who was still silently weeping tears of both joy and loss. He understood, more so than his daughter, that in many ways Aodhán was still gone. "Your father knew part and did what he had to, keeping this secret even from his children. I called him here so he could be released from that burden. His punishment should not involve staying quiet while his heir hurts. That is why I told you both. And that is why I am ordering you to not tell anyone else for now."

She looked at Aoife again, whose hatred was subduing, being partially replaced by shame. She sighed and rose from her seat. "Let me tell you the basics of what your father kept from you. Three days ago, Aodhán murdered his father. I do not use those words lightly, it was murder, plain and simple. In response, the council acknowledged him as the seventh Duke of Flameheart. Under his orders, the estate was locked down to hide the truth. He left the council with orders to follow, then rode to me."

She stayed silent for a few counts, giving the two time to process as she approached them. Facing Aoife, she continued. "He cut a deal with me, then surrendered. And immediately after, he forfeited his name and broke his ancestral blade." Both father and daughter silently gasped at that last part. "He then offered me his life and neck, for me to choose between."

She shook her head, allowing sadness to rule her face and voice. "Obviously I claimed his life. There is no world where I could have killed him, so all I could do for him was to accept his eternal servitude. And so here we are."

Her face both softened and hardened. "I need you to understand that there is no way back for him. He has forfeited his name, not just disgraced it or declared himself unworthy. He has permanently ended the Flameheart line with his own words and deeds. That is why I act as if he's dead, why I declared a mourning period, why his name has been scratched out. Because Aodhán is gone and only a nameless one remains."

The tears finally came to Aoife as well, even as she helped her father back on his feet. Relieved yet also realising just how much this meant. But Eirwen was not done yet. "I tell you this because you deserve to know. You carried no blame in this. So while you may still hate me, while you have plenty of reason to, at least you now can do so for the right reasons. But there is one thing you must keep in mind."

Her face hardened in an instance as she called upon all the fire and ice and authority she could channel. "Kneel." Her voice echoed through the room, forcing Aoife to her knees. Even Ailbe's knees buckled, while elsewhere she could feel all her knights jump to attention. She ignored them, looking down on Aoife instead. "I am your rightful ruler, Baroness, and you had best remember that. Behave yourself in public and show me your due respect. Your hatred is for behind closed doors. Dismissed."

This time it was Ailbe's time to help his daughter to her feet, her face still pale from the oppressive atmosphere. Eirwen walked back to the desk, ignoring their existence. As the two gathered themselves enough to go towards the door, she interrupted them a final time. "One last thing. Vicomte Carraig, I know you have your suspicions. I permit you to share them with the Baroness, but only in private and when secured by my knights. Feel free to ask for two to accompany you to a suitable location now. I expect you to report back to me at the seventh hour."

"Yes, your Grace. Thank you." Aoife too sent her a grateful nod, her eyes still confused, trying to figure out how to feel. Eirwen suspected the outcome would be a mixture of hatred and fondness. She could live with that, for now at least. As the door closed behind them, she laid her head back and stared at the ceiling, suppressing her own tears.