Is the Law of Our Side?: Part Seven

Content warning: Click here for content warnings (potential spoilers)

A/N: If you haven't read Part Six recently, I strongly suggest skimming it before continuing.

“There’s something in his soul o'er which his melancholy sits on brood.”

November 23rd

As she alighted from her sleigh, Anne bowed her head and pulled her hood close. The sun had been shining all day, making false promises of heat. It had done little to improve the roads and nothing for the sharp nip in the air. Her first step into the Summerdreams’ foyer was a moment of utter bliss, and she went directly to the hearth for more. Anne luxuriated in the warmth for several moments before she remembered the servant standing by to take her outer garb. 

No sooner had she turned back to the glorious fire than did Oberon Summerdream himself appear out of thin air. “Are you thoroughly thawed, Anne?”

She returned his friendly greeting with a smile. A brief exchange of pleasantries couldn't hurt anything, surely. “Nearly so, but my goodness! I can’t recall ever being so bothered by cold when I used to take the children out. I fear my advanced age is rearing its head.”

“Hardly. You are forgetting that no cloth is half so warm as family.”

“Quite right.” A wistful mood swept her features, just barely elevating the corners of her small mouth. “It was a tradition in Lambton to take sleigh rides in the winter, but snow was rare enough that only people with more money than sense bought their own. The rest of us rented ours from a particularly enterprising widow, who made a tidy profit off of every snowfall. Fitzwilliam and Georgiana didn’t know what to think when I bought a very fine one for ourselves for our first winter here.” 

“The one Puck sank in your pond?”

“The very same.” 

Oberon chuckled. “Will you forgive me for admitting that to be my favorite of all the times Puck ruined a means of transport?”

“Gladly. That sleigh was a small price to pay to discover that my son was not incapable of mischief.” 

“Pardon me for saying so, but I do believe your boy was merely the accomplice to mine.” Oberon’s dark eyes shined with pride. 

“I could hardly ask for more! Nothing was ever so sweet to see as the housekeeper dragging them into the library by the ears. The boys looked like they were for the gallows, and it only got worse when I laughed like a madwoman at their confession. I had begun to lose hope, you know, when even Puck couldn’t lead him astray. I truly worried that Fitzwilliam had perhaps seen too much to ever be a normal boy again. The relief I felt was worth a thousand sleighs.” Soon enough, her smile faded and she sighed. “That seems like another lifetime now.” 

“With any luck, we will soon be back to greeting more little ones who will adore sleigh rides.” 

“If his parents do not acquire the traditional measure of sense from their second child, Will might be five-and-forty before he is deemed old enough to adore them,” Anne quipped. 

“And what are grandmothers for but breaking rules with impunity?” 

“Oh, that word! I am dreading the first utterance.” 

“Then give him another word. As the firstborn goes, so do all the rest. Puck agreed to facilitate this for Titania's sake so long as he had the choice of names.” 

“And?”

“Nini and Obi.” Oberon didn’t need to look at Anne to know her reaction. “You will prefer something less whimsical, of course.” 

“Indeed.” A moment’s work recalled to her all the grandmothers of Lambton being called ‘Nana’, and she immediately decided it was a most agreeable alternative. However, she kept her resolution to herself. All the talk of the boys had pushed her back toward the reason for her visit, which did not permit such jovial conversation. “I was most glad to receive your invitation, as I had already decided to pay a call to you and Titania. I happened to be at the Manor yesterday, and I must say that things are not what one would wish.” 

“Hermia?” 

“Oh, no. No, do not worry upon that account. She is as well as she will be until the child is born. But they are, all of them, straining under the weight of it all.” Anne had needed little time to see how her children suffered. Fitzwilliam, stiff and solemn, wore dark circles beneath his eyes and had spared but few words, no matter how emphatically Anne offered her ear. Georgiana had looked more serene, but a quiet interview had released a torrent of private anxieties. “I wish I could do more for them than play the messenger.” 

“Messenger?” 

“As I left the Manor, Puck gave me a letter and asked me to hand it to you on the next day of the trial. I have it here.” 

Oberon froze just short of the sitting room. Although he did not recoil, he seized, and his crinkled eyes flickered between hope and trepidation. “Puck wrote to us?”

Anne offered a sympathetic smile. “It was not done lightly. He only asked for my assistance at the last possible moment, and he was utterly torn.” Beneath his antics, Puck had always been a thoughtful boy - man. He's a man, now. They’re grown-up, all of them. "Would you like to see it?"

He bit his lip and nodded toward the door. “I think you ought to give it to Titania first. We should go in. They’re waiting for us.” 

Anne was astonished to discover that the unexpected half of ‘they’ was Cornwall Dane. 

He bowed awkwardly. “Lady Anne.” 

“Lord Cornwall.” She dared him with the very arch of her brow to explain his presence. When he did not, she turned to her hosts. “I’m afraid I don’t understand. I was under the impression you were committed to neutrality.” 

Titania raised her hands in surrender. “We’ve arranged this meeting, nothing more. Whatever business Lord Cornwall has with you, it shall remain between you.” The innocence she implied belied how the Summerdreams had prepared for this ‘impartial’ favor. Titania had named the day in coincidence with an invitation for Bottom and Kailen to visit the Albions for the night, and Oberon had brought Cornwall into the house at break-of-dawn via a secret passage. 

“Well, this is a fine kettle of fish.” Anne heaved an incredulous sigh before handing Titania the letter. “He didn’t do this lightly. He agonized over it, to tell the truth.” 

Titania’s heart pounded as she stared at the letter’s seal: a ‘P’ on a cinquefoil stamped in aubergine-colored wax. In his role as an attaché, Puck had agreed that Ambassador Summerdream must remain above the fray. She had to be able to work with the victor. There could be no question of family bonds leading to collusion. With perfect clarity, Titania could recall the sunny, confident grin Puck had worn as he waved goodbye at their last meeting. She knew she cradled no such happiness in her hands now. After a brief glance at Oberon, she looked to Anne. “Thank you. Please, excuse us.”

The pair who remained settled on opposite sofas. Cornwall withered under Anne’s expectant gaze, shifting and fidgeting until he was leaning forward, elbows on thighs and hair a shabby curtain over his face. He could feel her eyes boring into him. He could hear all the stupid things he had said at their last clandestine meeting. Even knowing he was about to present information that would spare her children and his from a killing blow, her presence reminded him of all he wasn’t as a parent, all he knew he ought to be. But to even begin on that path, he had to lift his head.

Those eyes. Those fucking eyes. Why do they have to be the same color as his? 

“I can’t imagine you’ve arranged this meeting so you might stare at me, my lord.” 

Cornwall shook his head. “My apologies.” 

“None required. Might you care to explain your business with me? I can’t say I have the slightest inkling.” 

“It’s about the children…”

---

My dear Mother and Father, 

    Our agreement was for the best. I swore to myself that I wouldn't do this; maybe I won't send it in the end. If I have sent it, I'm sorry for putting you into this position. If you burn this letter now, I will not blame you. I'll write nothing else on this page, so you can burn it all without seeing anything.     

    If you've chosen to read this far, then I will explain everything. 

    Lately, we’ve had reports (for the good of us all, I cannot say from whom) that Lord Albany Capulet has been rambling about the state of his family while taking his regular tours through the unseemly parts of the city. He drowns so completely in his cups that his conversation has gone far beyond his usual grunting and barking. Most frequently, he curses his son for creating a new battlefront in the household ‘over some rotten Fae chit’. 

    I didn’t know that Hal’s affections for Bottom were strong enough to cause such a thing. Maybe you two would know better and know if they are reciprocated? Whatever the case, she is being blamed for Hal’s refusal to enter into a betrothal arranged by Lady Goneril. Lady G. has sworn that ‘another whore’s unwanted whelp’ will never be welcome in her family. (Husband and wife cannot even agree on what to hate. She loathes the poor but is happy to deal with the Fae. He despises the Fae and uses the poor for recreation. I pity any ‘working lady’ so unfortunate as to have Lord A’s custom.) I knew and didn’t care that she thought of me that way, but it is another thing to hear her speak of Bottom so! She is your much-loved daughter, the proudly-claimed kin of the Queen, and the next ambassador! Lady G would be throwing Hal at Bottom’s feet if you had birthed her, Mother. So few people care that Bottom and I were adopted that I can’t see why it should matter so much to her… unless she holds some grudge against us for my marriage, now that I think of it. That is much more like her. 

    To carry on along this vein, we’ve been suffering many visits from Lord Fitzwilliam, who thinks we are all indebted to him, though we never asked him to betroth his brother to Hermia’s cousin. He’s as overbearing as his oldest sister, Lady Catherine. But it would be foolish to wave him off entirely, as he does have more experience in political matters. So, Fitz hears him out. Lord F. berates F. every visit for refusing to engage in dirty tactics and mocks him for thinking he can win on the legal arguments alone. He doesn’t seem to think that Juliette’s superior legal claim is important at all, but we all agree that it is. It has to be. We don’t have the experience to defeat Lady G. in the muck. 

    On Lord F.’s last visit, F. asked me if I would sit in, which I did. I thought there might be some amusement. Instead, I came out of that meeting frightened to the core. Lord F. began referring to some incident where Lady G. was looking into F’s background, to find some doubt about his legitimacy - and thus his claim to his estate - so they could blackmail Juliette. I never heard anything about this, but F. knew what Lord F. was talking about. Then Lord F. looked at me and said that Lady G. isn’t the type to give up on a good tactic even if it didn’t work the first time. I shrugged at Lord F. and reminded him that I’m a foundling who she despises in particular, so I cannot go any lower with her. I looked over at F. for his agreement. He looked like a ghost but did then shut up Lord F. for a minute. 

    F. very gingerly asked me to confirm that none of us had any idea who birthed and abandoned me. Fool that I am, I still didn’t get it and made a joke about it. But then F. explained - if we have no proof of who those people were, then we have no proof of who they weren’t. Someone could spread a horrible story about my birth, such as Hermia and I being half-siblings, and it couldn’t be disproved. I tried to say it was too disgusting an idea for anyone to conceive, much less believe, but Lord F. interrupted. He said that the point would be that it’s so outrageous and self-harming (because my children are part of her family) that people would think it has to be true. He said that people who want to create a scandal don’t always need the truth, just a big enough lie. It’s like a circle - the lie is pushed so far from credibility that it becomes believable. 

    And that’s why I’m writing this. I can’t think of a way to tell Hermia when she’s pushing forward on sheer will alone, and I can’t possibly consult anyone else before her. It’s just F. and I who know about this, and we’re stuck. It’s not just this one idea - nobody even knows if it’s crossed Lady G.’s mind, after all - but the whole idea of the ‘big lie’. F. is right, we can’t win in the mud. We don’t have the experience. Juliette can’t win by conquest. But he and I both feel like this is the way Lady G. will go if the trial continues as it has gone so far. Minute legal details do matter in the courtroom. And if she loses… maybe she would still do something like this. F. thinks she will not, but I can't stop myself from wondering if maybe she would be angry enough to risk losing what she has left for revenge. How would we defend ourselves against a woman who thinks she has nothing to lose?

    I’m quickly aligning myself to Tybalt’s thoughts on Lord Consort’s death. He would have been an invaluable advisor and barrier against such nonsense, someone Juliette could consult without drawing questions about her ability to lead or incurring debts of gratitude to people like Lord F. It’s very convenient that Lord C. died when he did. Now, it’s just us at the Manor, this unlikely band of green adventurers, all trying to play their part to twice their ability. 

    My part has always been to keep spirits up, and I’m failing now. I spend all my energy on worrying and despising myself. I feel as though I have nothing to contribute, not even smiles. I’ve even started to doubt that I deserve my position with you, Mother. If I am so dense and hopeless as I now feel, how could I possibly contribute anything to your work? But you would not take advice from a stupid person. Do I merely tell what you already know? I don’t know. I’d like to think not, but I don’t know anymore. I do know that you wouldn’t have been taken by surprise like this. You would battle Lady G. on all fronts, even before she makes a move. 

    I suppose if you still want my advice, I should make a report now. I officially advise you to burn this letter and make no reply. Our original agreement is still the best course of action for maintaining the integrity of the diplomatic mission. Mother, you must to be able to work with whoever emerges as Lady Capulet. The pirates are growing bolder, and those rumors coming out of the Old Empire could spell disaster for us all. The Fae Kingdom needs Verona’s friendship, and for that, Verona must trust you. Be friendly with Prince Kailen, so you do not create doubt needlessly. (Mab trusts you, Mother. She does.) Perhaps ask the stars to favor my little family’s best interests, but you must be able to conduct business with Lady G. if the worst happens. When I cannot even give an idea as to how you could help… well, perhaps you might also ask the stars to light the way for us? That would be a comfort that does not risk the diplomatic mission. And I think I shall feel better to have unburdened myself, too. 

    I will not drag this out. I send my love to you all. I still hope this trial may conclude in time for you to be with us when we greet the new baby. 

        Your devoted son,

                             Puck

The room was thick with silence and over-warmed by the rage in Titania’s eyes. She choked the letter and began to pace the length of the room. “I’m going to put an end to that woman! Let her win the trial after I’ve pulled her entrails out by her tongue! After I've gouged-”

“Titania!” Oberon grabbed his wife’s hand and pulled her toward him. “Please, starling, the charm on the door can only muffle so much.”

“Damn the charm and the door and her! Her and her sister! A curse on them all, and their children, and their children's children! These years I've worked with her, and this is- after what we did- what you did..."

“Breathe, my darling. Breathe.”

After several deep breaths, she still trembled with anger. “Puck is right. She would throw her lousy son at Bottom if she weren’t adopted. She would crow that her son had married the cousin of a queen! But you and I have merely raised her since the first days of her life, and so it all means nothing! After all the times we’ve worked together, Goneril can still talk about my daughter as if she were dirt beneath her feet! And Puck is terrified. Our boy is terrified, and he…” Titania shook her head, her face contorted with pain. “I want her dead, Oberon. I want to look in her eyes while I strangle her to death. I want her to know that death is the price for frightening my son and denigrating my daughter.”

Oberon nodded. “Shall I light the fire?”

“Please.” 

Unlike humans, the Fae were not created with an unbreakable bond between body and soul. They were thus open to the forces from which magic was derived but also vulnerable to spiritual injuries and corruptions. In ages past, when the Fae still warred among themselves, their weapons could rend both flesh and soul. The healers of the time developed techniques to purposely separate soul and body to let the flesh be healed by aggressive magic. Though children frightened each other with stories of permanently severed spirits terrorizing the living, the patient was usually made whole again, if perhaps at a cost to supernatural affinity. 

Spiritual injuries were more severe and could not be treated outside of the body. Elemental pedestals, flowing with powerful magic, had been necessary in the ancient past. They siphoned away the corruption before it consumed the victim, who then might live long enough for the great healer - time - to close their wounds and re-knit the bond of body and soul. When the Fae united into a single nation, they no longer faced enemies who could deal spiritual damage. The ancient magic was forgotten, and the pedestals relegated to the status of fabled relics. Oberon had never once seen a working example until he created his own.

The twin pedestals in the alcove at the head of the room represented his greatest magical achievements. They cleansed the soul by absorbing harmful emotions. The pedestal dedicated to water, capped with a basin of enchanted sea-water, offered solace and peace to the despondent. Tears shed into it were instantly indistinguishable, and the emotions from which they had flowed were lost like raindrops in the ocean. The water was always available. The fire pedestal, however, had to be lit for use each time. Fire could cleanse as water did, but it destroyed indiscriminately. Oberon believed only a scant few things were best burnt out of existence by a flame so intense that it consumed its own ashes when it died. Puck’s letter, and the rage it had created, absolutely had to be destroyed. 

Once beckoned with a a few ingredients, an incantation, and an offering of blood, the fire roared to life. Oberon stepped back and called for Titania. For his own peace of mind, he stretched his arm out to make sure she did not move too close. He believed the fire could consume the soul itself if given the chance. “Cast it in gently, starling. Don’t let it touch you.” 

The warning indeed stopped Titania from actually throwing the letter in. She fed it carefully to the fire and then watched intently, the orange licks gleaming in her eyes until the last ash was consumed. She was left with a hollow calm and an appreciation for her husband. No fire ever burned half so sweetly as his. 

The contrast between their extra-mundane abilities would once have pricked her proud heart, but, although a small amount of envy would always exist, she had made peace with her own destiny. If she safeguarded the relationship between Verona and the Fae Kingdom, she facilitated a stable peace which offered more people the chance to keep the arts of their race alive. Oberon even derived a unique benefit from her protection. Living in Verona meant he could experiment without interference from the scruples of other Fae. There were many Fae who would speak out against his elixirs to prevent pregnancy, and that was hardly the only example. Titania was proud of all his accomplishments - and grateful as well, for she surely would have been on her way to murder Goneril Capulet if not for Oberon’s craft.

“Is that better?”

Titania leaned further into him, and her olfactory senses drifted away from the wispy remains of the fire to his comforting scent. “Yes, my love, thank you.” 

He gently kissed the crown of her head. “Would you like to rest here for a little while? I can show our guests out when they have concluded their business.” 

“No,” she replied, pulling away to stand straight. “If their business is to take down Goneril Capulet, then it’s high time we joined them.”

Oberon yearned to protect his children, just as he had when neutrality was agreed upon. They had specifically wanted to avoid the chance of the trial prompting a reaction that could endanger the diplomatic mission. But it was never his place to tell Titania how to perform her duties. And it was impossible, absolutely impossible, that the anger fueled by the letter could still be burning within Titania… it had to be impossible.

“Oberon, Puck is right. I must be able to work with Lady Capulet, and I now see that I cannot work with Goneril. There is only one way forward from here.” 

---

“I admit, I never thought you capable of such cunning.” 

“Cunning?”

“Yes, cunning,” she shot back as she turned around. “I cannot keep what you’ve told me from the children, and now that you’ve brought your daughter into this-”

“I didn’t ‘bring her into this’. I did it for her. I have no other motive.” He couldn’t admit to any other motivation, not even to himself - especially not to himself. He had accepted that wishing to undo that ruinous morning was futile. There had been no sea-change. The truth had simply caught up with him: Kent loved Regan first. However much it hurt to acknowledge that he was destined to never again come first in any beating heart, Cornwall could live with that pain. He couldn’t live with letting Tessa take a blow more grievous than the one that had toppled his entire life. If preventing that just so happened to spare Kent any further agony, such as that of seeing his dead sister's children devastated in public, so be it.

“You can’t possibly expect me to believe that nonsense!” 

He stiffened against the cold dread sweeping up from the pit of his stomach. If even Regan didn’t know, it was impossible that Anne did. And yet, Cornwall had come into this meeting with a fear that Kent’s name would have to come into the discussion. Decades of caution had ensured that no-one thought of Kent and Cornwall as particularly close, most certainly not to a degree that would prompt the favored brother to trust the despised husband with family secrets. The name would demand an explanation Cornwall didn’t have. 

But then she continued, “You certainly could have acted selfishly in this, if you wished it. Involving me was not necessary, but it meant that the children would certainly hear of the scheme. You knew I wouldn’t withhold this information, and you also know that I have a very good reason, beyond your personal safety, to conceal your part in relaying this information. What else can I call such complete thinking but cunning?”

In all the outcomes he had imagined for this meeting, none had included a vast overestimation of both his intellect and his decency. 

Anne folded her hands against her stomach and continued speaking in a subdued tone. “However, the information you have relayed is so extraordinary, so incredible, that I could not withhold it from the children merely to protect our secret. No matter how we proceed from here, they will be told. But I have no desire to put you or your daughter - or, indeed, myself - at risk if not absolutely necessary. If you do not want your nieces and nephew to judge your trustworthiness themselves, then explain to me how you came by this information. So long as I can trust it, and I presume that I can, I will vouch for its accuracy myself.” 

Would you even believe me if I told you? He had no assurance that Kent’s name would be enough, for either Anne or for Juliette and her siblings. The careful disguise of his relationship with Kent was now a hindrance. Would his prepared explanation be enough to ensure they acted to prevent the plot? Or would they be more suspicious of Regan’s favored brother betraying her secrets? They might wait to see if the plot materialized, and then everything Cornwall was trying to do for Tessa would be in vain. 

And so might it have been, had not Fate chosen to intervene.

“Cornwall, are you familiar with the phrase ‘many hands make light work’?”

Titania’s too-sweet tone instantly unnerved Cornwall. “Yes...”

“And have you work enough for two more pairs of hands? If this business of yours is what I think it is, we should be honored to assist.” Titania waited for her guests to exhaust their confusion before explaining her change of heart. “My diplomatic position is no longer served by neutrality. If Goneril retains her title, my family’s legacy comes to an end.” 

Anne’s hand curled against her chest, as if to grasp her heart. “Good God, what did Puck have to say to you?”

“Many things. Indeed, many things that you would be interested to know. Tell me, was it you who convinced your brother to support Juliette so wholeheartedly?”

“I certainly shan’t be the one to tell him it wasn’t his own idea.” 

“And in the course of these gentle persuasions, did he never mention your near-miss with our dear Lady Goneril?”

“Of what do you speak?”

“It appears that the good lady undertook the duty of investigating her dear niece’s husband, to make certain she had not unknowingly wed a bastard.” 

In a room of white marble and purple cloth, red was all Anne could see. “My son? My son? The nerve! The gall! As if I - as if George would... and you say Andrew knew about this?” Her nails stopped just short of drawing blood from her palm. “He knew she was trying to destroy my family and he told me nothing? Intolerable! Insufferable! Oh, I will box that buffoon’s ears!”

The ache in Oberon’s body, radiating from the pinprick on his fingertip, assured him that he could not light another fire. He hastened to affirm Anne’s view of things, lest she stumble onto the idea that her son had also known and concealed it. “Lord Fitzwilliam is dissatisfied with Juliette’s approach to the case and has been trying to intimidate the children into adopting his way of thinking - or so Puck believes. Puck also shared that they have all heard that Goneril has been extremely vocal in her opposition to Hal’s affection for Bottom.”

“She hates it,” Cornwall blurted out. A bit sheepish after his outburst, he added, “I’ve overheard Goneril and Regan talking about it a few times.” 

“Did you hear anything they said about Bottom?” 

Cornwall shook his head at Oberon. “Just that she plans for him to marry ‘better’.”

“Because her son’s hand is a precious prize,” Titania scoffed. “Even if I wanted the connection, and I don’t, Goneril’s regard for her son is so low as to make it worthless. She ought to be anxious to negate my connection to Hermia and her siblings, and yet she does the opposite. If your brother is to be believed, Anne, she may even mean to antagonize me if she prevails.” 

“How so?”

“She has never been fond of Puck or, most of all, the way he joined the family. It is no secret that Puck was a foundling. We do not know who his people were or how he came to be abandoned on that bridge. We cannot say who birthed him, and we cannot say who did not.” The flare of disgust in her guests’ eyes spared Titania from elaborating. “Her insults are merely infuriating. The threat she poses to Puck and his family is unacceptable. Whatever it will cost me to grind Goneril and Regan into the dirt, I will gladly pay. 

“Then you think as Fitzwilliam does,” Anne said. “You believe that defeating Goneril will make her too weak to risk meaningful revenge.” 

“I believe defeating her is our best option. Retainers who are either loyal to the House of Capulet or sufficiently mercenary will fall in line behind Juliette. Goneril will not have the same opportunities to spread filth about my son with impunity. But, if she is desperate enough...” Here, Titania’s eyes turned to Cornwall. “Are they desperate?”

He sighed and briefly looked down. “I think they are preparing to be desperate. Their plan…” 

From that point, Cornwall repeated everything he had told Anne about Goneril and Regan’s plan to blame Cordelia for the fire that killed her and Caliban both. He still did not volunteer the source of his information. “I won’t pretend I knew them better than I did, but Caliban and I spoke often enough at gatherings, when we weren’t particularly wanted by most of the company. Cordelia joined us sometimes, too. She wasn’t in one of her spells of melancholy that Christmas, and they were happy. I suppose they were always happy to be married to each other, even when Cordelia was feeling low,” he explained with a small fleck of envy. “But that Christmas, they were both happy people. Their gravest concern was how long to punish Tybalt for cursing in church. But even when she was sad, she was not mad or dangerous to anyone.” Cornwall rolled his shoulders and screwed his courage to the sticking place. “Please, believe me when I say I would know. Misery is the true legacy of the Danes. I’ve never been a particularly happy man, and my father never was. The last months of his life, he resented his own existence until nearly the end. Then, he was a little lighter, but it wasn’t happiness. It wasn’t even his normal mood. He was… I think he was relieved that he knew he was leaving, looking back on it. But even he didn’t just snap and burn down a house. The only person he killed was himself, and it took a lifetime of inherited misery to do even that.” 

Anne quietly asked, “And this is a family trait? Your father wasn’t the first?” 

“No. It’s not something anyone would speak of, but only so many healthy people in one family can die in their sleep or slip down the stairs or fall into a river. I realized that after my father ended his life, and I just assumed from then on that my turn would also come. Why should I be different?” 

“And you did not have a ‘mad Aunt Cordelia’ on your mother’s side to compound the expectations set by your father’s legacy.” She had softly gasped during the telling, and now the dawning light in Anne's eyes was dimmed by sadness. “Your daughter would be unspeakably burdened.” 

“Yes, that’s exactly it.” Though Cornwall couldn’t smile, he felt much lighter than he had since Kent’s midnight visit.

“And you believe that Regan hasn't considered this effect on your daughter? Does she not know the truth?” Oberon asked gently.

“I assume she knows about my father, though not more than that, and that she expects nothing better of me. Even if she knew the whole truth, she wouldn’t be deterred. She’s been Kent’s protector since they were small. She is vicious to others who would harm him, but, for her own purposes, she would let him be deeply hurt, so long as she believes she can patch him up after. It will be no different with Tessa, if not worse, because Regan will expect Tessa to be as resilient as she is.”

Titania’s mind whirled in a different direction. The last court session had been adjourned just after Juliette called for Tybalt’s testimony. Tybalt had been the last to see Cordelia alive, and now Goneril and Regan were at least preparing the means to blame the fire on their late sister. Never once, even with all the current acrimony, had there been any suggestion that Goneril was to blame. Why, then, was she so desperate to shift blame? If she had held any proof, or had even conceived of creating such proof, that Contessa’s inaction was an overanxious defense of her late daughter, Goneril would have produced it when the will’s validity had been up for debate. No, this scheme was more recent. But what had triggered it? 

“Cornwall,” Titania asked suddenly, “has there ever been any suspicion in the family that the Montagues were not responsible for the fire?”

He shook his head. “None. We all knew, even before Regan began torturing old Lord Montague’s people.” 

“My son-in-law is not known for stoicism,” Anne added. “If he believed someone other than the Montagues was responsible for the fire, there would be only a low chance of him concealing it.”

“Which Goneril certainly knows, thus eliminating the possibility that she fears being accused in earnest. She is preparing for Tybalt to lie. Either Goneril feels secure in her victory and is bracing against a desperate ploy from Juliette, or she herself is attempting to turn the tide,” Titania deduced. She then asked Cornwall if he could shed light on these possibilities; he could not. “Then the preparations must assume the worst. The children must be informed immediately.”

Grimacing slightly, Cornwall rubbed his neck. “I, uh… well, before you joined us, we were discussing how to tell them. Juliette doesn’t have any reason to expect my help or to trust me, and if Goneril has spies at Capulet Manor who hear my name, I’m as good as dead. That defeats my purpose in coming here.” 

“Yes. Forgive my saying so, but I did not expect such guile from you.” Titania smirked. “Without a public reason for you to have trusted Anne, she would have hardly had a choice in the matter even if she did not sympathize with you. But please be assured that we all do. The title of parent only makes difficult choices necessary. It does not make them easier. But for this particular problem, I do have an easy resolution. We will tell the children that I have had spies in your household and Goneril’s all along and that this information came to us in that way.”

All of Oberon’s strength went to quelling his desire to interfere in Titania’s duties, but it wasn’t quite enough. He surrendered to his need to protect the woman he loved. “You could lose everything you’ve worked for if Goneril finds this out. Many would be insulted by such foreign interference. You could be poison to Mab’s cause.”

“You read the letter. What guarantee is there that Goneril ever had any intention of working with me again? You can put aside the nasty speculation if you like. She still very clearly does not wish a connection of her own with our family, even if it would balance the scales of my interest in the two factions of hers. If she is rejecting that, then why should I trust her to be any more disposed to working with me than I am to her? And as for Mab, she can come down upon my head if she likes, but it is ultimately much better for the Fae if Juliette wins.” In respect for the mixed company, Titania did not elaborate on the debt of gratitude that Juliette owed the Fae queen. “If she does not, Mab can easily put all the blame on my maternal affections and present a truly neutral ambassador to smooth things over. But to be honest, Oberon, I think any accusations against me would be weak. If Goneril had any spies worth their salt at Capulet Manor, she would not be acting so unreasonably as this.” 

The room had to bow to Titania’s reasoning. Oberon could not be entirely easy with good suppositions, but he would trust his beloved and celebrate her success, just as he would help her up if it were to all fall to pieces. 

“We do have a final complication to address.” Titania turned her shrewd green eyes on Cornwall. “If I am to take responsibility for this information, I must know its origin. I've already gathered that you were told about this scheme. Who told you?” 

"I don't think..." 

“You have my word, none outside of this room will ever know.” 

“I, uh…” 

“Please, don’t take this as a sign of distrust, Cornwall. I simply must be able to reassure myself that this information is good. As Oberon has pointed out,” she said with a smile, “I am also taking a risk.”

So was he. The truth would almost certainly ruin everything. He could leave now, he reasoned, and take his chances against Regan if he were found out. He stood some chance of overpowering her if she came for his head. She was vicious, but he was bigger. It would be a life-or-death struggle, however, and Cornwall didn’t want to have to kill her - purely for Tessa’s sake, of course. He wasn’t - he just couldn’t be - taking Kent's feelings into consideration.

He’s a grown man. He made his choice. And if he ever realizes what I've done, he will never forgive me.

“What I said about Regan protecting Kent extends even to Goneril. Regan knew what Kent’s reaction to this ‘revelation’ about his sister would be. She warned him so he could have his reaction in private.” Cornwall rolled his neck and cast his gaze askance. “And the poor creature thinks I’m his friend.” Even without looking, he could sense the others’ surprise. “I guess I was. We had no reason to be friends, but Middleham is a lonely place to live, and he is too trusting. I doubt he will put two and two together, and I know he won’t have the nerve to say it aloud.” He’d just blame himself for trusting me when Regan never did and let the guilt eat him alive. 

Far from reflecting on the nature of Kent’s trust of Cornwall, Titania instead took some pleasure in imagining the destruction of Goneril and Regan’s sisterly bond. However, that was beside the point. Kent Capulet was a fragile soul, and his sister did coddle and guard him. Titania could easily believe that Regan insisted on sparing her poor, lost brother a public humiliation. To be prudent, however, she consulted the others.

For her part, Anne owned that she had no expertise in the players of the conspiracy. “The timing is rather convenient.” She conceded the point to Oberon when he pointed out that their own meeting was also quite convenient. “I mean to say that one might suspect this to be a ploy to flush out any such spies as Titania would create. But I somehow doubt that Lord Cornwall would be suspected when he has cultivated such an indifferent air.” 

Cornwall snorted. “‘Cultivated’? If I’ve never given Regan any reason to think I care what she does for her family, it’s because I don’t. I just want my daughter to turn out better than I did.” 

“Kent has always been delicate,” Oberon added, neatly avoiding Cornwall’s self-criticism. “Cordelia might not have been his favorite sister, but he wouldn’t take such a story about her well. Regan would be wise to inform him ahead of time if she wished to preserve his pride.” 

“And you are all confident that Lady Regan would not use her brother in this way?” Anne received the positive responses with a firm nod. “Then I would trust the information.”

“As would I.”

“And I, so it seems I must now craft some spies from thin air, and, if Anne would be so kind, the information must be passed on to the children without delay.” The parties agreed on a note to Puck, to be delivered by Anne immediately. She and the Summerdreams further agreed that they would be ready to offer more assistance but that it was likely best, with time working against them, to let the children ponder the battlefield as only they knew it. 

Amidst the back-and-forth, Cornwall had become a bit lost. “Is there something I should be doing?”

“Oh, indeed,” Titania replied. “You need to get out. Go home, pretend you weren’t here, and give no-one reason to suspect you.” 

“Come on then.” Oberon waved at Cornwall. “I’ll take you back out the way you came in.” 

“Lord Cornwall, might I have a word before you go?” He assented, and Anne drifted with him toward the far side of the room, her back to the others.

“I must apologize to you for my demeanor earlier.”

“Don't, please." Cornwall’s eyes softened, but he could not help his knitted brow. “Why should you? You had no reason to treat me kindly. You still don't. I came for my daughter, and only because I had the danger waved in front of my face. I've betrayed the person who did me that favor. This might be the best I ever do as a person, and I'm still two-faced, selfish, and an inept father.” 

Her eyes had grown wider at every word, not quite able to believe his self-evaluation. “Lord Kent is a grown man. Your daughter is a small child who needs your protection. I would cut the throat of a saint to save my children, and they are grown and married." Exasperated to see him unmoved, Anne continued more forcefully, "Cornwall, you can kick yourself for not anticipating something like this - I can promise you that Oberon, Titania, and I all will - but it does not help. No parent has ever seen every danger from a hundred paces. We do our best. If that means seizing a stroke of good luck, then so be it. There is no shame in it.” 

“I…” Cornwall sighed and dropped his shoulders. “I'm not sure I'm cut out to be that sort of parent.”

“You have the rest of your life - a long one - to become one. You can start now by going home to see your daughter. You have earned that much.” Uncertain of whether she had more to say, she paused briefly before deciding to bid him farewell and hurry herself back to Titania's side.

He followed Oberon to the bookcase that led into the secret passage, but Cornwall stopped there and looked over at the ladies, who had already returned to their earnest discussion. The sight inspired a strange emotion that he could not name. It was something he had not felt since his mother’s death. Kent had inspired many good and great feelings, unique feelings that he missed, God help him, but this was something else. He was plotting against his dangerous wife. He had betrayed the one who would love him if only Cornwall would let him. He was about to go home to kiss his daughter and hope the sky came crashing down on her family. Yet he felt something akin to peace, to safety. He didn’t deserve it. 

But he would take it just the same. 

Next Post: "To suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, or to take arms?"