Note: THIS IS A SEQUEL TO MY FIC TONGUES AND TEETH YOU MAY BE VERY CONFUSED IF YOU HAVE NOT READ THAT. LIKE. I'M JUST SAYING. OK THANKS LOVE YOU BYE
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Simmer: Or, A True History of the Second Life of One Callis Wardwell, Witch, Who Cheated Death (And More Besides)
Prologue: THE POISON WOMAN
AGAMEMNON: Oh immovable law of heaven! Oh my anguish, my relentless fate!
CLYTEMNESTRA: Yours? Mine. Hers. No relenting for any of us.
― Euripides, Iphigenia in Aulis
---
It had been a slight.
Oh, in theory, it was a peace gesture; Deianira Wardwell deigning to marry any of her daughters at all to an Onasis boy was something extraordinary. But she could have picked her eldest, Eudocia, who was handsome and powerful, in the midst of a fairy tale– and whose current marriage to the King of Frostplains really wasn't going to last long at all, if she had her way. Or she could have picked her middle daughter, Niobe, who was charming and clever, and made everyone else look better just by the strength of her appeal...
But she had offered up her youngest.
Iphigenia.
It had been styled as a parlay, of sorts. The Wardwells all sat on one side, and the Onasis delegation stood uncomfortably on the other, as far away as they could get in Deianira's receiving room, which was not as far as anyone would have liked. No one said a great deal. Not that there was a particular need for it.
Deianira, in her favoured chair, lifted her hand and briskly indicated Iphigenia to come forwards, which she did.
Yes, it was a slight; Conri Onasis frowned. Clearly, he had been expecting one of the other two. Maybe even deliberately lead to believe that. Everyone knew Iphigenia was unexceptional, both in power and looks.
"This is...?"
"My youngest, Iphigenia." said Deianira neutrally. Iphigenia kept her head down, but watched her mother from the corner of her eye.
"How old is she?" said Conri suspiciously.
"She is twenty."
"She looks about seventeen. She's flat as a board."
"Tall seventeen." mumbled one of the other man-wolves.
Deianira shrugged, as if wondering what he wanted her to do about that. Iphigenia wasn't handsome, and she was tall. What of it?
"Iphigenia is unattached, unlike Niobe and Eudocia. She is a skilled alchemist and potions-maker."
Deo's father seemed to wait for more, but there was nothing. Iphigenia, however, flattened the tiny smile that had crossed her face. It was the closest her mother had come to praising her in a long time, even if it was a pathetic attempt to make her appear more desirable.
"...right." he grumbled. "Well. This is my boy, Deo– come here, lad–"
There was a shuffling, and a boy with hands as wide as dinner plates was shunted to the front of the pack. Iphigenia stared unaffectedly at him. He was avoiding her gaze. Uncomfortable? Undoubtedly. And unhappy with the arrangement, perhaps. Despite his father's grumbling, he probably wasn't older than her. Maybe a year or so younger.
Conri Onasis folded his arms across his broad chest and looked expectantly at Deianira, who looked bored. She jerked her head, and one of the senior witches emerged from the crowd and took Iphigenia's elbow, towing her forwards. Someone in the Onasis crowd booted Deo in the backside and sent him stumbling to meet them. Their hands were joined loosely, which was for the best, since his hands were about twice the size of Iphigenia's. He still couldn't commit to making eye contact with her.
"Hear this, then," said Deianira. "I betroth my third daughter, Iphigenia, to the Onasis boy, Deo. Let it mark the start of a fruitful partnership between the Wardwell Clan of Netherwood and House Onasis of Bloodbrook, one that should have been pursued a long time ago."
Muttering from the witches and the man-wolves, but no one protested. She was right; it was just that arranged marriages as a vehicle to agreements were such an Ever thing. But Deianira liked to dabble with customs.
"Walk out," said Deianira to them– as usual, looking through Iphigenia, rather than actually at her. "We have details to negotiate."
Conri cracked his knuckles and smiled with huge canines. He projected affability and played up his physical strength, deliberately made it seem he was unintelligent, but they all knew better. Deianira wouldn't have deigned to make a deal with him at all, if she didn't think him just as clever as she.
"We do." he said, and went to sit with the Grand Duchess, his son all but forgotten.
"Father said I'd get one of the pretty ones." Deo said resentfully, once they were outside.
Iphigenia looked blankly at him. She didn't bother getting upset. That was on Deo's father, not her. She could do nothing about it.
Deo looked slightly ashamed, though. Maybe her non-reaction had made his words sink in.
"Well. I don't know. I meant–"
Iphigenia went ahead, down the steps into the sunken garden, and Deo tramped after her, muttering dubiously to himself.
"You're very tall. How tall are you?"
Iphigenia shrugged. She'd never been interested. Perhaps she was over six foot?
"They told me a bit about you," said Deo. "Talked more about your sisters, but you got a mention."
Lucky her. Iphigenia sat down on one of the benches and started rifling through the herbs. Deo went on;
"They say you're creepy and you don't talk and you just sit and listen to everything, and make potions. You're not powerful like your sisters." he paused nervously. "Can you talk?"
Iphigenia waited him out. He was beginning to look deeply concerned, when she said;
"I can talk."
He sighed. He'd finally managed to look her in the eye.
"You just don't?"
"I talk when I have something to say."
"Ugh." Deo slumped over and sat down on the opposite bench, put his elbows on his knees. "We're not idiots. We know your mother is just trying to embarrass us and get the upper hand, by fobbing us off with her worst daughter."
"And the Onasis clan offered their best son, did they?" said Iphigenia, knowing Conri would have had the same idea. Deo hesitated, reddening.
"I'm... the oldest. And I..." he gave up. "I'll be level with you, we tried the same thing. They sent me 'coz I'm the least favourite, since I can't turn into a man-wolf. It's like the shittest arranged marriage ever."
"At least you don't smell like wet dog." murmured Iphigenia. Deo scowled.
"I think they must all be immune to it or something. The entire house smells..." he paused, seemingly slightly surprised he was agreeing with her. "Well, anyway. Will your sisters let me stick around, when one of them is Grand Duchess?"
"It won't be Niobe or Eudocia."
"...no? Huh. I heard there were other girls–"
"I'm going to be Grand Duchess." said Iphigenia.
Deo stared at her– then snorted, hard.
"No offence, Ginny– can I call you Ginny?"
Niobe called her Ginny, so Iphigenia supposed so, but she didn't say anything. She was indifferent about Deo using it.
"...I'm gonna call you Ginny. Listen, everyone knows that you're the least favourite. Even you know that. I saw you get excited when your mother admitted you were good at potions. It's why they're marrying us off. They wouldn't do it to kids they actually like. So you're not popular, you're not pretty, you're not prominent, and everyone knows there are probably twenty other girls who are more powerful than you. Sorry. It's true."
It was true. At least, most of it.
Iphigenia started stacking sprigs of rosemary in her lap. She had never been spoken to so plainly before, and it slightly unnerved her. Everything was simply implied, here.
"You'll see." she said.
Deo sighed. He was clearly beginning to think her mad.
"...well, ok."
"You needn't pity me. I know you think I am deluded. I am not." Iphigenia picked up her bundle of herbs and stood up. She was going to be Grand Duchess. She simply knew she was.
---
She was never sure he grew out of thinking her mad, though.
Most things Iphigenia did unnerved him, and repeatedly, she put off marrying him, which she knew was frustrating everyone, especially him. Only Deianira didn't seem to care. She had her agreement with the Onasis clan. She wanted nothing else, expected nothing else. But Deo didn't understand it, and Iphigenia didn't explain it. She simply felt she should put it off.
Still, there must have been something about her he liked, even if her sisters were prettier, because she had her baby, didn't she?
It was a girl, to Iphigenia's excitement. She would have felt quite happy with a son, but she'd been so sure she had a daughter, and she'd been right.
"She's very fine, Ginny." Niobe peered over her shoulder at the baby. "She's handsome, and she'll be strong."
She could have just been saying it, but Iphigenia thought she was probably right. She looked at Eudocia, who had turned up out of sheer curiosity, she suspected. Her eldest sister leant against the wall and didn't approach.
"Shame Onasis isn't here," she said.
Iphigenia reddened, clutching her daughter. Eudocia was uncommonly skilled at being able to embarrass her.
"It was–"
"You keep that dull tongue curbed, Iphigenia." snapped Eudocia. "She suggested a political marriage, not for you to refuse him repeatedly, then bed him anyway. Saints know how you convinced him. Did you drug him?"
"No." Iphigenia said, but after that she kissed her baby and said no more as the healers checked them over. She hadn't wanted to get married, even to Deo. She'd wanted a daughter, though. It was simple to her, but every time she tried to reason this to someone else, they looked uncertain. She was often told her reasoning didn't make sense to anyone else.
Niobe and Iphigenia watched as Eudocia pushed herself off the wall and checked her hair in the mirror.
"Where are you going?" said Niobe. Eudocia sneered.
"Back to my... lord sovereign and husband. Only managed to escape him by telling him my sister was having a baby, and then had to specify it wasn't you, it was Iphigenia, since you've got so many it's practically unremarkable. With any luck, I've finally gotten rid of that rotten bitch Hadvor, this time. Hermod is certainly dealt with. I'll deal with the King, soon enough..."
Iphigenia said nothing, not interested in Eudocia's exploits in Frostplains, with Prince Hermod and Princess Hadvor and the King. It wouldn't end well, they all knew, with the Storian hanging over them. But she was so determined.
"I'll tell Mother on my way out." added Eudocia, in a vague concession towards almost caring about Iphigenia.
"She's in a meeting," said Iphigenia.
"She should be out soon."
"It's going to overrun."
"You and your assumptions." scoffed Eudocia. "Until next time, sisters." She glanced at Iphigenia, snorted. "And brand-new brat. Poor thing. What a dour Mamma you have."
She yanked the door open and disappeared down the hall.
"I thought she'd be pleased." admitted Niobe. Iphigenia just said;
"It's not as if it's the first niece she's gotten."
Niobe had 11 daughters, now, and Iphigenia suspected there would be more. What was one measly child from insipid Iphigenia?.
Niobe looked up at the vague commotion that erupted in the hall, but Iphigenia didn't need to wonder who it was.
Deo burst through the door with some limp flowers, babbling a billion excuses that Iphigenia didn't pay particular attention to. Niobe scowled.
"Fatherhood is doing nothing for making you more reliable, I see."
"I don't see any of your men around." snapped Deo, shunting her out of the way to get a look at the baby.
"Well, you wouldn't." said Niobe.
"What, do you kill them?" snorted Deo, trying to ignore her. "She's pretty, Ginny–"
Niobe leant over his shoulder.
"I have a very low tolerance for pathetic men. Once my favour is lost, it's lost forever."
Deo clenched his jaw.
"It's none of your business."
"It'll be harder to lose Ginny's favour," said Niobe. "But be warned, won't you...?"
Deo turned sharply around to her. Niobe looked coolly at him.
Then she turned to Iphigenia and smiled.
"I was going to get her a hat, wasn't I?"
She went off, smirking faintly. Deo watched her go, shaking his head.
"Family of lunatics, all of you."
Iphigenia said nothing, as usual. Deo looked back at her.
"What are we going to call her?"
"Callis." said Iphigenia, with no hesitation. Derived from Kallos, Kallias– beautiful. Niobe was right, she was handsome. Mistranslated often as chalice, goblet, which she found personally amusing to link to her potions, even if no one else was going to think it was clever.
"Oh, you've already– oh, ok–"
"I've had time to think about it." said Iphigenia. Deo flushed, knowing a barb from her when he heard one.
"I am sorry..." he paused. "Can I hold her?"
And he had plenty to be sorry about for the next few months, given they turned into the most disastrous six months in the history of the Wardwell Clan.
Callis's birth was the last time Iphigenia and Niobe ever saw their eldest sister. Eudocia's plan, as Iphigenia had suspected, wasn't airtight; her maid betrayed her, and Hermod and Hadvor ended with the wily Princess Hadvor's escape and Eudocia impaled on the end of Hermod's sword. Their mother was almost grey with rage at the funeral. It was on the same day as Hermod and Hadvor's wedding; another Good triumph. Deianira had coddled such belief in her prodigal daughter, eldest Eudocia, and all for naught.
The witches were restless; who would be the next Grand Duchess, now? Surely it would be Niobe, even though she was indulgent with her children and over-prioritised them...
Iphigenia's mother waged pointless war with a Never clan on the Bremen border, playing at being a warlord like she played at Ever customs. She liked fads, liked to try things out, over-indulged and experimented carelessly.. This would be just another such experiment.
Iphigenia didn't go with them– just made potions for them, sent them over, and played with Callis. No one thanked her for the potions. Niobe and her (now thirteen) children were away, avoiding the battles as well, and Iphigenia heard mutterings of a boy around their area... looking to steal magical talismans, strange animals... on a task for the king...
Iphigenia warned her sister several times, but there was no real interference, once the Storian set pen to paper. Superficial interference fell on deaf ears, and anything stronger was bound to end in disaster...
Which was why nothing worked.
Niobe was with them, at one of the dratted war councils, when she'd been brought news of her last daughter's death.
Iphigenia had been standing next to her, and had caught her when she'd fallen.
Their mother had been largely unsympathetic. Lots of people had died in the war. Good witches, good women. She was sorry for the children, but it happened in wartime, and in fairytales. If Niobe was too upset, they'd continue the meeting elsewhere...
People stepped over them as they left. Iphigenia looked into her sister's agonised face and wondered what it was like.
Niobe had gotten up, hugged Iphigenia, and left.
And that was that.
They heard about Niobe's spell a day later. Shattering herself into flint. Brutally effective.
Again, Deianira furious, again, the witches unsure. She was two daughters down, now; only Iphigenia was left. If Deianira had ever paid better attention to her daughters, seen them as more than successors, she would have known Niobe simply wasn't going to be willing to continue without her daughters. But she didn't. And as far as she saw it, Iphigenia was a disappointing specimen for her to be left with.
As for the great hero who had bested Niobe, Good's newest hero, Esben– he hadn't lasted long, after his happy ending. You see, the happy ending didn't have to stay happy. Lots didn't. Heroes got cocky, you see. Esben and his brothers gorged themselves on fine wine and food, and celebrated extravagantly every night. Resentments grew, from those they'd once known.
No, it wasn't uncommon.
Someone must have spoiled the wine.
No one in the Wardwell Clan really noticed his demise. That was over, as far as they were concerned, and they had bigger problems. It was becoming more and more likely the Duchy would go outside of the direct line, so families had begun to plot amongst themselves to best position their daughters to inherit the Duchy...
Then, Deianira died. Right on time.
Not that it was supposed to happen so early; most of the candidates were still quite young. Usually the Grand Duchesses finally dropped down from old age, and their successors were old enough to not run the entire operation into the ground. Deianira's death was from her own stupidity. She'd gotten herself stuck with three arrows in battle, and they'd gone septic to the point that not even their own potions could save her. Even the best sorcerers weren't impervious to battle wounds. Foolish. She'd fancied herself some sort of warlord.
So, they gathered around her deathbed, and waited.
"The Duchess has given this much thought," the senior witches told them that night, speaking on Deianira's behalf. "She says you will not like her decision, but personal feelings will not marr her judgement. She knows who the supreme witch of the Clan is, even if you do not agree."
Euthemia, who had the best odds in the betting, smiled thinly. She knew she was unpopular, but she was powerful and uncompromising, and she had been a particular friend of Iphigenia's sisters, especially Eudocia. Possibly more than that, though Iphigenia had no interest in her dead sister's trysts.
Or perhaps the Grand Duchess was about to pick Agariste, her second in command in wartime? She was old, and her family was small and unremarkable, but she was reliable. Or Obelia. Or one of the young ones, like Iris or Josephine...
But Iphigenia wouldn't have chosen any of them. Euthemia was savage and overly passionate, Obelia was easily lead, and Agariste was too used to being deferential. Iris and Josephine hadn't joined the Clan very long ago; they needed a better grasp of how it operated. No, no, no. She could see how it all laid out. Could her mother?
"Well, let's not delay it." said Euthemia. Several of her fellows looked at her, and she flushed. "...it's undignified," she added, belatedly.
Several people raised eyebrows slightly, but it went on;
"In this, the event of Deianira Wardwell's death..." the senior witches recited, lifting the malachite pendant from around Deianira's neck. They let go of it, and it floated ominously in front of them, the carved eagle airbourne like it ought to be. "She hereby renounces the title of Grand Duchess Unspeakable, as is the tradition, and honours the new supreme witch of our Clan–"
"Oh, everyone knows it's going to be Euthemia!" burst out someone at the back. "Just give it to her!"
The witches clamoured, spell broken. Several people winced at the upfrontness of it all.
Agariste, second in command, and therefore in charge, simply shrugged, as if it didn't matter to her.
"Take it, then, Euthemia."
Never one to turn down an opportunity, Euthemia did; she shoved to the front, snatched the pendant–
She shrieked and wrenched her hand back, an ugly burnt rent across her palm.
Rejection.
Iphigenia had seen the toxicity of the malachite be magically emphasised before, when people tried to steal it, or grabbed it to get Deianira's attention, but never to that degree.
Panting, clutching her hand, Euthemia stared around.
"What–"
From the bed, Deianira suddenly spoke, albeit laboriously. Iphigenia had noticed she'd come round a few minutes ago, but thought she'd not speak.
"As we know, this spell will not take... if it is not awarded to the correct candidate..."
Euthemia's face struggled, but to her credit, she regained herself.
"Who will it be then? Duchess? Will it be Obelia?"
Obelia looked nervous.
"I don't..."
She didn't finish the sentence. It wasn't exactly advisable to confess your apathy towards the Duchy.
"It's going outside the family, assumedly–" barrelled on Euthemia–
"It is not." croaked Deianira.
A pause.
"It is going to Iphigenia."
Heads turned. Witches stared. Most people hadn't even realised Iphigenia was there, standing at the back, holding Callis on her hip. Callis hadn't made a sound the entire time.
Iphigenia looked back at them, remembering her assertion to Deo. She had known, hadn't she? Truly, she had known. I'm going to be Grand Duchess. But she'd not known how she would get the Duchy, or from whom. She'd entertained the concept that someone would take it after her mother, and then she would take it from them, perhaps? The idea that her mother would pick her felt–
"Iphigenia?" demanded Euthemia, astounded. "Grand Duchess... you're dying, you're not sane! Show me the paper."
The witches clamoured;
"Yes, show us–"
"Let us see–"
There was a rustling, but the declaration must have had Iphigenia's name on it, because Euthemia hissed in irritation and slapped it down.
"Just because she's your only living daughter doesn't mean she deserves it!"
Deianira had gone quiet. She probably wouldn't make the hour. Still, Euthemia whirled on Iphigenia;
"You killed them to get this!" she shouted. "I know you interfered in your sisters fairytales. I know you helped Hermod and Hadvor! I know you lured Niobe back here on purpose!"
Several people winced. It wasn't something that was to be said out loud, no matter how many people suspected it. But clearly Euthemia couldn't bear it any longer.
Iphigenia stared into her flushed face.
"Do you?" she said blankly. Callis was starting to fuss, unnerved by the noise. Iphigenia bounced her slightly, and made no attempt to approach the pendant...
"I know," came Deianira's voice, feeble.
Everyone turned.
"We all know." Deianira smiled horribly, voice wet and weak. "And that's why I picked her. Because even I thought she was nothing... when really, she was behind everything."
Iphigenia stared at her. Her mother was smiling, properly smiling at her. She couldn't remember the last time she'd done that. She had never been cruel, exactly, but she had been simply disinterested...
"I looked into it," Deianira said hoarsely. She kept stopping, breathless, but the other witches were quiet. "I can't... prove she got rid of her sisters... but I know she killed Esben... and his brothers. I know she's an alchemist... a potion maker... to a standard we didn't notice. Did you know she's... she's advising Prince Elias? Convinced him to give her a small court position? I didn't. No one did... And she wouldn't marry Deo Onasis... but she has that brat, to keep him around... doesn't need to marry him..."
Everyone was staring, now. Iphigenia looked at her mother, trying to get Callis to stop wriggling.
"And you have your delusions... don't you?" Deianira went on. "You say they're... delusions... but I think you just pay attention. Lurk... run a spy network... and know how people think, how they act... so you always turn out to be right..." she grinned again, shakily. "You might be mad, and boring, but you're effective, Iphigenia..." she gestured feebly at the pendant. "Come and take it."
For a moment, Iphigenia was quite still.
"Take it, and leave me," said Deianira hoarsely. "All of you. I do not wish the indignity of dying in front of an audience upon myself."
Fickle and illogical until the end. They'd all watched her hack and spit and wheeze; what was the point of leaving her, now?
But if she didn't want her only living daughter by her side on her deathbed, that was her prerogative. She'd probably be happier to see the dead ones, at any rate.
Iphigenia came forward, finally.
"Four libations in your name, Mother." she said.
It was the standard way to address someone on their deathbed, but Deianira's lip curled.
"Make them to yourself... or your brat," said Iphigenia's mother. "I have no use for them, now."
Iphigenia settled Callis more firmly on her hip.
"Very well, then." she said.
She took the pendant and turned her back on her mother.
---
The witches stood in a huddle outside and argued.
"Euthemia," someone was saying nervously. "If the Grand Duchess didn't mean it, it would have rejected her..."
"It doesn't mean Deianira was in her right mind!" insisted Euthemia, and it was true enough. "Just because she awarded it to Iphigenia–"
"Challenge me, then." Iphigenia said. "Take the title from me."
She looked expectantly at them, all of them. It wouldn't have been hard to defeat her. They knew she wasn't much of a sorcerer.
But they avoided her gaze, even Euthemia. Something about what Deianira had said had unsettled them, she knew. Had she killed her sisters? Was she mad? Was she quite sane, saner than the rest of them?
They weren't sure, and at heart, witches were curious, forever experimenting and interfering. They wanted to know how she'd fare. And if she drove the Clan into the ground, Euthemia could say she'd been right, couldn't she? Iphigenia had no interest in defending herself. They could think what they would.
Iphigenia looked at the Clan, and they didn't look at her. No one really looked at her. Lots of people avoided eye contact with her.
"That's settled, then." she said. "Our first port of call will be to make peace on the Bremen border. I have no interest in pursuing my mother's vanity projects."
"They don't even know she's dead, yet." someone pointed out.
"I'm sure they suspect. Better to confirm it, than look as if we're trying to cover it up. I shall do it myself, if necessary–"
She felt Callis move, and instinctively caught her chubby wrist before she took hold of the malachite pendant and burned herself.
The witches shifted, uneasy.
"These delusions of yours–" began one–
"I am not delusional, despite what my mother said." said Iphigenia. "I am an excellent guesser and have good intuition, and have begun to build an intelligence network. That is all."
Was that all it was? She didn't know. She would have to research it.
Since there was nothing more to be said, she turned and went off down the hall, tucking the pendant into her neckline. She looked at Callis, who looked at her.
With her dying breaths, Deianira had admitted she thought Iphigenia had killed her sisters. She'd known so little of Iphigenia, that she thought she would purposefully sabotage her sisters, and risk cursing herself. Strange. Didn't she know there was no point? Iphigenia had known her sisters were doomed, the second they were pit against Evers. Even if she had wanted to be rid of them in competition for the Duchy, it was pointless, when they were fated to die anyway.
No one knew her, she realised. No one looked at her, and no one knew her. Niobe had come closest, perhaps, but she was dead. Deo didn't understand her any more than the other witches, and that was in part because she didn't let him.
Well. Such was the way of things. They didn't need to know her. She knew she hadn't killed her sisters. If they thought she'd done it, and gotten away with it, that was better for her. She was young; she needed all the reputation building she could muster. What mattered to her, now, was only her own knowledge.
She would know her children better than Deianira had known herself and her sisters.
Deianira had known something, though. Perhaps a piece of deathbed prescience.
Make them to yourself, or your brat, she had said of the libations Iphigenia had offered her.
And now, over twenty years later, she was.
In her dark garden, with Deo's blood still on her hemline, and her own blood on her bodice, Iphigenia made four libations for Callis.
She'd known it once she'd gotten back from her pursuit of Rafal– had known it the whole way back, in fact. Wherever Callis was now, it was out of her sight.
It would be kind to believe that she'd made it into some uncharted kingdom, but she knew it was probably a delusion. Maybe she'd let herself have this one, despite her insistences to the other witches, that day. I am not delusional. It had never been one of her better pieces of conviction.
Iphigenia put the bowl down and looked at the damp patch of earth. Four libations in your name.
She didn't need to wonder anymore, as it happened. How Niobe had felt, when the messenger had come in with the news about her murdered daughters.
She knew it quite well, now.
Iphigenia's legs gave out, and she fell into a heap in the damp grass. She heard the panicked approach from behind that indicated Eris and Ismene had snuck out after her. Of course they had. She had known they had.
But what use was all her planning and intuition and foresight? Her knowing? In the end, she had been no use. She'd been prepared to make the ultimate sacrifice, and Rafal hadn't even done her that dignity.
For now, at least, it was all for naught.
The Grand Duchess defeated.