BEGIN ending

Two:owT

In the dark, Beatrice saw a room full of living, breathing creatures of her making, brought into existence with her chisel. In the dark, in the eye-opening blindness, stone gave way to flesh and blood and warmth.
One blinked at her and she blinked back. How long had she locked herself up in this room?
"Statues upon statues of stone; but each one my own", she breathed out for what seemed to be the thousandth time that year alone, laying herself  outstretched upon the cold tiles. Suddenly, she felt this urge to randomly start blinking into the darkness enveloping her. Only a fleeting whim, till some seriously unwise person opened the door. She almost hissed, but it was only Daph.
"Good Morning, Madam."
"Door, Love. Shut the door." Beatrice remained on the floor even when the door did get shut and she continued, "I trust all of Master's siblings are present?"
"Not all Madam."
Her silence asked the needful questions so Daph continued: "Dradon is not here yet, Madam."
"But he is the oldest one, right? Right." Beatrice self-inquired. "Maybe he just doesn't like the cold. Maybe...maybe Henry forgot to extend the invitation."
"Yes, Madam"
She sat up now—not that Daph could see her. "How many rooms are being occupied?"
"About nine, Madam"
"You know how I feel about estimations, Love."
"Sorry, madam. Nine...nine rooms."
"Dressed beds? Spotless, I trust?"
"Yes, Madam."
" And they all had a rich dinner yesterday, yes?"
"Yes, Madam."
"Good." Beatrice nodded. "Good." Then she abruptly staggered to her feet. " Open the windows, will you, Love."
Daph expertly navigated her way through the lightless room, coming nowhere near any of her mistress' invaluable artworks. She dragged the curtains apart, seemingly content before facing her mistress who was now packing up her tools.
Beatrice looked so engrossed the way she carefully wiped off speckles of dust off her most prized possessions in the world, clinically cleansing them to face-reflecting perfection. Then she began to sweep up the room. All she required Daph to do bring a broom and packer. And stay quiet. Silence was integral more often than not with Mrs. Beatrice Harrow.
"Bring my book of clients, Love." Beatrice toiled away without a bead to sweat appearing, adding under her breath, " Seems I'll be delivering twice as much sculptures to The Islands now...just to keep Henry's guests fed without stating to impoverish myself."
Finally, when Daph was back with the ledger, Beatrice finished up sweeping to trade her the broom for it. "Very well then."

Beatrice made a...memorable first appearance.
With her dust-covered working clothes and nothing on her feet, Beatrice descended the stairway, unconsciously touching the balustrades. Her hair—her signature tight bun that made her look more mature than her eighteen years should— was now a dull, neck-long mess spilling over anywhere but her eyes. She looked so bloodless. So wan. So skinny.
But those eyes told a different story.
When she was on the ground floor at last, a group of Henry's brothers stopped discussing to acknowledge their host. Daniel's was the first voice she heard: "Why, don't you look ravishing."
Beatrice instinctively cast a smiling nod in their general direction before continuing her journey to the kitchen without a comment.
It was Edwin that got her attention. "We were hoping you could join Henry and come to the theater by noon", he offered but clearly only was a formality. She wasn't expected to accept.
She tuned and saw Henry right in the middle of them, gushing at all their compliments, oblivious of her presence. I can bet he promised to buy all the tickets. "Unfortunately, I am a bit busy, Love."
She hurried out before anyone else could politely pull her back to the conversation.

Once she was out of their earshot, as she nibbled on bread, she had the head of her household, Mr. kingsley, summoned and told him to have a small suitcase packed for her at once. "I'm off to The Isles again, Love", she unnecessarily explained to the man, as if she was talking to a Henry (not some fantasized caring, responsible, handsome, young Henry—just the caring part; just a Henry that could care where she was going and if she would be back soon).
"You can go now, Love", she said. When she was halfway done with her meager breakfast, she noticed how haggard she looked and "Excuse me, Love"ed herself out of an empty dinning. Straight to her unshared bedroom. Then into her unshared bathroom.

The house was only occupied by women and children when Beatrice headed to the harbor because Henry and his brothers were already out. The children Beatrice had not brought herself to see yet were...somewhere. There was till plenty of time till her ship sailed. She could hear screaming on her way to the gardens where she recalled them playing so she stopped to listen:
"...incest!"
"Now, you shut you're dirty little mouth! Just go die!" Someone got shoved and fell down.
Someone spat out curses. "You know what, if I wanted to die, I would jump head-first from your ego to your intelligence equivalent!"
"I don't need to be smart to see that you are just scum."
"Scrum that knows about your disgusting....little....ARG!!" Someone was struggling.
"You know nothing!" Someone was croaking. No...no choking? Then screaming again.
Beatrice handed Mr. Daph her luggage in haste then dashed into the parlor.
Megan was holding Alison by the hair, tangled with her unnaturally. Alison had her hands round Megan neck.
As soon as they saw Henry's young perfect little wife walk in, they pulled apart, sitting up straight, daringly starring her right in those eyes.
Beatrice kept her hands clasped together in front of herself in silence. "Don't", was all she said. I don't want to know about your fight, but just keep in mind the cost of those throw-pillows you're ruining. "Don't", she repeated.
She headed out without cushioning her monosyllabic caution with that all-too-familiar endearment "Love" mostly because she had work do, clearly: as she exited the villa, workers carried out a minimum of 56 priceless sculptures Beatrice had made.
If she uncovered each one, she could identify which ones where for which clients. Every single one.
They were loaded into waiting high-quality wagons. She had planned everything: an entire ship had been booked just for this one voyage. Her profits would be rewarding enough; they always were.

The last thing she did was hand Daph a note. "Give it to Master, Love." Then she pressed a coin or two into her palm with her antique grace. "Tell Mr. Kingsley to gorge our guests on the finest".
And just before she left again, just as her carriage began moving, she felt like blinking uncontrollably into her posh, empty carriage—oneof the many Henry had squandered her gold on.
So she did. All the way to the harbor.

☠️💀☠️💀☠️💀☠️💀☠️💀☠️💀☠️💀☠️💀☠️💀☠️💀☠️💀☠️💀☠️💀☠️💀☠️💀☠️💀☠️💀☠️💀☠️💀☠️💀☠️💀.   

Yes, it was noon. No, the men were not at the theater.
In front of Scàlá (Henry's favorite restaurant) they sat, in order of their ages: Henry all smiley, Luis visibly shaking with fear, Samuel deep in thought; Edwin eating fruit and brooding Edward cussing under his breath; Nate mentally calculating his investments back home, Daniel ogling the waitress' cleavage, Peter daydreaming of introducing everyone to Agatha...and then there sat Tod.
"Drinks anyone?" Henry offered, lighting a cigar.
Luis snapped. "Oh shut up, will you?" He pushed his chair back, making a wince-inducing noise with his chair. "We can't keep behaving as if Dradon is not marching to one of our strongholds with murderous intentions for us all as we speak", he hissed low enough for only them to hear.
"True", Samuel chipped in. "And that is why we all need to read this thing I was handed two months ago." He pulled a heavily-folded paper out of his pocket and landed it in the wide, circular table, pushing it towards Tod. "All of us. Look over here, Daniel. Peter."
As Tod was reaching for it, Luis grabbed it. It read:
"My Dear, do not show this to your brothers—the only person who deserves saving is you. Your father has declared a certain Ronn Harrow his heir. No one at court has ever so much as seen the individual. no one even knows if it's a woman, a man; a girl or a boy. But Your King Father's Inner Council, for all everyone at court knows, has already conducted all required rituals needed to officially make this Ronn his heir/ heiress.
"I write to you today because this Ronn was presented on King Island to the masses at dawn today. Veiled. Dradon attempted another coup during the ceremony but, this time, it left the capital under siege. It appears your eldest brother is furious that his birth-right is being taken from him and handed to a complete stranger that has now become a fellow Harrow.
"But what should alarm you is the fact that what angers Dradon more is that you and your brothers signed off your claims the throne and supported the decision to crown an outsider at The Bloody Isles. Honestly, that revelation shocked us all. How could you? But you are the only one I am sure is my son and not that whore's so I believe you know what you are doing, Sammy.
"Dradon calls you all, and I quote, 'Fucking-goat-ass-whores'. He has sworn to end the Harrow bloodline— he believes it has been 'defiled'. And he has sworn to end all his 'traitors'. I am sorry, my sweet Sammy, but you and your brothers are considered 'traitors' (along with the rest of us) to him."

Tod swallowed. "Henry?"
"UmhUmh."
"What did you say about drinks?" Tod's shoulder's sagged. His forehead beaded with sweat.
"Henry bellowed. "Yes, Yes"—he slapped a glowering Luis on the back—"yes, that's the spirt! Waiter!...Yes, you! Hey, over here, you piece of..."