Bid Me Lurk Where Serpents Are

"Let me still take away the harms I fear, not fear still to be taken."

March 20th

Lettice Carey was home at last.

Barely more than a hundred years earlier, Carey House had been home to a noble family. When the sea swallowed most of Lady Carey's dwindling fortune, she angled for a clean fall. Nearly all of her family was sent away, their bags laden with salable goods, to begin more modest existences in places like Port Gale and Maerdilean. What couldn't be transported was eventually seized by the Council to put toward her unpaid taxes. The Council also stripped her of her title and holdings. Only two assets remained to the former Lady Carey, and she sold them both to the Capulets: Carey House and her personal store of information. She had secrets worth more than gold and knew how to acquire more. Her middle daughter had talents for both secrets and blood. Even as the Carey name faded into obscurity, a new alliance formed.

The bond lived on a century later. Lettice's mother, Kitty, had faithfully served Contessa Capulet to the bitter end. Cordelia and Caliban were murdered just as Kitty contemplated retirement. She traded her well-deserved pension for a final, inevitably fatal assignment. After her mother successfully dragged Claudio and Olivia Montague into the grave, Lettice was awarded her ancestral home as payment. She chose to apprentice with her mother's former colleagues rather than attend a school or take up residence at Carey House. Fifteen years old, she went into training with her typical Carey talents already blooming. Over three years, she honed those talents and learned the beautiful art of combat. She had yet to be put into service when Contessa died. The new Lady Capulet, pleased by the idea of an operative with no conflicting loyalties, put her to work immediately. Lettice had been serving ever since.

The last assignment had sent Lettice on a quest to reach the other side of the civilized world. Goneril and Regan had prudently wanted to explore an opportunity to silence Juliette before any challenge could be made. Death was too messy, but blackmail suited their needs perfectly. Juliette's love for her husband left her vulnerable. Although nothing could be proven by the records on file, Goneril suspected Lord Fitzwillam's detailed clean-up of his sister's mess was hiding something. Lettice was dispatched on a year-long journey in the hope of proving that Fitzwilliam Darcy was no true Darcy at all.

The wife of the captain whose ship saw Lettice on the last leg of her sea voyage to Percria had spoke truthfully of the 'wild and untamed beauty' of the country. Lettice would have been happy to spend the rest of her days there if the population hadn't been so boring. Percrians were hard-working, simple, peaceful people who formed a society with no place for her. If Verona's beauty was more familiar, its people more than made up the difference. Just two Veronese - Lady Capulet and Lady Regan - promised more excitement by their arrival than would all of Percria.

Although standing nearby, the mistress of the house waited on a servant to answer the door. She had never had servants of her own before, and she was unlikely to have many callers for them to wait upon. Friendships and entertaining were not compatible with a spy's life. Smiling graciously to her guests as they entered, Lettice bowed her head but did not curtsy. That empty gesture was a waste of time and dignity. "Lady Capulet. Lady Regan. Welcome to my home."

Goneril scrutinized the room. Once, she had wanted the Careys' ancestral home, with its incredible carved and paneled walls, for her own. After her mother gave it to Lettice, Goneril consoled herself by building a larger, grander home. "I see you have been busy since your return, Lettice." She helped herself to a seat in the center of one sofa. Regan sat to her right, and Lettice chose to sit alone.

"As a matter of fact, my lady, I have not. The cleaning and refurnishing was all done while I was away this last year. I had waited long enough to live in my ancestors' home. But surely you did not come to discuss my home. You seem to have recovered well, Lady Capulet." Lettice had tried to report to Goneril immediately after her return, but Goneril was suffering a bad cold and sent her away.

"I have," Goneril said sharply. "Tell me what you have learned."

Lettice had learned a great many things. She learned that Percria was beautiful, its people were dull, and its language was near-impossible to comprehend. She learned chaos still reigned in the Old Empire. She learned Verona was fortunate that those vast stretches of hell were so quickly raising and destroying shiftless warlords. Pirates would be the least of Verona's worries if more than a fraction of those brutal neighbors had a plan and a purpose. And she had not needed to leave the realm to know that none of this interested Goneril. Shame. "George Darcy and Lady Anne were married in Percria well before the birth of their son. The document you showed me matches the sealed copy I brought back."

Regan sniffed. "No-one else knows what a Percrian document looks like. We can still claim it is a fake."

"The church and its documents are the same in Percria as they are in Verona."

"Then it would have been easy for Lord Fitzwilliam to commission a forgery to legitimize his nephew! We should destroy the original immediately."

She shrugged. "It won't help. While I was snowed into Maerdilean all winter, I grew bored. If you leave Verona by land, you almost always go through Maerdilean. I did a bit of digging. Lady Capulet, I found documentation of the other marriage you said was referenced by Lady Iden's declaration."

Goneril's pinched face contracted. "That cannot be! No priest would have dared. Her father was livid!"

Raising her brows, Lettice asked, "My lady has never been to Maerdilean, then?" Her suspicion was silently confirmed. "Anything can be bought for the right price in Maerdilean, even the church and almighty God Himself. You only have to discover where to look and who to ask, and nobles typically have no interest in such low schemes. Twenty-five years ago, George Darcy and Anne Fitzwilliam did, and they purchased a marriage. I would wager they also paid for the priest's silence for a year, until the objection period concluded."

"Then we buy a priest to back our side."

"That won't help," Goneril snapped at her exasperated sister. "This was meant to be blackmail, Regan, not a second war."

"Goneril-"

"Sister, I share your disappointment." She did. In her heart, Goneril believed that Juliette, so proud of birthing a son, would have abandoned her challenge to protect her husband's family. "But our goal is not questioning the activities of an inconsequential family. Our goal is the thirty-first of July and the future of our noble house. Juliette will go before the Council or Lady Iden and argue that she is the rightful Lady Capulet. What lies ahead for us if the most powerful lady among us is a little girl with a self-important husband and a hotheaded brother whispering in her ear? Preventing that catastrophe is our goal. Conspiring to convince the public that Juliette's husband is a bastard is a complete waste."

"Then let us lean on the bastard we know of," Regan answered. "Hermia may be on her mother's path back to respectability, but we can block the way. We can come up with a shameful lineage for Puck and his little half-breeds." Her eyes lit up with ill will. "The Summerdreams themselves don't know who birthed him. No-one could disprove it."

"Out of the question, Regan. The lot of them are too friendly with the Ambassador to begin with."

"Lady Regan's suggestion is worth consideration," Lettice ventured. "If successful, it would at least prevent your younger niece from making any fuss. If Lady Juliette pressed forward at her sister's expense, the two might never be allies again."

"Splitting that branch of the family is the next best thing to blackmail, Goneril. None of them are strong enough to stand alone."

"I don't like the risk. Whatever Puck was when he was born, the Fae claim him as their own now. He is son of their ambassador and of their queen's cousin." Goneril spoke more gently than she had to this point, regretting that she had to reject her sister's every idea. "Preying on Puck will put me at odds with Titania and her people. I cannot risk being seen as a liability in Verona's relationship with our greatest ally, not right now, anyway." Privately, Goneril had another reason: Miranda. Goneril needed her first grandchild to be born alive and healthy. Upsetting Miranda just now by singing out Hermia and Puck for denigration would would jeopardize that. Afterward, there would be time and perhaps good reason to reconsider the idea.

Lettice's lips bunched up to one side while she thought. "What about your nephew, Lady Capulet? You've said that Lady Juliette is inordinately fond of her brother. I don't recall Lord Tybalt lacking in shameful misdeeds. A particularly wicked one could prove fruitful."

"But he does lack subtlety. There is nothing my nephew has done wrong that isn't common knowledge already, and I fear he won't give us anything new until he tires of that little mouse."

"Mouse?" Hope shined through Lettice's curious tone.

"Darcy's insipid sister. Marriage is the only way Tybalt can get between her thighs, so he will wed her in June. The sole use she would be to us is if we could goad Tybalt into slaughtering her, but surely my dear sister has some objection to that as well." Regan glared at Goneril, her teeth clenched and her eyes narrowed.

"Regan, I believe we may be over-thinking our strategy in this matter. Tradition, good sense, and experience are on our side. Truly, it would have been easier to win without fighting, but we can give ourselves great advantage with simple, solid tactics. It would be nothing at all to tear a great thorn out of our side and stab it into theirs, for example, if we make it our priority." Glinting just as Regan's had moments earlier, Goneril's gray eyes turned to Lettice. "Thus, I need you to handle a side matter of great importance to me. Neither Regan nor I could do this in any circumstance. The task may be a long and unpleasant, but the reward will be generous, I assure you."

'Unpleasant' was music to Lettice's ears, but 'long' gave her pause. She heard the word 'journey' somewhere behind it, and she had hoped to enjoy having a home for a little while. After assuring herself that 'long' did not necessarily mean leaving Verona again, Lettice asked Goneril to continue.

"I made a concession to Lord Norman upon our children's marriage. Should Lord Norman father a legitimate son, that son could inherit the Norman title instead of Miranda's son. I need Lord Norman to live until I have a grandson to succeed him, but that risks him finding a wife and fathering an heir. That cannot be allowed to happen."

God, no... Lettice hoped for the best. "It shouldn't be too much to trouble to geld him once I've gotten near, if you don't think he would know it was on your orders."

"He would, which is why you won't geld him. You are going to wed him."

Lettice bit down on her cheek until the flesh broke, but it wasn't enough. No amount of pain could ease the heart-quaking revulsion. She had trained hard for the life she wanted. Returning from from Percria, her ship sank in a storm; she had traveled the rest of the way to the Veronese border on foot. Walking all day until her feet ached, fending off all manner of beasts with her blade and fists - that was living. She had spent a year of her life on this assignment. The true reward was the thrill of the journey, not the worthless information she had gathered. Marrying an old widower stupid enough to think Goneril Capulet was his friend was the end of nearly everything Lettice valued. "No."

"That was not a request, Lettice."

"And I am not a slave, Lady Capulet. You cannot order me to marry anyone!"

Goneril's gray eyes stormed over her tight, thin frown. "You swore you allegiance to me."

"To your house," Lettice forcefully corrected her.

"Of which I am the rightful head!" After Goneril's anry tone smacked her own ears, the storm subsided. She needed Lettice, and all three ladies knew it. "I only need Lord Norman to live a few months after my grandson is born. Once that happens, you can dispose of him in any manner you like. Indulge yourself in the kill of your dreams, if you will."

"I don't need to marry a man to kill him, and there must be scores of marriageable ladies he could choose from. Hardly anyone knows I even exist." Which is the way I like it.

"All the easier to create a suitable identity for you."

"Not as easy as convincing him to marry some barren widow."

Regan rolled her eyes. Privy to the entire scheme, she thought Lettice should be thrilled with the opportunity. What more did she want than a guaranteed kill and a hefty fee? "And risk a miracle conception? Beside those ladies not being paid out of our purse, Lettice, none but you could adequately handle Lord Norman or the delicate situations that may arise."

"You mean, Lady Regan, the delicate job of murdering one's own newborn son, should he survive all efforts to prevent his birth?" She took pleasure in watching Regan's face blanch. Spelling out brutal actions had such a lovely effect on others, Lettice had found. Men and women would commit horrible acts more easily than speak candidly about them. Killing an infant wasn't something Lettice wanted to think about; she wouldn't let those who made the request ignore that cold reality. "My ladies, I have yet to hear why a lord would choose a nobody over one of these unsuitable but marriageable women."

"If he is interested in marriage, which I am not certain he is," Goneril explained, "he won't find a better candidate."

"Are you truly resorting to exaggerations already, Lady Capulet?"

"Good families won't send their daughters or even their widows to a man who appears unable to dower his own daughter. You may be nobody in society, but you are of good health and age for childbearing. We we will pass you off as some distant cousin of mine with a moderate dowry and no family to object to whatever relationship my 'good friend' desires - marriage if necessary, but simply preventing any other marriage will do just as well. If Miranda bears a son in August, you could be free to dispose of him before marriage is brought up at all."

Pandering to the lust or breeding instinct of a man old enough to be her father disgusted Lettice. Worse still, she didn't know if it would even be possible to step back into the shadows afterward. A disguise and a false identity only did so much. She didn't want to live out her life as the dowager Lady Norman, entertaining old widows and playing step-grandmother to Miranda Capulet's children.

On the other hand, the winds could change. The Norman plot would never lose value, but it would gain a great deal if Lady Capulet was demoted to Lady Goneril. If Lettice couldn't find a place in a new Lady Capulet's service, the money wouldn't hurt either. "I presume you will be financing this tempting dowry and that it will be my payment, marriage or no?" Lettice pushed back when Goneril offered to let her keep only a portion of the dowry. "You are asking me to surrender my life, possibly for years, to this man you loathe. I want the entire dowry and whatever he might leave for his bride in his will. I also want a guarantee that money will be provided to send any daughters to the convent for their education - whether the money comes from you or him, I care not."

Goneril was poised to agree, but Regan objected for the sake of objecting. "Your fee should be half the dowry if you don't marry him, and any bastard children ought to be your responsibility. It's hardly our fault if you can't complete part of your task."

So says the lady whose womb was an arid wasteland until her sister bought mercenaries for the Fae. "A convent education for any daughter is non-negotiable. Your mother offered as much for me, if I had no inclination for service." Lettice herself would shoulder the cost of a bastard son, as she knew what her employers' feelings would be about the risk of letting him live. "I will accept half the dowry and good faith negotiations for the price of the kill if there is no marriage."

Goneril checked her sister's expression before nodding her agreement. "Desdemona's sixteenth birthday is the twenty-fourth, and there will be a celebration at the Manor. Report to me tomorrow to discuss your new identity. Your appearance is not distinct and no-one who knows you as Lettice Carey should ever cross paths with Lord Norman, but we will not take risks. Tell any servants you have hired to close up this house and then dismiss them. I will give you a suitable residence for your new station and assign a guard or two to look in on your property for you for the duration of your work." Her keen gaze caught on the light scar bisecting Lettice's left eye from her brow to her cheekbone. "I suppose we can say that came about in whatever accident did away with your relations."

Lettice pursed her lips. Surrendering her identity, her name, the home she had just barely reclaimed - these were the facts of her craft. Giving up the fight that scarred her face, a fight that still made her blood rush when she recalled it? That was a true hardship. But if it is a lady she wants, a lady she shall have. "As you command, Lady Capulet." And may you remember that if you find yourself short a warrior.

Next post: "Assume a virtue, if you have it not."