Dutifully awaiting our return—though she had succumbed to slumber on our bed—was Rascal. After changing, I stirred her from her nap by gently tickling her after removing one of her shoes. She chuckled in her sleep before awakening, disoriented, alert, and a touch irritable.

  “What took you so long!? I was worried!” she chastised, playfully slapping our arm for rousing her in such a fashion. “Fermina had me wait here for you. She wanted us to join Lady Crescelda in the prayer circle, but I think it is too late now.”

  “We could still make an appearance,” I suggested, intrigued by what a prayer circle might entail, and curious if it might, perhaps, be held in my honor.

  “She’s going to be mad whatever we do, thanks to you. Let’s just wait for her,” Rascal decided.

  “There was no alternative. The Lord Duke summoned me to his office, and he was too occupied to attend to me promptly,” I explained, excusing my prolonged absence. I returned her earlier slap with one of my own, drawing a startled flinch from her.

  “What did he want to talk to you about?” she wondered, stretching. She yawned while I spoke.

  “What else? You need not make me speak of it. He is a grieving father,” I told her all she needed to know while guiding her to the dresser to sit. She had slept on her left side, and that part of her hair required attention before she could present herself in public.

  “Yeah… I guess that’s what everyone’s talking about…” She complied and allowed me to fix her appearance but peered downward, pensive, making brushing her a tad more difficult. “Sometimes I kind of forget.”

  It was understandable. After all, I was still here, sharing her company.

  “Fair warning, dear Rascal—I am certain the Lord Duke shall wish to speak with you as well, just as he did with Master Kyolhan.” I remembered to afford him his due respect this time. “There is no reason to be afraid of him; simply tell him the truth.”

  “Easy for you to say; he is finished with you already.” She raised her eyes, meeting mine in the mirror with a pleading look. “If he calls me… c-could you come with?”

  It seemed highly improbable that the interviews would be conducted in pairs. My father would undoubtedly prefer to speak with Rascal alone, free from any distractions or external influences on her words and thoughts. However, Rascal often garnered the favor of those who knew her, and the prospect of being sequestered in that office with those books once more would be nothing short of thrilling.

  “I shall ask,” I assured her sincerely.

  Playing a game proved an excellent way to lift our spirits, and Rascal was in the mood. We engaged in a round of Kretta, the only game board the sisters kept in their room—the rest had been locked away in mine. The board, dice, and pieces were exquisitely carved from painted maple wood, a treasured birthday gift. As far as I knew, Rascal had never won a game on merit alone, but her sisters and I allowed her to claim victory on occasion to keep her content and eager to play.

  Her skills had not advanced much since our last game; she still made the mistake of leaving one side of the board vulnerable by focusing too heavily on the other. Nevertheless, it was an enjoyable game, and I allowed her to stumble into victory, sacrificing pieces to help her form pairs while maintaining enough challenge to keep it engaging. She frequently scratched her head in concentration.

  It was during our second game—just five turns from my inevitable victory—that Fermina found us, the board spread across Rascal’s bed. It was a shame, for I had been poised to even the score.

  “Is this what you have been doing all this time?” was Fermina’s potent recrimination upon entering the room. “I was making excuses for you for Lady Crescelda while you were here, playing pretend-war?”

  “N-no! It isn’t like that, Fermina!” Rascal defended, jumping to her feet, away from the board as if it had been engulfed in flames. “The Lord Duke was the one who summoned Aufelia. She took a really, reaaaaally long time to come back. I swear, she’s barely just done. Honest!”

  “To be fair, Kretta is not an allegory for war,” I interjected. “It is a common misconception, as both players remove pieces from the board by matching pairs. However, Kretta is meant to represent a party, with the players acting as hosts—husband and wife. We are to pair the guests into couples, competing to see who is the better matchmaker.”

  “That is fascinating, but not my point, Aufelia,” Fermina dedicated me the most rueful stare yet. “I remember those words; that was the same explanation Master Dubart gave us years ago when he received that game as a gift. I know what you are trying to do, and I would ask you to stop. You have been reading his letters, have you not? I already asked Master Kyolhan. You were left manuscripts and letters, and I suspect you have discovered things you did not know. For some reason that I can’t understand, you’re using this to… mess with me? Prank me? Torture me?”

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  It stung to see her arrive at that conclusion, but it was understandable. Why would she assume that her younger sister’s body had been taken over by another soul? The fault lay not with Fermina, but with myself. I would need to deliberate and adjust my approach accordingly.

  “That… was not my intention,” I lowered our head in submission. “It is as Riatna says,” I would call her ‘Riatna’ for now. “I was in a meeting with the Lord Duke until quite recently. I waited in his office well past midday,” despite Confred’s earlier words. Perhaps another of his petty schemes to exact revenge for ordering the bath.

  “Be that as it may, I would still have appreciated that you came to find me right away to inform me instead of remaining here wasting time.”

  Though Fermina’s words were stern, her demeanor softened. She was beginning to calm. Rascal and I both offered our apologies, rising from the bed and abandoning the match I would now never win. Fermina instructed us to return the game to its wooden case and bade me store it away, as it would likely become a keepsake to be returned, either to my father or brother.

  “I don’t think it’s as disrespectful as Fermina says it is,” Rascal whispered while we tidied up. “I bet Master Dubart would not mind us playing it.”

  “Not at all,” I confirmed. Even if I had truly passed, I would have delighted in the sisters continuing to enjoy the game.

  A lecture followed. Fermina emphasized how we should be more mindful and aware. She reminded us that the prayer circle, presided over by Crescelda Cafligen—my sister—was not just a religious event, but a social gathering where our absence would be noted. Most of the ladies in the estate were present, and it would have done us a great deal of good to speak and mingle with them.

  The attempt was largely unsuccessful. The more Fermina endeavored to portray the gathering as an enjoyable affair, the more she inadvertently highlighted its lack of distinction, tedium, and futility. Nevertheless, I valued the gesture of those praying for my soul and could not help but admire the elder sister’s effort to provide real-life examples in her lessons to her siblings, even if they were less than effective.

  Moving on to a not necessarily better topic, Fermina wondered why the Lord Duke himself could have summoned me, and unlike with Rascal, I would not be able to avoid it with a vague response. I allowed both to know of my suspicions and that an investigation was being held. Fermina should have still been ignorant regarding the strange theurgy markings, wax candles, and scribbles all over my room, but I used the chance to reiterate to Rascal how inconvenient it would be to allow any detail to be disclosed.

  Reminded that, apparently, everything in the manor was connected to my death in one way or another, Fermina deemed it appropriate to conduct another small prayer—perhaps as punishment.

  Fermina would say a few words and a prompt. After she finished each sentence, we were supposed to give an answer.

  “The widow of the sun, we pray, and we beg for a soul,” was Fermina’s portion.

  “We pray, and we beg,” was what Rascal answered and what I attempted to echo as the words were being pronounced.

  “Heartfelt prayer of warmth, heartfelt prayer of light. May Ivinis guide us all to the eternal illumination and loving embrace.”

  “May she guide us all,” came the next response.

  “Love of a mother and a wife. Ivinis, light our path and our days. We pray, and we beg.”

  “We pray, and we beg,” that one, I was able to deduce.

  The prayer dragged on for an infuriatingly long time. My father was entirely secular, though he rarely made that known for the sake of convenience. Noble minds, he believed, ought not to bother with religion more than absolutely necessary. I agreed with him. Since I had not attended any ceremony in the chapel for years, I was admittedly ignorant of these rites and customs.

  The prayer required closed eyes, lowered heads, and linked hands; no reflection could save me by feeding me the correct answers to this senseless exercise. Though Fermina did not interrupt the prayer, she squeezed my hand tightly at each mistake, and it was inevitable that both sisters would notice my poor performance. I was immediately questioned and reprimanded.

  “Why are you not taking this seriously, Aufelia? This is important,” Fermina scolded, and I disagreed entirely with her for once. Praying mattered about as much as pinching one’s ears to scare wolves away.

  “It is as simple as reviewing the lines; they seem predictable enough. This shall not happen again,” I promised.

  “You speak as if you have never prayed before! What is this ‘game’ you are playing with me? Is it a cry for attention? Is it your way to mourn?” Fermina advanced upon me, hands planted firmly on her hips, her gaze stern as she commanded me to sit on her bed. Her reproach was unwavering. “I know Master Dubart did not think much of our faith in Ivinis. I know that if he was here, he would tell us to skip our prayers.” How well she knew me. “I also know that his soul will be grateful that so many are asking for his divine deliverance to the sun so he can shine on us.”

  To these believers, the sun was no mere celestial orb of molten rock and searing flames an unfathomable distance away. To the devotees of Ivinis—the Illumites—it was a cloak draped over the corpse of a being, borne aloft by his mother. The souls of the righteous, once delivered, would become the very fuel for the sun’s eternal radiance, diffusing through the earth, trees, and all upon which its light fell. Supposedly, this constituted eternal bliss.

  Poppycock.

  “My deepest apologies,” I offered, adopting what I hoped was a gallant tone of remorse. “I meant no offense. I shall diligently study the sacred texts of the Chronicle of Light and be thoroughly acquainted with the prayers by tomorrow.”

  “Study? Study what? You knew this already! Stop this nonsense, Aufelia!” Fermina was instead riled up by my heartfelt concession of guilt. “You and I will pray. Again. And you will do it right this time, for it not, my dear sister, I promise that the back of my brush will find your bottom.”

  “Oh. May I just have a little refresher? Any chance I could read forward, Fermina? I am just a tad… forgetful as of late.”

  “I already asked you to stop that.” She positioned herself beside me, her grip around her hands as fierce as her delicate nature allowed. “Riatna, please leave the room. This is between Aufelia and me, and you should not see me strike her.”

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