Chapter Text
The last time she saw her mother it had been two weeks before her wedding. Outside the horses to her carriage, courtesy of Havfolk, were shuffling around nervously. She understood that at least, everything in her wanted to run, to fly, to chase after the mystical thing called freedom.
The door to her room, the one she had grown up in, that had held her cradle and would soon be forgotten to her, clicked open. Jessamine turned, ready for a solemn-faced servant, but she was met with the dark blue of her mother’s usual attire.
She bowed her head in acknowledgment, “Mother.” But there was no usual biting remark of her looks, or her mother’s stern voice telling her to straighten her back, there were suitors calling. Instead, Alaine Pankratz, Countess of Lettenhove, simply stared at her like she was a ghost.
The silence stretched between them, Jessamine refusing to be the one to break the silence, and her mother seemingly unable to say anything. After an eternity of silence, only broken by a driver yelling at the horses, her mother let out a sharp inhale. “You’ve certainly grown into a lovely young woman.”
She clasped her hands together, looking more hesitant than Jessamine had ever seen her. Her mother took a few steps forward, straightening the collar of her dress, and rearranging her jewelry over and over again. After a few minutes, it was just a matter of adjusting everything in sight. It was almost as if she wanted this moment to last.
Finally, she paused, “There, you look -” Her mother took a half-step back, pressing her lips into a thin white line, “You look like a perfect bride.”
Jessamine should relish in this comment, should flush in her mother’s attention, something rarer than shining gems. But she couldn’t, her mind clinging to the thought - Did you do the same for Julian? Did you brush back his hair when Father threw him to the wolves? Did you say anything when your son was offered to a den of hungry monsters?
Mother, do you grieve him as you will grieve me?
She didn’t say any of that, the words dying in her throat, dying in the hollow tucked against her chest where her faint memories of her brother rested. Jessamine smiled, a soft, well-practiced thing, “Thank you, Mother.” Outside the horses neighed, and a servant lightly knocked at the door.
Their time was up.
She was going to leave the place she was born to, the only home she had ever known, and Jessamine knew in her bones that she would never return. It is an odd thing, grieving your home and yourself in the same instant.
She straightened her back without her mother’s stern voice. She must face this alone, she would be married in a foreign place, utterly alone of allies and aid. She would have to learn how to bear the storm without someone to brace her.
Before she could stop herself, Jessamine leaned over and pressed a kiss to her mother’s cheek. “Goodbye, Mother.” And then she turned, her steps even and soft as she walked towards her fate. She didn’t turn back, for if she had, she would have seen the odd look on Alaine Pankratz’s face. She would have been able to read it in her harsh eyes, You look so much like me.
Jessamine would have known that it was not a compliment.
But she didn’t turn back, and she did not flinch as the carriage set off, as Lettenhove became nothing but a faint blur in the distance.
Death hangs heavy over Havfolk these days. Even though servants had scrubbed the gardens clean, the blood gone or soaked through the dirt, you could still feel it - the horror, the utter agony of a soul being torn from this world.
Jessamine silently walked through the tiled halls, no longer did laughter ring through the rafters as the children played together. No, much like how the loss of her mother had taken Saena’s voice, the girls had also gone quiet with the loss. She couldn’t blame them, her mother was by no means kind, but even now she grieved the loss of their relationship.
She couldn’t imagine the agony of losing a mother who loved you with all the life she had.
She entered the council room, the intricately carved wooden table filled with arguing council members. They were going on and on about meaningless matters, things that she had heard them argue about time and time again. No wonder the world continually fell into war if this was how men strategized.
Jessamine stood next to her husband, watching as he failed to see her. She would almost think she would be able to love him, if she didn’t know him. He had graying dark hair, the sea carved into his weathered skin despite only being thirty years of age. He was rather handsome but -
(Blood rushing through her mouth, black-purple smears spread across her skin, red dotting their bedsheets, wine heavy on his breath, the weight of his body pressed against hers, the ground sharp and cold against her body as he threw her back)
Kaelen of Havfolk was a mean drunk, and a cruel man.
After a suitable amount of time to remind her that she was nothing but an heir-maker, he finally deigned her with a look. “Wife.”
“My Lord.” She nodded toward the gate, “The Duke and Duchess of Delphine will be arriving soon, the greeting party is already ready at the gates, your presence is requested though.” Get off your ass and get ready, Jessamine did not say.
But Kaelen must have seen it in her eyes because his hands tightened around his cup. He hadn’t touched her since his mage, a creepy aging man who was never far from his side, had confirmed her pregnancy. Not in bed and not whenever Jessamine’s mouth got the best of her, which was more often than not.
She supposes that she should be grateful, in reality, she just knew he was anxiously waiting for the moment he could tear her apart with fear of harming his heir. Men never seemed to stop surprising her with their endless cruelties.
After a beat he let go of his cup, pressing his hand flat to the table, “I’ll be there. Ensure that the girls are ready and in perfect shape, I won’t have them disgracing me. Especially not when there are potential matches for them, the Duke has several sons.”
Saena was barely eight, and already he was thinking of matches. Jessamine merely smiled and nodded, a simple but graceful tilt of her head, not once looking him dead in the eyes. “Of course, My Lord.” She waited, her hands clasped and even until he nodded. Then she turned on her heels and walked out of the hall, the council still arguing about the same ten meaningless things.
Jessamine was going to burn her too damn tight dress the moment the Duke left. She could feel the fabric crushing her, because apparently, people didn’t understand that there was a tiny living being inside of her stomach that needed space. The sun beat down on them, the small party waiting near the gates that bordered Havfolk. Even here, miles from the edge of Havfolk, you could taste the salt in the air, you could almost hear the crashing of the waves against the shore.
For all the horrors this place hid, it was truly beautiful. It had been one of her few comforts when she arrived, a girl of fourteen and naive, innocent. At the very least, she had thought covered in lace and silk with a veil on her head, her prison was a beautiful one.
They heard them before they saw them, the click of horses and soldiers. She straightened her back, pressing her hands into the soft fabric of her dress to prevent them from trembling. Padma had always been the one to greet guests with her unbreaking spine and her hard, but kind eyes. But Padma was dead and -
Jessamine let a gentle smile grace her face, her eyes welcoming and warm. Padma was dead, but she remained. There was no use in lingering on all the what-ifs and her aching grief.
She felt something press against her skirt, and she didn’t have to look to know it was the girls. Nessira and Kela, barely old enough to understand death, had clung to her in the passing weeks out of a desperate need for the comfort and love their father lacked. She couldn’t blame them for that, wouldn’t dare. So, without a word, Jessamine tucked her hand against theirs, their tiny, soft hands gripping hers with a surprising amount of strength.
A quick glance told her that Saena, only eight and with a severity that better suited those decades older than her, was standing tall to her right. The little girl whose laughter and smiles were non-existent with Padma’s death, was solemn and quiet, her hands pressed against the light silk of her dress.
Good, she breathed out, they were all here and no one was screaming or crying. I can manage this, I can work with this.
As the Duke’s party neared the Gate she finally heard the shuffle of her husband. He slid into place beside her, muttering to his squire and huffing something to his mage, still never far behind. Kaelen looked her over, his eyes cold and unfeeling, tearing her apart without a single care in the world. Jessamine did not buckle or break, she merely stared on with her gentle smile, her girls tucked around her.
“You couldn’t have picked a nicer dress?” Gods, she would kill this man if she had the chance.
Jessamine kept her voice even and soft, meek in the only way he knew her, “Delphine’s colors are dark green and gold, the Duke himself favoring the forests of Delphine that border the Capital. He’s known for his hunting parties and his simplicity. He has no liking or eye for silk from Falian or fur from the North, My Lord.”
His eyes tightened at the edges, his fists clenching, and she knew if she was not carrying his heir, if they were not about to receive the Duke and Duchess of Delphine, well known for their shared love and respect for the other, then that clenched, gloved fist would be crashing into her face. After a moment of tense air, Kela and Nessira pressing in closer, Saena watching them with clever, fearful eyes, her husband let out a breath. “Smart choice.”
Somehow he even made that sound like a threat, “Thank you, Husband.” Before Kaelen could say anything else they heard the echo of a trumpet announcing the arrival of the Duke. The show had begun, heads up.
The wine was warm on her tongue, honey and spices washing away its sharp bite. Jessamine’s eyes wandered around the main hall, full of green-cloaked men and servants draped in light blue fabric. The Duchy and March mixed easily, talking and laughing as if this was an alliance decades in the making.
Maybe, she thought as she looked at the intense way her husband and the Duke talked, maybe it was. The third son of a Marquess and the second son of a Duke, both tucked in the shadows of their golden brothers had plenty in common. Her fingers tapped her gold-dipped cup, she had a sinking feeling that their collusion would not be a good thing. Or at least not a kind thing.
Powerful men, desperate, hungry, clawing men did not know kindness. They had never learned it, and the world can only be blamed so much for that.
“Oh Jessamine, you are going to have the best time tonight!” To her left Lady Talyn, the newest Duchess to Delphine, smiled at her. She was a beautiful woman with lightly burnt skin from the days spent hunting with her husband, freckles covering her face and neck. On any other noble she might be scorned for proof that she did not spend her days doing more lady-like things such as embroidering, but her complexion fit her flaming red hair, artfully spun up in a braided bun.
All and all Jessamine thought she had kind eyes, if a little - vacant towards certain things.
She smiled, turning her body towards Lady Talyn, “Does the Duke have a new prize? I’ve heard wonders about his exotic collection from my husband.” She leaned closer, “You know how men get when it comes to their toys. They become over-excited boys in a second.”
Lady Talyn nodded, “He did. He got a -” She stopped herself, “Oh I shouldn’t ruin the surprise. But you’ll find out at the celebration once we all finish dinner.” Lady Talyn looked over her shoulder at their husbands, their heads bent together as they eagerly discussed something, “And, I have a feeling your March will be receiving quite the unique gift as a show of our continued friendship.”
She looked quite proud of herself, and Jessamine smiled back, not letting the slip of unease show. It was likely some odd species of bear, or perhaps some freshwater creature contained by magic, or maybe a rather large wolf. It would be fine, it would be fine.
She drained her cup, absolutely fine.
“Jessa.” A tiny body darted towards her, colliding with her skirt as an apologetic-looking nanny rapidly approached. She stopped her with a raised hand, and Gods, Jessamine would never quite get used to the sort of power she now held.
She crouched down with little difficulty, her stomach not yet big enough to be an extreme annoyance. She tilted her head, “Saena, is everything alright, love?”
Her eldest niece had her face buried in her skirts, her tiny fingers clutching at the golden stitching with a surprising amount of strength. After a moment, she looked up, her gray eyes much like the ice that could overtake their harbors in the worst of the winter. Her brows furrowed at the glint of fear and uncertainty in her eyes, “What happened? What’s wrong?”
When Saena still did not speak, Jessamine straightened her back, staring at the semi-busy hall around them. Without a word she reached down, grabbing Saena’s hand and guiding her towards a nearby room - some parlor meant for guests, one of the original sections of the Great House, built hundreds of years ago and long having outlived its use. She shut the door, disregarding her guards' look.
The benevolent assassin who had damn near gifted her husband a title and power would not think to kill her before he got his heir and spare.
She hefted Saena up, sitting her on a somewhat dusty cushioned chair. The little girl tucked her legs up to her chest, wrapping her arms around them and burying her face against her knees. A tiny little ball of childlike fear.
The guards were not alarmed, her nanny looked more frustrated than not. If something truly terrible had occurred she would know, or at the very least Jessamine would see the signs.
She carefully knelt in front of Sanea, her skirt cushioning her body and preventing any sort of strain. Jessamine reached out but stopped herself, she may be the only person left who truly cared for these girls, but she was not their mother. She would do well not to forget that.
Instead, she tucked her hands into her lap, fingers twisting at the various rings that shined on her fingers. “You know, when I was young, I was terrified of shadows and all the beasts I swore lived in them.” Those sharp gray eyes popped out of the tiny ball Saena had made of herself, “My father thought me a fool, and my mother didn’t have time to bother with my silliness. They told me to just get over it, because that’s how fears work.”
A sharp pang of grief tore through her, settling beneath her heart, pressing against her ribs like it wished to escape, to fly across the continent to the snowy mountains that held her brother’s body. Jessamine pressed a hand to the bodice of her dress, feeling the roughness of the embroidery, the slight swell that reminded her she was truly alive, and for a reason.
She swallowed, “I was so afraid I wouldn’t sleep in my bed, for the fear that a monster beneath my bed would reach out and grab me. I ended up sleeping in my closet, tucked against my gowns and corsets and chemises.” She laughed at her nine-year-old self, terrified of false gods and beings, so utterly unaware of what was to come. “But do you know what reassured my fears?”
Saena’s voice is barely there, a whisper Jessamine would miss if she wasn’t so intently watching her, “What?”
For the first time since Padma - since their last walk in the garden, a true smile graced her face. Even tinged with grief it was real. “My brother, Julien. He was far older than me, and braver too, clever and kind.”
She could still picture it perfectly, the faint, flickering light of a lamp, the way the glow had illuminated his face, his eyes, the way his hands had not shook as they strummed his favorite lute. (Her father had burned it the day after they sent her brother to his death.)
“You see my brother was a musician, he had a spark that so many lacked. Once, when I was barely more than a babe, my mother said he was blessed by the gods.” Jessamine reached out, slow and steady and careful, and Saena let her take her hands. They were so tiny against hers. “He sat by that closet for hours and hours, just playing songs for me. He didn’t call me a fool, or mad. He sat there and he loved me.”
That was the simplest truth she knew, her brother loved her. Her brother was dead but he had loved her, once.
“By the time morning came my fear wasn’t gone, but it was dulled. And the next night I dared to sleep in my bed and I waited for the cutting edge of terror, but it never came. Instead, I remembered my brother’s songs, his lovely music, and I knew I was safe.” She cradled Saena’s hands and despite the fact that the two of them were both girls still, she felt so ancient, she felt so very old. “Whatever is wrong, I promise you that I will stay at your side all night if I must.”
Jessamine smiled, and she meant it, she meant every word, “Because I love you.” She hadn’t wanted to come here, she hadn’t wanted any of this. But she was a woman born to a man’s world, she was not born for freedom, for want. She did her duty, and she did it well. And maybe she should feel hate or anger, more than what rested against the grief in her heart. But the truth was, she had always loved with everything she had. Perhaps it would be her death, but even then, at least it would be hers.
Saena’s eyes searched her, and for a split second, she desperately wished to have known Emera before her death, to have known the sort of woman who made a girl like this. After a moment she swallowed, leaning closer, her voice still a whisper, “I ran away from my nanny - I wanted to see the guests.”
She paused, a look of fear crossing her face, “They didn’t see me because I was small but - there’s a beast below. They have a monster in a big box, it’s covered in chains and blood.” She rocked back, pulling her hands away from Jessamine and crossing them over her legs again, “They have a monster.”
Oh, oh.
Damn her husband and his friends and their needs to dissect exotic animals, to see them fight and bleed and fuck. These girls had already gone through far too much, they didn’t need nightmares on top of their oceans of grief.
Jessamine pressed a comforting hand on her knee, “Hey, I promise you that whatever the Duke has, he’ll keep. He’ll take it away and back to his land and you’ll never see it again.” Saena stared up at her, only half believing, “Why don’t you and me go out to the sea when they leave? We can visit the temples your mother set up, pray, and leave offerings before taking a dip or two.”
“Really?” The sea always got her girls. For all that they got from their mothers, the ocean ran through their veins, Havfolk was theirs as much as it was her husband's, as much as it belonged to the boy growing in her stomach.
“Yes, really.” She leaned closer, smiling like the two of them were co-conspirators, “Besides, I need to get out before your cousin grows any bigger. If I’m waddling with every step we’d never get anywhere.”
Saena giggled, odd words always got the girls, or perhaps it was the way Jessamine’s accent caught on them. She nodded, still hiding in herself but her gray eyes had gone from soaked in fear to a small sort of delight that only children knew.
She pushed herself up, holding back the groan as she pressed a hand to her stomach. She was only four months along but already her son weighed a ton, she couldn’t imagine how she would fare in her later months. Boys, her mother would say as she lounged on a couch, always cause more trouble than girls.
“Come now little one, let’s get you back to your nanny and to bed, and by the time you wake up all will be right.” Saena took her hand, tucking herself against the heavy skirts of her dress, a habit she’d soon realize all her children would take up. Jessamine hid her soft smile from the girl that was not hers.
Yes, she thought, she’d go to whatever fight or challenge was tonight and by the end of the week, the Duke and his monster would be gone.
How little she had known then.
She cooled herself off with a stiff bamboo fan, one of her first gifts from Padma. The Colosseum, a creation of one of the first lords of Havolk, was filled with people. There were various shades of blue and green from both their houses, as well as common folk, filled with anticipation for one of the few entertainments that graced their city. Jessamine, along with Lady Talyn and various other nobles, was seated in the reserved box with the best view of - whatever the Duke had planned.
From her seat, she could see her husband eagerly talking with the Duke, and the look on his face, the glint in his eyes - Jessamine knew that look, she knew that particular edge of cruelty, and she knew the blood that would surely follow. Almost instinctively she pressed a hand to the curve of her stomach, feeling the soft, odd twinge that came from her babe moving around.
She was safe, he was safe as long as he was still growing inside of her. Her husband would not do anything to risk his heir, she knew that much at least. But whatever poor creature the Duke had brought would not receive the same mercy.
Lady Talyn’s laughter washed over her, the woman well into her cups and almost falling into the daughter of some other Lord. Jessamine fought the urge to roll her eyes. It was hot, everyone was drunk and ready to watch helpless animals tear into each other, and people wondered why other species often looked down on them.
“Pardon me, my lady, but are you alright?” She turned away from the current show, a warm-up of sorts involving monkeys juggling oranges and rolling around on a wooden ball. Behind her was a girl, around her age and clothed in a simple cotton dress, a servant to one of the visiting women.
Jessamine took one look at the drunken crowd of women to her right, and shifted closer to the girl. “I fear I’m not quite suited for nights like these. I find the festivities -” She was the Marchioness, it wouldn’t do for her to accidentally insult the Duke to one of his girls. “Not to my taste, at least not in my condition.”
If her life was going to revolve around producing heirs then Jessamine would use it to her advantage.
The girl, dark brown hair pulled back into a braid with dark eyes and an edge to her face, smiled a little. “My ma had similar problems during her pregnancies.” She leaned closer, keeping her voice low and her eyes on the surrounding nobles, “Ginger, she found, helps with your stomach and head, keeps everything calm.”
The crowd cheered around them, the world oblivious to the two girls - a lady and a servant talking, neither yet fully grown. Jessamine nodded, “I’ll keep that in mind.” She paused, considering her words before doing the irrational, impulsive thing. “My name is Jessamine, what’s yours?”
Her lack of a title was deliberate, and from the way the girl’s eyes narrowed she noticed. Good, Jessamine thought, you have to be clever to survive long in this world. After a moment she seemed to have decided something, smoothing out her hands on her skirt, “Laia.” She nodded towards a particularly drunk woman, “I belong to Lady Sasha’s household, my mother worked for her in her youth and so I was given a place.”
Laia’s voice gave exactly nothing away, no bitterness, not fondness, just a slow, even tone that reminded Jessamine of her, her eyes lowered as she spoke to her husband. Oh, she thought, we’re more alike than we know, aren’t we?
She went to say something but the air shifted around them, the crowd falling silent. The girls, still staring at each other, still studying each other with an intensity that didn’t suit two girls barely older than sixteen, turned towards the arena to see what had caused this hushed awe.
Gone were the monkeys and the easy amusement of before, they had clearly moved on to the main event. The arena was light with flickering torches attached to the wall providing an eerie glow to the already red-smeared sand. In the middle of the sandy area a man stood, cloaked in silk and gesturing to the crowd, “Ladies and Gentlemen of Havfolk, by the grace and hard work of My Lord, the Duke of Delphine, I present to you a fight you will not forget.”
He waved his hands to one of the entrances on the edge of the arena, a smile carved across his face. Jessamine tensed, her knuckles going white around her grip on her fan. She wasn’t sure she wanted to see whatever monster that had terrified Saena, whatever monster got her husband to look like that - too damn excited.
Something moved in the shadows, the sound of clashing chains echoing in the silence. The crowd began to murmur, her husband was leaning forward, a glint in his eyes that sent a shiver down her spine. The torches flickered, and the man in the arena laughed, beside her Laia took a half-step forward.
Jessamine heard her hushed whisper, “Gods forgive us.” But before she could even think about that, the creature moved into the light.
Except it wasn’t a creature. It was a man, chains wrapped around his wrists and ankles, his shirt nothing more than scraps revealing his muscled body and the hundreds of scars cut across his skin. Blood was smeared across his body, and she couldn’t tell who it belonged to.
She leaned forward, the fan dropping to her lap as she stared, her mouth half-open. She had been prepared for a snarling monster, for a starving mutt born and trained to fight and die. She hadn’t -
She hadn’t expected a man. Laia was right, gods forgive us, why was no one helping him as he limped forward, his eyes staring at the ground, the chains biting into his skin, a - A collar, a fucking collar around his neck.
Jessamine knew that some kingdoms nearby still practiced binding men to servitude, a kind way to say they had slaves. But Havfolk belonged to Pavell, a peaceful kingdom that hadn’t known war in centuries, they didn’t sell and buy people or other creatures. They didn’t -
There’s a goddamn collar around his neck and her husband is smiling and why the hell was no one helping him, why was no one stopping this?
The announcer raised his voice, his hands spread wide, “People of Havfolk, I give you the first of his kind, a fight you’ll never forget - A tamed Witcher!”
Oh shit.