An Old Accustomed Feast: Part Four

Content Warning: Click Here for Warnings (Possible Spoilers)

"These are portents; but yet I hope, I hope, they do not point on me."

December 25th

"Empty. What a cock-up," Cornwall muttered. He needed a drink - no, he deserved a drink. Since drinking the Fae potion to satisfy Regan, he was enduring a second adolescence ten times as potent than the first. If he hadn't yet been aroused by a hole in a fence, it was only a matter of time. The lust was like a headache. Relieving it was necessary, not pleasureful. For all the fucking he had done in three weeks, he hadn't enjoyed any of it. Drinking took the edge off the aching. "Goddamn it, my kingdom for a drink..."

Lady Anne, who had overheard the one-sided conversation, approached with her arm extended. "Here, take this. No kingdom necessary."

He winced and turned. Immediately, the sight of her made him wish he hadn't. Her eyes were too much like another's to be looked at, and anything else his fell on didn't help his condition. "You can keep it."

"Please, I insist. Thanks to my son, we're all to be family soon, aren't we?"

Son, right. A son and maybe a daughter? That's two at least... maybe if I squint, she'll look like a worn-out mother of twelve...

... damn. He grabbed the wine from her, gulped it down, and tossed the cup onto the table. "Thanks."

"You're quite welcome. For the future, however, my eyes are above my neck."

"Will pretending I mistook your breasts for your eyes get me anything?"

Almost amused, Anne smiled. "You aren't much of a charmer, are you?"

"Never claimed to be."

"And it's always best to know your limitations."

One guest who never paid attention to his limitations was Stephen Norman. In spite of warnings from his tutors, he took his tiny intellect to the Académie. He had failed out of the easiest courses on offer. Quite the opposite of being ashamed of his expulsion, Stephen was bragging about the swift conclusion of his academic career. "... and considering my speed, one has to conclude that I am twice as intelligent as the average man."

"I could have you executed, you know."

Stephen wrinkled his brow. "I beg your pardon, Lady Iden?"

"I said I can well believe you're twice as fast as the average man." Charlotte looked sideways at Portia. "If you'll excuse us, we have business to discuss."

"Anything a well-learned man could help you with?"

"Perhaps. Would you know where we can find one?"

Portia Capitano grabbed Charlotte and pulled her away to a nearby bench. After stalling her own judicial career by disagreements with the late Lady Iden, Portia had been the first to befriend her young successor. She had come to consider Charlotte a true friend (or as much a true friend as one's boss-for-life could be.) "You really shouldn't joke like that. Someone will think you're being serious."

"I am serious." She wasn't, but she was going to pretend. Charlotte didn't see what good it was to be the High Magistrate if she couldn't threaten anyone with summary execution now and again. "It's been far too long since we had a nice, showy beheading."

"And what crime would you have him die for?"

"I'm sure there's something he's done that we don't know about yet."

Stephen's long-suffering sister, Belle, was faring much better in the quest for connections. She had been popular enough at school, but convent schools were mostly for people who were a step below her class. Those friends were unlikely to be invited to any gathering her father allowed her to attend. Friends like Morgaine Albion and her sister-in-law, the former Ann Anjou, would be much more convenient. "Please, tell me I didn't just see my brother 'impressing' Lady Iden."

Ann tried to be helpful. "Well, I don't think he actually impressed her - ow! Morgaine!" She returned her sister-in-law's slap on the wrist. "What do you want me to do, lie to her?"

"Yes!" Morgaine leaned in toward Belle. "It's bad enough you have to acknowledge he's your brother. You shouldn't have to admit to just how stupid he is."

Belle sighed. What she wouldn't give to have a brother she could recommend to others! Or at least one who isn't a deserving laughing stock. "I don't know why he thinks anyone would believe that story about his... his 'early graduation'."

The sisters-in-law both noticed Belle's rising discomfort. Morgaine beat Ann to the task of shifting the conversation. "Adrian only graduated because our father threatened to send him to a monastery."

"And because Morgaine wrote all of his third- and fourth-year essays for him," Ann added. "He still won't tell me how he defended 'his' essay on the economic importance of diversity in ladies' fashions."

Fashion was not lacking diversity. Anyone who watched the evening unfold at Capulet Manor knew as much. Fitzwilliam was doing his utmost to be a watcher during the dancing, though he saw without truly seeing. His attention was divided between monitoring who Georgiana was dancing with and acknowledging Juliette's frequent glances. Although she had admitted it was one of the most calm evenings in memory, she was still wound up. 

He hoped what he had planned would make her forget it all.

"Fitz!"

Puck's voice tore through Fitzwilliam's head. He turned, ready to ask why his friend had to yell from so nearby, but his annoyance was immediately neutralized. Puck was accompanied by Mab, cousin to Oberon and Queen of the Fae. Although he wasn't one to be intimidated by the rank of others, meeting foreign royalty was a different matter. He bowed deeply as they approached. "Your Majesty."

Puck snickered, "Rise, my child, and meet my cousin, Mab."

"I am honored to meet you, Your Majesty."

"Oh, you are just as polite and formal as Pucky said you would be."

While filing 'Pucky' away for future use, Fitzwilliam fought the urge to glare at his friend. "I am not known for my sense of whimsy."

"Still, I've heard enough about my majesty for one night, if it is all the same to you. In fact, that is where my trouble comes from. The others have spent so much time being polite that I've barely had a chance to ask all the questions I have about Christmas. However, I'm certain you can help me. Pucky said you are a repository of obscure information."

The cessation of music and Puck's desperation gave Fitzwilliam an idea. "Your- my lady, I would be honored to help, but my fiancée will be here any moment to demand a dance." He loved Juliette with all his heart, but he hated to dance almost as much.

Puck took the bait. "What if I explain the situation to Juliette? I'm sure she would understand. You can take this time to completely satisfy Mab's curiosity, and I will take your place in the dance."

"Oh, I wouldn't want to impose," Mab said.

"It won't be an imposition if Juliette is satisfied. Puck, give it a go, and we'll see how you do." Puck ran out to meet Juliette, spoke to her with several wild gesticulations, and quickly pried an enthusiastic nod out of her. Impressed and just a touch relieved, he led the queen to an empty seat and settled in gingerly beside her. "What is it that you would like to know?"

"I've heard quite a lot tonight about how you celebrate, but I would like to know why. Pucky says it has to do with a bastard and a donkey."

He bit hard on his lip to stop himself from laughing. Puck had barely passed the required class in religious studies at the Académie, and he only passed it because the professor dropped dead while administering the final examination. "It's a bit more complex than that. You see..."

Several minutes later, Mab felt like she was finally getting somewhere. "So the baby is the son of your god and a maiden, born to reconcile you?"

"That's the hope."

"You speak in very vague terms about it," she observed.

"It's a vague matter. A long time ago, when Verona was still part of the Old Empire, one of the Ancient Pontiffs accidentally revealed this prophecy, creating countless pretenders. Giving birth in a stable was fashionable for more than a century. To stop the antics, a later Pontiff decreed that God had cancelled the birth. A third Pontiff later said that the birth would occur but only when mankind had earned it and with secret signs only known to the Pontiff. With the Pontiffs gone the way of the Emperor, we're on our own."

"So, you're celebrating a birth that hasn't and may never happen? Or one that happened and you all treated as a hoax to the peril of your souls?"

"Basically, yes."

"Must I ask why?

"It's rather a lot of fun, and it doesn't hurt to remind God that we're thinking of it, either."

The bell above the crypt rang out the ten o'clock hour. To most, it was background noise to the sea of music and dancing. To Fitzwilliam, it was a reminder. Ten-thirty was the time he had chosen to stop the festivities. For a few, mortifying minutes, he would turn the attention of everyone onto Juliette and himself so he could make a proper presentation of her gift. He patted his inside pocket just to be sure.

It wasn't there. Cold panic poured through him. Even jamming his fingers into the pocket was useless. It was empty. Juliette's ring, the one he had agonized over, the one he had specially made and laid down a small fortune for, wasn't there. Did I drop it? How could I have dropped it? I wasn't hanging upside down. Wait, did I have it after supper? After I fought with-

"Is something wrong?"

"I seem to have misplaced something." He would have to go look for it. "Could I possibly trouble you for a favor?"

"Of course."

"When Puck brings Juliette back here, when they ask where I am, could you say I excused myself to find my sister?" Georgiana knew everything of the plan. He hoped she could give him an extra few minutes if necessary. "I hate to ask it of you, but-"

"Say no more. Consider it my gift to you, for explaining your holiday to me."

"I am in your debt, Queen Mab."

The excursion took longer than Fitzwilliam hoped. He first had to go over to the supper room and look for the ring on the floor of the corridor outside. Then, it was across the house and up to the guest quarters. He made several wrong guesses before remembering what room he had been put into. After breaking into his own trunk for lack of patience, he was rewarded - unexpectedly, as he would have sworn the ring was in his pocket, but rewarded.

While the noise of the great hall budded into a dull rumble as he walked back, Fitzwilliam's mind drifted. He could be a world away from this now if not for his parents' choices. Under the gentle governance of the same stars overseeing the hurly-burly at Capulet Manor, he could be in Percria. He would be halfway through the secondhand book that had been his gift, straining to read it by the back-facing window. There would be no party, no dead father, no noise. All would be quiet.

The dull, empty quiet of life without Juliette.

She had filled up the cracks and hollows in him he had never realized were empty. Before her, he hadn't noticed much difference between happiness and contentment. He wished he could give her twice what he was, even three or four times what he was. He was just a man, and she was something extraordinary. Keeping up with her was like scrambling up a mountain of wet pebbles to chase a star. Sometimes, the star would come crashing out of the sky to push him down the mountain. He had argued with that star, and the star could be petulant and flighty when she so chose. But by God, did she ever shine.

And that was why the highlight of the ring had to be a diamond. It was half as strong and brilliant, but it was as close as any material thing could be to her. For the rest of her life, it would remind her that his heart was in her hands. It would remind her that had used the one romantic gesture in his character to tell everyone in the mad crowd tonight that she was the jewel.

"What did you see in your dreams last night?"

"I didn't see anything."

"Even the smallest detail could be significant."

"I didn't see anything at all."

"No dreams at all? Nothing?"

"There is nothing lurking in my future, dearest, I promise."

A bell shook Capulet Manor several times. In the great hall, everyone was startled. Unlike the one that tolled the hours in the distance, this bell was nearby and strong. It rang as if slammed by the iron fist of God, and it was calling forth a small, red-clad army out of the crowd. Another ring drew the joy right out of the face of Georgiana's dancing partner. Without knowing anything, she already felt sick. "What is that bell? What does it mean?"

"It's the call to arms. Something is wrong."

However fractured the House of Capulet could be, they closed ranks immediately in the face of danger. Goneril immediately began to form a strategy to deal with a party's worth of suspects while Regan led the house guards on the hunt for an assassin. Pairing off for safety, Hal and Hermia rode out to find Father Laurent and Cornwall and Kent went after the physician. Tybalt assisted the house guards' surgeon when he stitched up Fitzwilliam's shoulder. Consort offered to check in on the littlest Capulets, only to discover Ariel had escaped the nursery.

Miranda scoured the house for her baby sister. Eventually, she found her exactly where last night's dream told Miranda she would be. Ariel had poked her head out of the nursery to see what the commotion in the corridor was. She saw one cousin weeping and another with a bloody, beat-up man draped over his back. Frightened, she had fled to the one safe place in the entire house: the chapel.

"Everything is going to be fine, Ariel."

"But... but... what if... they're-they're going to k-kill us, too!"

"Nobody has been killed, Ariel, and nobody else is going to get hurt." Miranda could promise the second half in earnest. The first half was only currently true.

The situation in the sickroom had been promising at first. Most of Fitzwilliam's injuries were not serious, incurred during a struggle with the attacker, and the stab wound was fortunately placed. The blood lost was significant but not fatal. There seemed to be no reason to wait for the physician's assessment, so Lady Anne agreed to having the house guards' surgeon close up the wound immediately. When Fitzwilliam barely reacted to the procedure, they all started to worry. When Anne noticed her son was developing a fever, the worrying intensified. His fever rose and his pulse struggled to keep up. Soon, nothing at all could wake him. By the time the doctor arrived, the sickroom was on tenterhooks.

"It appears the whites of his eyes are discolored, as well." Immediately, demands to know what that meant were issued from several mouths. "These are not symptoms of physical trauma. I believe the blade used to wound him was coated in poison."

"Poison?" Anne felt sick. She had dared to hope her son had been the victim of happenstance, possibly catching someone looting the private quarters. He had been stripped of all his valuables save his signet ring, which Anne supposed was too distinct to be sold safely. Poison meant he had been marked for death. "Why a poison?"

"Your son's physical injuries are survivable. Poison compensates for a lack of skill." It was also a foolhardy tactic in the doctor's opinion. Use of poison, whether or not the victim died, was a capital crime. "Combined with the blood loss, it is causing the desired havoc in his body."

"Then give him an antidote! Give him a tonic, do something! Do something to help him!" Every muscle in Juliette's body quaked with the desire to rip the doctor to pieces. She had failed. Her mind was an "if only" parade, illuminating all of the choices she could have made to keep him safe. Someone else had to do what she couldn't.

"It's not that simple, my lady. An antidote..."

Across the room sat the quieter contingent, trying to ignore the fight between fiancée and doctor. Father Laurent was sitting quietly until he was asked to participate. He was there to pray, bless, and comfort when asked - and as yet, he hadn't been. Georgiana didn't need an invitation to the bedside, but she couldn't stomach even looking at her brother. As long as she looked down, she could pretend everything would work out for the best.

Puck was also part of the quiet contingent. Hermia had offered to stay once she came back with Father Laurent, but he saw the unrest in her eyes. She couldn't sit in a sickroom, and he couldn't think of anything even Hermia could do to alleviate what he felt. He was crushed by the state of his friend, devastated for Lady Anne and Georgiana, and absolutely livid with Juliette and Tybalt. If they had only told him all that they knew, not some fractured half-truth, he could have helped. He wouldn't have given Fitzwilliam the perfect opportunity to run out of Juliette's sight if he knew exactly why she wanted her eyes on him. If only...

"... and as he is too weak," the doctor was saying, "to attempt a bleeding or even vomiting, the only option is a best guess. It's likely one of five or six poisons, but I would say we have time to monitor for two or three antidotes before they become a moot point."

"What does that mean?" Anne asked.

"The effects of the poison, not the poison itself, are what kill. An antidote can't reverse the damage already done before application. It's a medicine, not a magic cure."

"Of course!"

Finding his family took much longer than Puck expected. He went first to the Great Hall, only to be told by Hermia that the Summerdreams had been the first guests cleared to leave. As fast as he ran, he was only quick enough to see the tail end of his parents' carriage disappearing down the road away from the Manor. Puck invoked his Capulet status for the first time ever to steal a horse out from under someone else. The road was dangerous, but was determined to catch up with them. His parents agreed to turn around, and Mab agreed to go back on horseback with Puck. As they rode back, he told her everything he knew. A hour passed between Puck's disappearance and re-entry to the sickroom.

Unfortunately, the scene they walked into was not the one Puck had left.

"Cleanse me of sin, Lord, that I may be purified. Wash me-"

"Oh, shit." He hadn't meant to say it aloud and everyone had heard. Nearly all turned to look at Puck in grave silence, leaving Fitzwilliam's belabored breathing to speak for itself. He hadn't been struggling to breathe when Puck left. Something had gone terribly wrong with the doctor, who was now sitting on the trunk with his back to the scene. Puck had his friend's last, best hope at his side. "Lady Anne, it's not too late to save him. Mab can-"

"Pucky," Mab chided gently, "let's not get ahead of things." Her mind was already made up. Using true Fae magic, not mere potions, on humans was not widely approved of, but she was a queen, damn it. Puck had embraced his adoptive culture wholeheartedly, following his mother into diplomatic service even knowing tradition allowed only females to be ambassadors. If he didn't deserve a rule-breaking favor, nobody did. "I may be able to help your son, but I must have your word that it will never be discussed outside this room."

Anne's glance immediately settled on the doctor. She didn't know the man, and she didn't trust him, not after intensifying Fitzwilliam's suffering with his so-called antidote. "You are excused, sir." He left after a short fuss, muttering the words "witchcraft" under his breath. When Father Laurent tried to also excuse himself, Anne stopped him. "Unless you have an objection, I would like you to stay."

"No objection, my lady. I merely thought Her Majesty might be more comfortable without my presence."

Mab didn't have time to wonder how the clergyman knew who she was or why he wasn't fighting the idea of Fae magic. "Very well, then. If he has been poisoned, I can purge it from him. The process would also aid his flesh in healing. Unfortunately, the purge also shreds any spirit that is present in the body."

"What good is that to anyone?" Juliette had hit a hard limit when she saw how Fitzwilliam withered under the doctor's attempts at a cure. Everything she felt now was separated by her by foot-thick stones, resting heavily on her chest. He was dying, almost seven years to the day her parents had. Neither love nor skill could save him. "What does it matter? He isn't a person without a soul."

"I can separate his soul from his body before the purge." After the shock subsided, Mab cautioned them all that it was dangerous. "Fae spirits are designed to withstand a separation; human spirits are not, but it does succeed roughly half of the time. The purge takes two days and two nights. Once it is completed, I will attempt to summon his spirit back to his body. He will have an entire day after the purge is finished to return without consequence."

Anne glanced back at her son. Shortly after they lost George, Fitzwilliam had come down with a terrible fever. Anne carried him everywhere they went, all the way out of the valley, to the port and onto a boat headed for Verona. She wished it was as easy as putting her boy on her back this time. Any mother would have a thousand questions to be answered before she trusted her child to some foreign magic, but her son only had time for one. "Will it be painful for him?"

"No. It is as gentle as falling asleep. In his state, he won't notice it at all. I will simply..."

Juliette took advantage of everyone's fascination with the procedure to lie down on the bed - her bed. She had let her mind frolic over the idea of sharing this very bed with him before, but it wasn't supposed to be like this. They should have been alone, and he should have been awake. He should be meeting her gaze with the quiet, dark eyes that were hidden away now. And his hands? Not one finger stirred to brush the skin between hers or to so subtly check that the ring he had put there was still in place. His own silver band had been taken from him. "If you don't come back, please be waiting for me when it's my turn. Please, don't forget about me. If we both remember, maybe it won't... it won't..."

"He's coming back. If anyone is clever enough to navigate the spiritual realm, it's him."

"You don't know that, Puck," Juliette snapped. "He might think he's dead, and we have no way to tell him he's not."

"It's a better chance than pouring tonics down his throat at random and shoving a holy biscuit in afterward so he doesn't go to Hell." Puck looked at the priest as an afterthought. "No offense intended to you."

"None taken, child, but I think it would be time to finish up with my holy biscuits and let Her Majesty do what is necessary. My lady?" Anne nodded her assent. In the background, Georgiana let out her first audible sob of the night. Tybalt lifted his sister up and out of the bed; she looked utterly broken. Father Laurent resolved to be mindful of all the suffering radiating out of that bed as he performed the sacrament.

"Hear us, holy Lord, and be pleased to send Thy holy angel from Heaven to guard, cherish, protect, visit and defend all that dwell in this house." And those who violated its walls, for they will surely be in need of angels as well.

Next Post: "They breathe truth that breathe their words in pain."