"-- and so, the Sultan of Shazabah is one of the most high-profile guests you're going to have." says Beatrix, wafting around a painting of a thin, brown-skinned man glaring out at them. "He comes to these functions only to show off, so don't bother interacting with him beyond cursory greetings."
Tedros, boots propped on the table of the library, snorts.
"...right." says Agatha. "Can I ask a question?"
"Make it quick, we've still got at least forty other people to learn about."
"Why are you teaching us about this?"
"Because my mother is a Jaunt Jolie diplomat, I know a lot. Also, I volunteered, because I thought you might kill the other option. Which was Vanessa."
"Thank you for your sacrifice." says Tedros dryly.
"Why are you working here if your mother is a diplomat?" asks Agatha curiously.
"Because I had skills I could apply, same as Dot."
"Like what?"
"Hair. I do hair, she does makeup."
"...what?"
"Um, Bea--" begins Tedros, but Beatrix talks over him.
"No, Tedros, I'm not about to start a rumour that you dye your hair. Come on, Agatha, surely you've noticed all the weird stuff that people do in the name of fashion, here. You're getting off lightly with Tedros doing odd things to his eyes."
Both of them turn to stare at Tedros's blue eyeliner, and the tiny forget-me-nots stuck in the corner of his eyes. Tedros frowns.
"I thought it was tasteful."
"It's better than the woman with a flamingo painted on her face I saw yesterday." concedes Agatha.
"No one's tempted you into doing anything drastic, yet?"
Agatha glances down at the plum gown with diamond fastenings she'd been given today.
"This is drastic, for me."
"...really?" says Tedros doubtfully.
"The Empress of Putsi!" interrupts Beatrix loudly. Agatha glances half-heartedly at a portrait of a woman in a goose-feather coat. "Saw the press sketches of Agatha and loudly declared to her entire court that if she was Tedros, she'd have forced you to take the veil off ages ago."
"I don't think I want all these people at our wedding." sighs Tedros. Agatha shifts uncomfortably at the phrase our wedding.
"Isn't it proper diplomacy to invite everyone?" she says.
"Oh, of course, but it doesn't mean I can't complain." shrugs Tedros. "She'll desperately want to come, it sounds like. One of the first to see what you look like."
Agatha sees him peeking at her out of the corner of his eye and tenses. She hopes he doesn't think...
She shakes the idea off and snorts.
"You underestimate my mother. She'll probably shove it back on the second you've kissed me."
Tedros blinks.
"But weren't you going to take it off at the wedding?"
"Only because it's necessary, and no doubt I'll have to put it back on." says Agatha bad-temperedly. "If it were up to me I'd burn it at the altar."
Tedros stares at her, shocked.
"You mean Vanessa is making you wear that?"
"Wasn't it obvious?" snaps Agatha. She turns back to Beatrix, leaving Tedros stricken next to her. "Can we get on with this?"
Beatrix raises her eyebrows.
"Um, sure. The King of Ravenswood, who says he's going to bring three solid gold pianos as a wedding present--"
---
The second Beatrix has gone to fetch the second round of portraits, Agatha knows she shouldn't have said anything, because Tedros immediately wheels to her.
"Why don't you take it off, if you hate it so much?" he asks. "Why do you wear it all the time?"
"I don't wear it when I'm alone, or with Callis and Sophie." says Agatha coldly, staring straight ahead. "I wear it in public."
"But we're on our own!" says Tedros eagerly, shuffling his chair towards her and looking around furtively. "And you said Beatrix already knows what you look like! We could just--"
He reaches for her veil and Agatha slaps his hand away, slightly harder than she'd meant to.
"Get off!"
Tedros recoils, shocked.
"Sorry--" he splutters. "I shouldn't have-- I just thought--"
"Not now!"
"But there's no one here--"
"Has it occurred to you that maybe you're the reason I don't want to take it off?"
"But I don't care what you look like!" blurts Tedros desperately.
Agatha pauses for a second, the spiteful retort she'd been poised to make dying on her lips. She hadn't expected him to say that, let alone say it like he meant it.
Tedros looks about to say something else, but she doesn't think it'll be good news if he does--
"You will." says Agatha flatly, and turns away. Tedros lets out his breath without saying anything, and falls into a disappointed silence. Agatha doesn't look at him.
Even if, by some miracle, he truly doesn't care that she's got a chunk taken out of her nose and a twisted mouth and a gashed forehead, he'll care how she got them. And he'll care how the veins in her neck glow when she has a coughing fit. And her arms. And hands. Because he'll realise what that means quickly.
A non-human bride is far worse than an ugly one.
Being both is practically a death sentence.
So, as much as she hates her mother, she's probably right.
If she's honest, she's genuinely surprised Tedros hasn't worked it out yet. He heard Vanessa the other day. And yet--
Her stream of fatalistic thoughts is interrupted by Beatrix reappearing with yet more portraits.
Tedros sighs.
"How many more of these are there?"
"You don't want to know." says Beatrix grimly. "Shall we look at the King and Queen of Jaunt Jolie? They're close allies of your mother's, Agatha."
"Close allies of my mother's courtier's, maybe." mutters Agatha, settling in for an extremely boring, awkward day. "I don't think she does much diplomacy besides going to parties."
----
By the time they're three quarters through the list, Agatha is reading a book under the table-- the first thing she'd found, something about plants-- and Tedros looks like he's about to fall asleep, cheek in his hand. Even Beatrix is slumped opposite them, flicking through the royal portraits with no enthusiasm.
"Can't we just call them all your majesty and say how nice their wedding gift was?" mutters Tedros, rolling his ankle.
"Probably." sighs Beatrix. "But they told me I had to show you all of them, and if I did, they'd give me the biscuits the cook keeps on the highest shelf. Stop wiggling your foot under the table, you keep kicking me and it's distracting."
"Got cramp. But that's a pretty good bribe."
"Isn't it? So you'll just have to put up with this. The Marquess of Hamelin--"
Agatha casts a cursory glance over another opulent painting and then goes back to the passage she was reading.
--poison ivy has a distinctive scent, usually described as earthy, green, or woody. It is generally unsafe for human consumption, though it was used in past centuries as a magic suppressant. However, as it became obvious it was unwise for mages or magic spirits to ingest-- producing side effects such as nausea, cramps, fatigue, and even sometimes actually exacerbating magic power-- it fell out of use. While it was effective, especially on weaker mages, it became erratic and unpredictable when used on the more powerful--
Agatha rolls her eyes and flicks to a page on buttercups. She's surprised Vanessa has never tried to use that on her.
Beside her, Tedros rolls his neck uncomfortably.
"How long have we got left?"
"It'd be shorter if you stopped complaining."
Tedros sighs. He moves his hand from his face, and Agatha notices a pink-ish smear next to his mouth.
"You've smudged your lipstick." she tells him.
His eyes shoot over to her, and he sits up immediately.
"I have?"
Agatha snorts.
"You wear more makeup than I thought."
"Er, yeah--" Tedros rifles in his coat pocket, and Beatrix swipes at him with a portrait of some Viscount.
"Don't get distracted. I'll sort out your stupid face later, you vain boy."
Tedros frowns at her, reluctantly dropping the pocket mirror he'd just produced back into his coat.
"Pretty sure you're not allowed to talk to me like that."
"Pretty sure I've seen you do a million embarassing things and therefore I'm the only person allowed to talk to you like that."
"... hmm." is all Tedros says, which seems to indicate to Beatrix that she's won. She smiles and turns to Agatha.
"I've got a list of all the high-profile wedding embarrassments in the past fifty years, so we can make sure you don't do any of them. Don't worry, I've got a list for Tedros, too. First... er..."
She trails off, staring at the list.
"They're all things I'm likely to do, aren't they." says Agatha tiredly.
"...you're not going to altar dash, are you?"
"No."
"Well, that's one."
"Out of what, fifty?"
Beatrix doesn't respond.
"Oh, give me that." Agatha leans over and takes the paper. "The Princess of Ginnymill didn't remember her vows, a court Lady of Hamelin spilled wine on her dress, the Queen of Maidenvale set her train on fire by knocking over a candelabra... Beatrix, I could do all of these."
"We don't use many candelabras." says Tedros doubtfully.
"Don't underestimate me." says Agatha grimly. "This bride got a nosebleed on her groom, someone else accidentally concussed a bridesmaid, this one ripped her dress--"
She pauses.
"Er... what do wedding dresses look like, here?"
Tedros shrugs, idly waving around another one of those goblets, which had been deposited on the table for him earlier.
"Varies. Haven't been to many weddings, to be honest, and my parent's wedding portrait mysteriously disappeared after... everything."
"... we have to have a portrait done?"
"Yeah, it's a tradition."
"I've never sat for a portrait before." mutters Agatha, flicking the paper back to Beatrix.
Beatrix frowns. Tedros, however, perks right up.
"I'll get you some done after we're married, if you want! I know some good painters--"
He notices them both staring at him and looks sheepish.
"...no?"
Agatha, who feels bad slapping him down for the second time today, tries to be diplomatic.
"...I'll see how I feel."
He looks happy that she hadn't given him an outright no, but turning to watch Beatrix read the list of all the mistakes Tedros could make, she feels as if she should have done. He seems a little too eager, and she's beginning to get seriously paranoid about what he believes about her.
"--altar-dashing intentions?"
"No." says Tedros instantly.
Agatha grimaces and goes back to her book.
---
On the way out, Agatha's head is cluttered with faces and names and titles, and even Tedros looks overwhelmed.
"I'd never even heard of some of those people." he mumbles guiltily, helping her up the steps to the doors. She doesn't actually need help, but Tedros is clearly just trying to be polite, so she'll let him. Beatrix has abandoned them for the kitchens. "I feel irresponsible."
"There are a lot of them." says Agatha reassuringly. "And neither had I."
"You're not sovereign, though." says Tedros miserably. "I wish they let me do more, because this is just making me realise how little I know."
"You're only seventeen." dismisses Agatha. "You're still a kid, of course you don't know much."
"It's my birthday soon." says Tedros, brightening a little. "Then I'll be the same age as you!"
"Not for long, I'm nineteen a few weeks after the wedding."
"Oh." Tedros huffs. "That's not fair."
"Sorry you're a baby, I guess."
"I'm not--"
"You're younger and shorter. Just because you know how to knock knights off horses with big bits of tree doesn't mean you've got any more status than me."
"I'm not shorter! That veil thing is giving you extra height!"
"I don't think so, kid."
"I'm King!"
"Funnily enough, I'm aware of that." says Agatha cheerfully, deliberately getting up in his face to exaggerate the fact she is taller than him, even if it's just half an inch or so. No matter how close she gets, the veil is enchanted to mean you can't see through it--
And yet, Tedros is staring intently at her face as if he has got some sort of impression.
Suddenly paranoid, Agatha turns her head away-- and catches that scent on Tedros, again. The incongruous combination of a paint-like, slightly chalky smell, which she now thinks might be his makeup, plus some kind of perfumed oil--
And something earthy, sharp, and green.
It takes everything Agatha has not to physically react.
Poison ivy?
Why would he smell of--
She catches sight of the empty goblet in his hand.
The drinks.
The drinks.
Vanessa had wanted her to take them, too, and Beatrix had stopped her-- as if she knew. And at the tournament, when she'd touched his hand, she'd thought she'd felt--
There's no way.
And yet...
Agatha looks between them-- both wearing gloves, again.
The ivy, the gloves, the faint magic on him--
And, when they'd been meeting the well-wishers, that girl had looked at him, too, hadn't she?
"--Agatha?"
"Hm?" Agatha looks vaguely back at his face. "Sorry, I wasn't paying attention--"
"I was just saying-- I'm sure I can get us out of the portrait, if you really want." says Tedros, plucking awkwardly at his gloves. "If you really don't want it done. I'll spin them some nonsense, they won't argue."
Agatha looks at him.
"Thank you." she says faintly. She doesn't really know what else to say. "I-- I'll think about it."
Tedros clearly knows the answer is going to be no, but he smiles anyway.
"Alright." he says. "That's fine."
Except it's not fine. But Agatha's glad he thinks so.
----
She makes her excuses and leaves soon after that. Tedros doesn't seem suspicious-- if anything, he seems pleased. Agatha wonders if he truly has been worrying about her disliking him, and feels a little guilty.
But she's got bigger fish to fry.
She paces the corridors absently, laying out the evidence to herself. The ivy would explain the fact she can only sense faint magic on him, as well as the fact he keeps looking unwell. And the tournament-- usually, she barely reacted to temperature. He has to be one extreme or the other, there's no doubt about it.
But he looks too... human. She's done her research-- any spirit looks at least a little indicative of the element they control, hence Agatha's dark hair and eyes, and sharp features, not to mention the glowing veins problem and the whole sometimes I nearly choke to death on embers in my lungs thing. Tedros doesn't look much of anything, except slightly vain and slightly over-perfect--
Slightly over-perfect. He'd seemed almost panicked when he'd smudged his lipstick, and what had Beatrix said? Specific skills. Hair and makeup.
No, Tedros, I'm not about to start a rumour you dye your hair.
No wonder Dot and Beatrix were trusted to be her maids.
It seems she's not the only one who's concealing her real appearance.
"What do you really look like?" murmurs Agatha to herself. There's no telling what of Tedros is real and what is fabricated. He could even have manipulated his entire face for all she knows.
She stops at a high window and stares out at the sparkling lake, drumming her hands on the sill thoughtfully. So. So. If he is also magical... how? There's a possibility he's not a spirit like her, but some kind of mage or summoner who they're keeping secret, lest other kingdoms get paranoid. She can't think of any clues leaning towards either, and there's plenty of other options-- cursed, has fae blood somewhere in his family tree, dabbled too much and something went wrong... anything. And most of her evidence is circumstantial, except the ivy, so...
She needs that book. And possibly several more. She didn't finish reading the passage, which was foolish -- it could tell her everything. (Or nothing, but she prefers to think it'll be helpful.)
She turns and starts to head back the way she'd come, head pounding.
Now this farcical engagement makes sense. As does Vanessa and Weatherford hanging around each other, whispering and scheming and twittering. They've arranged this marriage so they can... what? Keep each other at check? She's no idea what Tedros's power could be, and whether it's a match to hers or not is impossible to know. Knowing Vanessa, he's probably a million times more powerful than her and could get rid of her the second he has an impulse to.
Unlucky for her that Tedros is a hapless puppy-dog of a King who seems oddly agreeable to the prospect of marrying her sour, irritable daughter. The concept of assassinating someone with his magic has probably never entered his head, if it's even possible.
Or they want to keep the two most powerful heirs in check-- or under their influence.
Agatha grits her teeth. Once she's Queen, she'll send Vanessa packing as quickly as possible, and she doesn't intend to go home until she needs to be crowned. If that's in thirty or so years, so be it. She has nothing to yearn for-- home was never exactly welcoming to her in the first place.
Then again, there's the issue of Sophie. Much as her half-sister irritates her, she'd rather she stayed with her. But Sophie's loyalty is still split, no matter how many times she's come clattering up to Agatha with reports on Vanessa in the past 24 hours, and it's hard to know who she'd really choose if it came down to it.
Biting her lip, Agatha turns the corner--
And walks right into Vanessa herself.
"What are you doing?" her mother snaps instantly. She's alone, then-- no one to maintain appearances for. Agatha scowls, readjusting her veil.
"I'm walking. What does it look like?"
"Why are you lurking near the royal apartments?" demands Vanessa. Agatha glances behind her and notices they're opposite the door to what are, presumably, Tedros's rooms. Look fancy enough.
"I hadn't noticed I was." she says coolly. "And I'm not lurking, I'm going to the library."
"Haven't you just been?"
"Why should you care? Yes. But now I'm going to get a book."
"The future Queen shouldn't be spending all her time in a dusty old library." sniffs Vanessa. "And they shouldn't lurk."
"You're right. So, what are you doing here?"
Vanessa scowls at her.
"I was meeting with Weatherford."
"Why don't you two get married?" mutters Agatha. "Save everyone the headache."
"You're so impertinent." snaps Vanessa, irritated. "You might be able to get away with it now, but let me assure you, when this comes off--"
"Another veil joke? Get a new jab, mother, they're becoming stale." sneers Agatha, trying to push past her--
Vanessa grabs her collar.
"You think you've done the job because the two of you pulled that stupid stunt at the tournament." she says. "But I can assure you, your work is not done. It will never be done. You're going to need to be the perfect bride, and you know it. Else your newfound popularity, and that of your boy King, is going to disappear very quickly." she leans closer. "Understand me, Agatha. You can't put a foot out of line. Else you'll undo everything."
"I don't want your advice." growls Agatha, pulling free. Vanessa lets her go, but her face is uncharacteristically serious.
"You should." she says. "I'm your mother."
"Perhaps if you'd proved that, I might." says Agatha coldly.
They stare at each other for a minute.
"Don't you have an advisor to go and scheme with?" demands Agatha.
"In Gavaldon, they adore me." says Vanessa faintly. "And they're unsettled by you. But here, it's the other way around. They don't care for me..."
Agatha stares at her, disgusted. She should have known. Vanessa's obsession with validation from being adored and loved hasn't disappeared simply because it's not her in the limelight. If anything, it's been exacerbated.
"Perhaps someone else controls the narrative, here." she says.
Vanessa looks at her, for a minute. Her hand twitches up, for a second, as if she was about to try and touch Agatha's veil--
Then she shakes herself slightly, and seems to come back to her usual senses.
"I have a meeting." she says. "If I hear you've been at the library, there'll be trouble. Can't you just get a servant to bring you things, like Sophie does?"
She brushes past her and marches off. Agatha watches her go, chest heaving. She's getting more obsessive. That doesn't bode well for anyone.
Wringing her hands, she wonders whether she ought to just ignore Vanessa, but her comments are weighing on her more than usual-- probably because she's right.
Agatha turns to look at her reflection in the nearest mirror-- a huge, full length gilded thing. Hardly perfect bride material. And she's not going to get any better, not if she keeps ignoring the briefings and acting out--
Suddenly panicked, she turns away, resolving to make more of an effort, maybe she'll get Callis to test her on the Woods leaders, or--
Something catches in her chest.
Oh, not again.
Agatha only just claws her handkerchief out of her pocket before she collapses into another fit of coughing.
She can breathe this time-- just-- and it doesn't last for nearly as long, but it hurts more.
Hacking, she drops to her knees before the mirror, spitting embers everywhere, praying for it to stop. It feels as if something is building up, almost rising
She suddenly remembers something Callis had told her.
Keeping one hand on her searing chest, she tugs at her collar with the other, fumbling with the diamond fastening--
The thread keeping it on snaps, it clatters to the floor, and Agatha yanks her collar down.
She recoils.
Callis was right.
Her windpipe is glowing.
She's so surprised that she stops coughing.
Shocked, Agatha sags against the mirror, wiping soot from her lips, and touches shaking fingers to her neck. She's never seen this before, and, frankly, it looks terrifying. She can see almost everything in her neck-- her pale skin looks almost translucent, and she could trace every vein if she so desired. Lifting her veil slightly, she can see that it doesn't quite reach her face, stopping just at her jawline, but it's there all right--
Agatha horrifies herself by bursting into tears.
Immediately, she clamps her hand over her mouth, aware she's already made far too much noise, but she can't actually stop herself.
Damned Vanessa. Damned wedding. Damned fire magic, to hell with it all--
She scrabbles for the fastening of her collar, but it's well and truly broken, and her neck, complete with scary glowing effect, is still exposed, even with the veil halfway across it.
Swiping shakily at tears she knows full well have already evaporated, Agatha wobbles unsteadily to her feet and abandons all thoughts of the library.
She wants her mother. Her real mother.
Holding her collar closed across her neck, Agatha leaves, feeling more out of place than ever.
Outside, the first snow of the year starts to fall.