Chapter 13.1

The sun crept into the room, shining in her face. She groaned, poorly rested and muscles all aching from the day before. Even her pathways weren't happy with her, after all the different abilities she had tried out. But today was when the Flameheart servants would return, assuming any did. Resting wasn't an option.

Washing up, changing clothes, partaking in consuming a quick meal. Her senses picked up a group gathering at the estate gates, including the Flameheart guards, still obeying her order to stay outside. Half a dozen of her knights and as many soldiers awaited her in the central hall, accompanied by over a dozen of her personal staff. She sighed and put her emotions behind a mask. Time to get this over with.

Her own all knelt as they greeted her. She waved them up and entered the courtyard, allowing them to move past her and take position in front. The gates opened and in poured the guards and servants. All the guards, and all but four of the servants, it seemed. They were led by majordoma Róisín, the woman's face as hard to read as always. Once all had taken position, they knelt and shouted out. """Greetings, your Grace! Reporting for duty!""'

"Raise your heads. Guards, you are to ensure the safety of the public parts of the estate. None of you are allowed in the private quarters. The rest of you, make sure to follow instructions but do not be afraid to share your knowledge and opinions. Lady Róisín, join me in my office." She turned and walked back to the study, the majordoma following at a respectful distance.

At the study, Eirwen sat down at the desk, while one of her doorguards searched the majordoma, ensuring she carried nothing dangerous. When the older woman entered, Eirwen saw her falter for the first time ever as the painting caught Róisín's eyes. But only three counts later, she gathered herself again and turned to face Eirwen. "Greetings, your Grace."

"And greetings to you. I am glad you're here. My staff managed yesterday, but if we want the estate ready for visitors, it's going to take more than them. As for the staff that didn't show, please confirm, then process their resignations." Róisín stood a bit more at attention, her wordless way of confirming the order. An obedient servant. It left a bitter taste in Eirwen's mouth.

"I have to say, I'm surprised by how many reported back for duty. You'd expect more disgruntlement, given how I cost them two Dukes." Eirwen noticed she was letting some of her bitterness slip into her voice. That wouldn't do.

"Permission to speak, your Grace?" Eirwen nodded. "We are but loyal servants, your Grace. Just because the master of the house has changed, doesn't mean our duties have. Additionally, they all know of the restraint the Verglas employed against the common people during the war. There is no reason to disrespect you."

An acceptable explanation. "Very well. Alright, I need you to make all the bedrooms ready for usage. Remove anything the sixth Duke left that would give off a dominating impression. I expect several Dukedoms to send representatives, so I think we need to be ready for them within a week."

A single nod to confirm. "Also, Lady Róisín, you need to be aware of the current guests. There are three. Vicomte Carraig and Baroness Carraig are both staying here, please make sure they're treated well. Additionally, I have a weapon master to advise us." The title had been Pertrellan's idea, to prevent any slips. "He is staying in the private library. None are to disturb him. My own will take care of his needs." Drawing a line to keep the secret. 

"Understood, your Grace. I will instruct the staff. On that matter, your Grace, I saw the young master's name has been scratched out. I imagine the staff will wonder about that. Should I inform them as to why?"

"You knew." The woman didn't even blink. It was admirable how well she hid her emotions, the very definition of expressionless.

"Indeed, your Grace. I was present when the young master took his father's head. He gracefully allowed me to stay as he informed the council of his plans. And for my part, I chose the most reliable of our staff to execute his orders. If you desire so, I can write up a detailed report of that night for you."

Eirwen wanted to say yes and no at the same time. It would prove fruitful to know, to have a second account. Neither Ailbe nor the weapon master were without emotion, impacting their retelling. But no, she should have faith. "That won't be necessary. But I do have a question for you. You served multiple Dukes, correct?"

Róisín nodded. "You are my fourth master, your Grace. The fifth and sixth precede you, as does the young master." He had only been so for mere hours, days if they included the time until Eirwen arrived and established her rule. Yet the majordoma counted him, an equal to the long ruling Dukes in her mind.

"Then you must have seen many a person wield flames, seen many succumb to it." Eirwen brought forth a flame, holding it in her hand for a few counts, then sniffed it out. "Merely a brief use already elevates my emotions. Longer usage greatly impacts my self-control. It truly is maddening. Do you know how the young master kept his sanity?"

"In my opinion, your Grace, he went mad a long time ago. He simply excelled at hiding it." Eirwen frowned at that, but chose to remain silent, indicating for Róisín to continue. "He was extremely talented, your Grace, and wielded his abilities from a very young age. He also was very bright and could tell how far people would tolerate things. He knew he never could fully hide his emotions, so he chose to be open about them, to only hide the excess."

"So you're saying his openness, the way one could tell how he felt from a single look on his face, was but a mask?" The thought scared her. Would that mean every smile had been fake?

"No, your Grace. He truly felt that way. But when his emotions became too much for him to bear, that is when he hid them. Every moment of hesitation was him keeping himself in check, forcing his emotions down back to that acceptable level. All so he wouldn't scare people away. Just like how he never went all out in a fight, he never allowed his emotions to get the better of him. Because he feared how it would hurt people."

"You seem to have known him well, if you know that much." Eirwen allowed the bitterness to enter her voice. "He never allowed me to see that side of him."

"Permission to speak freely, your Grace?" Hesitation, then a nod. "That would be because he was mad about you. Chasing you away was something he wanted to avoid at any and all costs. All the love he felt for others combined, could not make up the sum of his love for you."

The thought was terrifying. But it rang true, oh so true. "And you truly believe he was mad?"

Róisín turned towards the painting. "I would argue, your Grace, that only a madman would keep a reminder like this around. He was mad about you, plain and simple. So when he lost you, he simply was mad. How he survived all those years, I cannot ever comprehend."

"And yet it took him years to kill his father." The same words came out again, with the same bitter tone that she had spoken them with before. She was glad he was granting her privacy, she had no idea how much the words would have cut him otherwise. Even though she still felt like this whenever the subject came up.

"Correct, your Grace. A sin he never forgave himself for. Which is why it didn't surprise me how eagerly he rushed towards his death at your hands. I can only hope it brought him peace at last, but I have no choice but to doubt it."

Eirwen passively noticed a sting from her right palm. She looked at her hand and noticed her own nails had dug deep into her skin. She looked back at Róisín. "You are dismissed. I will inform you if I have more questions for her." The woman bowed and walked away.

Studying her hand again, Eirwen summoned a healing technique more akin to his. The blood boiled off as the wounds healed, while she could feel the fire go through her. He had healed himself a lot like this, while also using it in his defences. Yesterday, both of them had lost control from it. So what did that mean for him, having done so time and time again during the war?

She looked at the painting, which he had tormented himself with. An example she was following. Mad indeed.