Interlude: Shooting Star pt. 4
In the partially-burned estate of Duke Reynard, Countess Elstein stood numb. She’d suffered minor burns, and her dress was ruined, but she’d already been healed and the design really wasn’t her best anyway.
Shining paint stood out oddly against blackened beams and the charred remnants of the gallery’s furniture, a thin strip of ashen color delineating total destruction from untouched beauty. Below, the marble floor was chipped and scratched in places, and gleaming in others. Broken glass had been swept into one corner, broken furniture another.
Above, the remaining chandeliers glittered and their enchanted flames danced merrily, either unaware or approving of the burning their brethren did the night prior. Morning sun followed a chill wind, brisk against the countess’s skin under her borrowed shift. A few others like her milled about the ballroom under the watchful eyes of both the Church and the duke’s own militia, though she was alone in the ruined gallery.
The events of last night weren’t wholly isolated to the duke’s estate, and as such there was still a flurry of activity around her.
People had died.
More than that, people she knew had died. People whom she’d been speaking with not minutes before the flames took them up in the gallery. She questioned why she’d lived, instead of the others. Was it fate or Dhias’s guiding hand?
If it were the latter, why her?
Others had departed, some had stayed to help or to grieve. The duke himself was practically sprinting about his estate, his own anger and pain clearly visible to all in the brief moments he could be seen.
Rumors flew wildly; was tonight isolated to just Norgath? What of her own home? Countess Elstein felt numb more than anything, but the sensations that did trickle through were acute: hurt, anguish, confusion.
Her thoughts took her feet to the balcony the marchioness had left through, in the least-burned part of the gallery. A single chair stood, lightly scorched amidst ashes and ruin, drawing her eyes for a moment before she turned to the broken window. Something had compelled her to stay at the window under it a moment longer last night, lingering after Paladin Warren grabbed the tall woman’s ankle.
Through the flashing of the marchioness’s crimson wings, what she alone had seen had shaken her nearly as much as the night’s events.
Marchioness Zarenna Miller was a demon. That must have been how she’d managed abs like those with a chest like that. A traitorous part of the countess was both thrilled that she’d designed a dress for a demon of all things, but also wondered how better to incorporate a tail into the design. Lupael had them and she’d done some designs, but…
Countess Elstein shook her head to force the thoughts away. The past few hours, she’d had trouble focusing, her mind taking any chance to slip away elsewhere.
She needed to keep her mind from wandering and think. Against what Paladin Warren had concluded, the marchioness was a demon. Skin as crimson as her wings, and trailing a spade-tipped tail as she flew.
Does King Carvalon know? Surely he must?
Why would he trust her then?
Countess Elstein realized she knew precious little about the inhuman woman. She desperately wanted to believe the marchioness was truly the person she acted as, but she struggled. Then again, every single bit of evidence pointed that Zarenna Miller was, of all things, a hero.
Unless she organized the past night’s horrors.
But that just didn’t add up either.
More information was needed: who the marchioness was before she was ennobled, her actions in the past, and any information she could glean from those who might also know her secret. A lot of work lay ahead, but for now she would respect the marchioness’s apparent wish for secrecy.
And so Countess Elstein stared out the window. She stared at where Marchioness Zarenna Miller had flown off into the night like a shooting star, carrying—somehow—Duchess Kapel and Paladin Warren both.
Something is coming, I can feel it.