Chapter 7.1

Bethan and her apprentice took their time looking Eirwen over. Damaged pathways received gentle treatment, which would allow them to still grow from the experience. Surface burns and pained muscles got a full treatment, careful enough to have a full recovery without side effects. As for her red face, she managed to calm down enough eventually. The healers finished and moved on to the horses. Besides her, Sir Caerbychan scraped his throat. "Your Grace, about just now..."

"You did well." He blinked, having expected admonishment rather than praise. "Seriously, you did." She sat down on a hay bale and looked at the ceiling. "I was trapped in my own abilities and lacked the focus to see threats. You did, then moved to protect me if needed. We both know he never would have attacked me, but you still kept me safe, just in case. That kind of mentality is exactly why I had you stay behind. So again, Sir Caerbychan. You did well."

The man did not take praise well, bowing to hide his pink cheeks. "It is my honour, your Grace. If you will excuse me." It didn't count as running away, but it sure gave off that impression, as the man quickly moved back into the courtyard and stood between carriage and doors.

Eirwen meanwhile stayed seated, kicking her feet as she waited, planning her next moves. She had made plans, but would she still go with those. Did he go though the same self-doubt on his way to her? It didn't matter. What was done, was done. Now it was her turn to decide whether to go on the offensive or stick to defence.

Roughly two moments later, she heard the doors of the estate open. Out came Lord Carraig and ten of her own. The others were still inside, no doubt making sure none tried to invade from elsewhere. One of the knights nodded at Carraig, giving the man his blessing. Carraig nodded back and turned to Eirwen to report their findings.

"All clear, your Grace. As reported, the sixth Duke's corpse still lies within his private office." Still. So the corpse had been there back when Carraig had returned home. "All windows are secured and there are no people remaining inside. What is your command, your Grace?"

There was only one option. One way to hopefully end the nightmares. "Show me his body." The man nodded and led the way, everyone but Caerbychan following. The insides of the estate were bright as all the lanterns seemed to have been lit very recently. Someone, multiple someones, had made very sure to make the place feel safe to her, it seemed. She wondered who, but assumed they would never tell. Eirwen was grateful though. As she followed Lord Carraig through enemy territory, she still felt secure.

It didn't take long for them to reach the office, large enough for the accompanying knights, soldiers, even some staff to pour inside. Honestly, the office was one in name only. It just served as a place for the man to feast and get drunk. The only business he had normally conducted there was intimidation. And now his headless corpse was laid down on the table. She looked at him, feeling surprisingly few emotions. The flames had left her drained, allowing her focus.

Looking at the neck, the cut was incredibly tidy. Verglassed, obviously. The killer had definitely been his son then, no others in this territory could have managed so clean a cut. She could barely see a hint that the swing had come from behind, and that the Duke hadn't really expected the attack. Murder, then. Or perhaps a strike in anger. How the man could have been so careless, after years of antagonising his son, she couldn't understand. 

She looked at Vicomte Carraig, her face a cold mask. Eirwen could see that the man was studying her, worry and curiosity dominating his facial expressions. But no, no more hints for him today. Time for a last check if offence was indeed an option. "Ailbe." He blinked, the use of his name catching him off guard. "Tell me, if I desecrate the corpse, how much ire will it earn me?"

He blinked twice more before catching himself, taking a less formal tone with a cynical touch to it. "Honestly, your Grace? They believe you murdered their Marquis. You could piss on the sixth Duke's body and feed it to the dogs, and it would barely make a difference." She noticed most of her people look in shock at the crass remark. 

"I see. Alright then, that makes this easy. Everyone, your orders. First, set up firewood in the courtyard and put the body on top. Next, gather every painting of him in the entire building and add them to the pile. As for his son, find any paintings that make him look like his father's son and make a second pile with those. But only those paintings."

She paused as she looked them over, wanting to make sure they understood. The looks of realisation suggested they did. She wondered what he would have thought of the decision, but right now he had withdrawn himself from her mind. No matter. "Lastly, any engravings mentioning Aodhán's name must be scratched through. A single cut, make them clean. We're not erasing him, just his name."

She turned to Carraig, who appeared incredibly conflicted over the orders. "Vicomte. I have a special job for you. Go out to the town criers and whoever else is needed for it. Tell them to spread that starting tomorrow, there will be six days of mourning for the seventh Duke. Participation is voluntary and the way how is up to the people. Use whatever language needed to make clear this isn't a test but an earnest act."

The man's breath caught on her offer. To her surprise, he actually briefly knelt in front of her. "Yes, your Grace!" Despite having received his orders last, he was first out the door, eager to act on them. Vicomtesse Pertrellan then began barking out orders, distributing the work to be done. Soon after, Eirwen found herself left with only her doorguards as companions. That, and a very careful mental visitor, who avoided making contact with her directly, choosing to observe instead.

The room smelt of soap. Several parts of the rug showed signs of excessive scrubbing. Likely of removed bloodspots. Based on their locations, the Duke had been returning to his throne when he was cut down. His head seemed to have barely rolled. She wondered for a count how he must have felt, then realised she lacked the energy to care. He was gone, that would have to suffice.

Eirwen looked at the desks and bookcases. The places where competent folks managed the disaster the Duke left in his wake. Strangely enough, there was no paperwork left here. "Still the desks, but not the contents. Where are the treasury books?" Behind her, her doorguards looked at each confused. She didn't care and looked into an empty place of air near her. "I know you can answer without being here. Well?"

A disembodied voice rang out, its point of origin near the place she had been looking at. "Apologies, your Grace, I do not know. My father kept plenty of secrets from me. His administration was one of them. Mayhaps Ailbe would know." She shook her head in frustration. Guess she had to wait until tomorrow then.

A while later, some of her knights returned, hesitant to address her. One finally gathered the courage. "Your Grace, the piles are ready to ignite. But there's a painting in the study that you should see."

She raised her eyebrow then sighed. "Alright. Call in the Flameheart guards and make them watch. Everyone who has lost someone in the war will be allowed to throw a torch onto the fire. Guards, with me." She walked through the halls, knowing exactly what room must have been meant. Aodhán's private office. Her suspicions were confirmed when she saw two soldiers stand outside its door, looking worried.

She walked past them without a word and scanned the room. Her breath caught. Yes, that made sense. That would make them hesitant to follow her order. On the left wall, straight across the desk on the right, hung a massive painting. On it, she saw herself. Smiling broadly, happier than she could remember ever having been.