Poison and Power

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Chapter 1: Picnic.

"I am not keen on that sky," Bea said. Her golden ringlets of hair danced around in the breeze. "What if it rains? What if we chose the wrong outfits?" She looked suspiciously at the sky as if the clouds were wild animals about to pounce.

"It is but a whiff of cumulus," Georgia answered, smiling at her old friend. “Be confident. Your dress is quite lovely, your bonnet is well-chosen, and you look spectacular in the lilac hues of the season. You are wearing precisely the correct number of buckles and bows. Trust yourself.”

Bea was usually a cool head in any room and possessed the quickest wit. Still, Georgia could not recall a time when her friend had appeared so agitated. They were both trained in the way of the Cymbre Order for Finishing. The school was legendary, but very few ever completed their rigorous studies. One outcome of a solid finishing was the ability to appear serene and carefree, no matter the situation. The primary impact was, of course, the ability to read, reason, and remember. The Three Rs were rote for any young lady of the right family and station. Georgia could see Bea's situation weighing on her.

“Are we losing an R?” Georgia asked.

“We lost the reason some time ago.”

Georgia opted for a new tactic. "Enjoy the hike. Along the way, see if Ollie or Manx is appropriate and appealing. They both have charming qualities."

"By that, you mean they have nearly identical qualities as they are twins. But it is easy for you to say relax, methinks," Bea countered. "You are not required to find a suitable husband on an unreasonable deadline."

Georgia was in an unusual station for a lady. While she was just as single as Bea, she held specific titles, expectations, and land, which placed her beyond all standard expectations.

"Stay on topic. You still have a year," Georgia chided. "That is hardly unreasonable."

"I have already lost a whole morning hiking up this horrid mountain," Bea muttered. "And those boys are paying absolutely no attention to me. They do seem taken with you, though."

"Well, I am quite glamorous," Georgia said.

"You are tall and never appear to tire out," Bea said, smirking.

There was some truth to that. Georgia had immense stamina did not tend to tire quickly and was unusually fit for a lady. Everyone in her family shared that trait. Old Nan used to jest that the Goldenhearts never lacked energy but also had no common sense.

"What do you suppose they think of me?" Bea asked.

"I imagine they think you are bitter and tired," Georgia said, drolly taking the bait.

Ever since school, Bea and Georgia had tried to make the other laugh by saying outrageous things in polite company. The trick was to make sure the polite company never caught on. The first to laugh was the loser.

Bea chuckled. "And I am not at all ladylike."

"Best days are behind you."

"Cajoling and wheedling.”

Georgia laughed. "Don’t forget demanding, and you don’t smile enough. How will a sour little thing like you ever find a husband?"

"Thankfully, my family is so well-connected," Bea said.

Bea was the fifth daughter of the 7th Baronet of Irvingdale. Despite having a respected name, noble blood, enviable social contacts, and a modest estate, there was no great wealth. She had four older sisters, all successfully married off, but no brothers. Her late father attempted to provide dowries for all of his daughters. Still, even the best-laid plans were subject to the vagaries of reality. The family used what capital it had on the previous marriages, including land and title. For her part, Bea could offer a few family heirlooms, a very modest monthly stipend from a distant aunt, and the option to live in a tiny cottage at the far end of her family estate. She had already moved into the cottage but still took her meals in the main house. As the youngest of such a high-born family, by tradition, Bea had a few options—find a husband, live out her days in the cottage as a spinster and be a burden to her family, go into service as a lady-in-waiting, or become a Cymbre teacher. Bea’s brothers-in-law were against spinsterhood. They hadn't gone to the trouble of marrying into the family simply to see it decline. Lord Wickham, who inherited her father’s title, was quite adamant if she couldn’t find a husband, she would have to go away. She could become a Cymbre teacher if she gave up her name, or serve one of the great families as a lady-in-waiting. Bea wanted to marry, though.

"I cannot become a Cymbre teacher," Bea whispered, looking small and frightened.

"Of course you can," Georgia said. "Honestly, how bad would that be? Cymbre teachers can have many things other women cannot: livelihood and property. Independence."

Bea made a rude noise. "I care not for having things if it means being alone for the rest of my days. Give me a darling estate and a loyal husband of a suitable family. I would be content to run his house, and spawn a brood of beautiful children."

"Bake his bread and clean the nappies?"

"I would supervise."

"Go shopping with his credit." Georgia grinned.

"I would never say such a thing aloud. It is better to imply." Bea laughed. Then she went quiet again.

“You could always marry down a bit.”

“Isn’t that why we are here?” Bea stared at the sky again.

Georgia was determined to see her oldest and dearest friend as happy as possible.

Unlike Bea, Georgia had just come into her inheritance, which turned out to be more impressive than expected. She received a lofty title and a small fortune. No longer was she Miss Georgia Goldenheart, ward of her beloved late Uncle Raymond—who had passed away the previous winter. As the sole heir, Georgia now lived in a sprawling manor house in the old city called Wending Way and had enough income to keep her in comfort for the rest of her days. She also held the impressive peer title of Duchess Goldenheart and owned a magical sword passed down through twenty generations.

She didn't know any other duchesses, so it was challenging to say if magical swords were the norm.

"Lady Georgia, you are depriving yourself of the view," Ollie Hampton said, marching up the trail behind them.

Like his twin brother, Ollie was a broad-shouldered fellow with dark hair, blue eyes, somewhat pale skin, and a quick smile. Even if he wasn’t of noble or even gentle birth, he was from a family of note. Combine that with his countenance, and he would be an excellent prospect for anyone.

Georgia wondered how either of the twins had gone this long without a serious female suitor. With a broad gesture, he took in the city below and the great Mountain of the Tree above. Following Ollie was his brother Manx, their father, Mr. Hampton, and finally, the house servant Mr. Bailey, who carried picnic supplies.

Ollie's observation about them not appreciating the view was accurate. Georgia and Bea had been talking while facing the steep side of the hill, and neither had looked around.

Georgia turned to smile and gazed out through the cedars above the sprawling city of Oradale. Just below the path where she walked, enormous houses with dark slate roofs ringed the mountainside. These houses were the estates of the newly wealthy. Each home was impressive, but without land and some so close to their neighbors, one could see in the windows. The community was called Broom Lane, after the main roadway nearby. The residents were mostly wealthy merchants who wanted a bit of luxury without getting too far out of the city.

Beyond Broom Lane, the city leveled out into two residential districts—West Plumsbury and East Nova. West Plumsbury was the more upscale area to live if one was a commoner. From this height, Georgia could only see the rooftops, and they all looked the same. Further south was Commerce Lane, where Georgia’s solicitor had an office. Beyond that was the Canal District, Rosewild, and Hartwood, where many of the great families had homes on the water, and the king lived in his palace. Georgia herself lived in that area between Canal and Rosewild. Her home was one of the oldest and most beautiful in the area. Looking over the mountainside, she couldn’t see much at that distance.

Bea stood next to her, taking in the view. “I can’t remember—where is Irvingdale House in all of this city?” she asked.

Georgia pointed west, and just slightly north to the banks of the Findalon River. “Over there,” she said. “It’s hard to see through the mist, but I think I can make out the top of the steeple of that little church on the edge of your family’s estate.”

Bea strained her eyes. “All I see are more clouds,” she whispered.

Mr. Hampton wheezed. "How much further is this death-march?" His face was full of sweat. He wasn’t a heavy man, and certainly not old enough for this kind of pace to be a problem, yet Mr. Hampton looked, well, weak. He was gaunt, pale, and trembling as if any exertion would be too much. That said, Mr. Hampton was the one to impress.

Georgia’s plan was simple: use her plucky wit to get the old codger to like Bea enough to approve a match to either one of his identical sons. His family was wealthy beyond measure—they owned most of the warehouses on the docks. The Hamptons were swimming in filthy lucre and respected in the lowest tier of qualified gentry for someone like Bea. Sadly, they weren't a family of titles. They were what Uncle Raymond would have indelicately referred to as 'new money.' An alliance with Bea's family, even by proxy of a fifth daughter, would lend them access to respectability. With Bea’s connections, they could buy titles and more.

"Not much farther, Father," Manx said, paying more attention to Bea than his brother. Not that she would have noticed.

Bea felt that Ollie, being the older of the two by approximately 12 minutes, was more likely to inherit the family fortune.

Georgia wasn't so sure. She suspected the old man would split things between his sons if both showed an aptitude in the business. They were twins, after all, and ‘new money’ people like the Hamptons embraced the idea of meritocracy.

"We are almost there, and you will see it was not such a trek. In fact, we are only a few hundred yards from our gate."

The gate in question was a backway to House Hampton, sprawling just below the trees.

Georgia glanced down at the house. Uncle Raymond would have called it an eyesore, especially since the Hamptons expanded on the original lot to include the three adjacent properties. She thought it a rather lovely sight, though, and could imagine Bea taking over as mistress of the place one day.

Mr. Hampton shook his head and kept walking.

"What are you ladies discussing?" Ollie asked. "Not the weather, I should hope. It looks to be a fine day."

"Merely the trivial talk of women," Georgia said.

"Somehow, I doubt there is anything trivial about your discourse, Lady Georgia.”

“May I ask you a question, Duchess?” Mr. Hampton enquired between wheezes.

“Yes, of course, sir,” Georgia said. She trailed back in the line to match her step to that of the older man.

“I am not a Sir, but that is kind of you to honor me with the label. You recently, this may sound indelicate—“

“I am sure it will be fine.”

Hampton shrugged. “You arrived at the house with some odd luggage.”

“Are you referring to the magical Goldenheart sword?”

“Indeed. I do not believe magic is real, but I am a fervent proponent of tradition, my lady. I know you have the ducal title of Goldenheart,” he said, “which is in the most enshrined documents of the Three Realms.”

Georgia tilted her head in acknowledgment. “It is an odd thing, yes. I spent most of my youth in the Cymbre School and expected to live a very different life. You see, my cousin William was supposed to inherit the entire Goldenheart estate, but he was taken by the blood flu on a trade mission to the Far West two years earlier. The peers register searched for other Goldenhearts, of course, but I am the last. You are wondering how a lady inherited the title of Knight-Protector?”

“I would never question tradition, no matter how obscure,” Hampton said. “If you had not explained the trials of your late family, I would certainly find it odd.”

Georgia smiled. “Mr. Hampton, we are in complete agreement. If you had said to me I would someday be the keeper of the sacred Golden Blade of the Three Realms and named Defender against Dragons, I would have gaped in dismay or laughed. It is entirely puzzling.”

Mr. Hampton nodded, satisfied with her answer, and was hopefully reassured she wasn’t some wild harridan—or worse, a modern woman with opinions and ideas.

“So, you accepted your duty.”

“We do what we must,” Georgia said. “Honestly, I am still not fully informed of the importance of my station. I suspect that I might be the first lady to occupy the chair. If so, I can only hope to fill it with dignity and grace, and do my family no disservice.” She hoped he would leave it at that.

He did—sort of.

“My lady,” he said, “may I ask a blunt question?”

Georgia tried not to twitch. “Yes, of course.”

“Forgive me. I am a humble businessman. I am a successful one, yes, but at the core still of the common variety. When I tell you, we are delighted and honored to have you, a great lady of the Realms, as our guest, well…”

“You are wondering why I am here?”

Mr. Hampton knew full well how she got there. Her solicitor, Mr. Stackhouse, was also solicitor to the Hamptons. Stackhouse told her about Ollie and Manx Hampton, and how they were each unmarried. Naturally, neither was suitable for Georgia to consider, but Bea was another matter. Stackhouse was also solicitor to one of Bea’s brothers-in-law, so he was keen to help Bea find a suitable match. As it happened, Stackhouse was invited to the party that night, but he would be out of town. Instead, he arranged to have Georgia go in his place with Bea as her guest. The Hamptons had no qualms with the change. No one of the Hamptons’ station would refuse her, no matter how unusual the situation.

Mr. Hampton sighed.

Georgia leaned in. “Mr. Hampton, I am here on behalf of my friend, Miss Beatrice Irvingdale.”

“What is it you hope for?”

“Hopefully, your good family will find her as charming as I do.”

Mr. Hampton slowly nodded. Nothing more needed to be said. He looked toward his sons, both unmarried and on the verge of turning thirty. While they had held off from marriage, their prospects had started to become limited. Well, as limited as it could be for men.

Georgia watched as he turned his attention to Bea, and she could almost see the gears turning in his head. Bea was an Irvingdale, an old baronial family. They were descended from two even older houses—the Irvings of the realm of Findor, and the Dales of the realm of Volusia. Those families merged as a small part of the Pact of the Three Realms, hundreds of years ago. Their union was one piece of an elaborate series of noble house pairings that eventually unified three kingdoms. Even though the Irvingdales had fallen in stature over the centuries, they were still a prominent family. All they needed, near as Georgia could tell, was the one thing the Hamptons had: money.

Georgia had worked the whole scheme out with Mr. Stackhouse, so she knew where the law stood. The Hamptons, currently, would never be noble. They had an exceptional reputation, but they had gone about as far as they could. Aligning them with the Irvingdales could change things for both families. In exchange for specific investment from Mr. Hampton and Bea as a bride—Lord Wickham, the current baronet of Irvingdale, could sponsor her new husband for a peerage award. The lucky fellow could become a Knight of the House. With such a title, the groom could win a seat in the Low House of Government. After a time of distinguished service combined with liberal donations to charity, Bea’s husband could get a formal declaration of Gentry status. Mr. Hampton would have to foot the bill for everything, but eventually, his grandchildren would be welcome in Society.

In the meantime, Georgia was reasonably sure the Hamptons would be profiting in other ways. With Irvingdale prestige in his pocket, Mr. Hampton could broker all sorts of business ventures with people well above his station. According to Mr. Stackhouse, he could even funnel profits back into the Irvingdales—and help them regain ground at court. The Irvingdales, armed with cold hard cash, could seat themselves in the High House of Lords. Hamptons in the Low House and Irvingdales in the High meant both families rise.

He looked back at Georgia. “I see.”

There. Done. Georgia had introduced the deal. If Hampton had questions, Mr. Stackhouse could lay out the whole plan in excruciating detail.

“Father, we are at the picnic site,” Manx announced, pointing to a small clearing with a pleasant view of both the city and the brilliant blue sky.

Mr. Bailey began to unpack their supplies. Manx and Ollie surveyed their position for errant rocks. After kicking a few aside, they looked satisfied. Upon their approval, Mr. Bailey quietly and efficiently spread out three soft Harrateen blankets. He made no sound as he went, carefully arranging the area for maximum comfort.

Off to one side, Bea sidled up to Georgia. “How is it going with your grand plan? Are you winning over the elder Hampton with your charm and wit?” she whispered.

“The man appears neither charmed nor offended. I think we should accept that Mr. Hampton will base his decisions on a combination of factors. He might wish to see if either of his sons finds you appealing. Either way, I suspect he will hold out until he talks to Mr. Stackhouse,” Georgia whispered back. “Let us reserve judgment until after the party, but you will need to be particularly radiant, Bea. I recommend you focus your attention on Manx. Ollie has gotten enough of your gaze to last him the afternoon.”

“Oh, how dull,” Bea said, looking deflated. “Manx is so… well, he’s not as dashing and attractive as Ollie, now is he?”

“Were it not for their different scarves, I wouldn’t know how to tell them apart. They have the same voice, same manner, and each appears to be precisely as fit as the other. I’m not sure how you make the distinction. For that matter, how do we know they hadn’t switched those scarves at least twice on this walk when we weren’t looking?” 

“Ollie is just a hair taller,” Bea said, smirking. “Manx is slightly unkind, but in a fairly attractive way.”

“You are brilliant and absurd.”

Bea laughed, looking like her old self for once. “And that’s why you love me, Georgia.”

“Forever and ever, dearest.”

“You can also tell them apart by their rings,” Bea said. “Ollie wears a silver signet ring with a white pearl, while Manx prefers gold with black opal.” She pointed discreetly at Manx, and Georgia realized he was indeed wearing an elegant gold band with a black stone. Georgia made a mental note, just in case she ever got them confused. “I heard Mr. Hampton talking about your magic sword. I take it he disapproves?”

“He’s very old-fashioned when it comes to the fairer sex,” Georgia said. “I suspect he doesn’t much like the idea of women with swords.”

Bea shook her head in mock disapproval. “Imagine how shocked he would be to learn you know how to use one?”

Georgia smiled. “I never understood why Uncle Raymond insisted I take those lessons. It makes sense now. As for Mr. Hampton, I was able to introduce the idea of you paired with one of his sons, without being vulgar. Mr. Stackhouse will take it up with him when he returns from his trip. In the meantime, you have a chance to impress these gentlemen.”

Georgia turned back just as Mr. Bailey was finishing the picnic setup. The men waited to one side, allowing her to pick where to sit, which was an informal way to handle the protocol. After she took her spot, Hampton’s sons effortlessly positioned themselves to face both her and their father. Bea placed herself just behind Georgia so she could talk to the boys, but also avoid the protocol problem. Mr. Hampton awkwardly settled to one side. By not facing Georgia directly, he was technically proving Uncle Raymond right about ‘new money.’ Georgia let it go, though.  Because she was a duchess, they waited for her to begin the conversation now that they were sitting. Georgia began by saying, “The weather is lovely, and this picnic is most enjoyable.” After that, the party ate cucumber and mustard sandwiches of the blandest possible variety.

“Do you enjoy your work, Manx?” Bea asked. Ah yes, the old, ‘get them talking about work’ tactic. Georgia approved. Bea was particularly skilled at appearing quite prim, precise, and able to eat as if hunger didn’t exist in her world. She smiled at Manx to draw him out.

Sadly, it didn’t go that way.

“Lady Georgia, what is your opinion on the situation in the upper northlands? I just read the most terrible article about packs of winter wolves attacking people on the mountain roads. Some of them are said to be the size of ponies,” Ollie asked, interrupting. “Now that you are Protector of the Realms, you must have something to say on the subject?”

Oh, dear.

Things changed as another figure came down the lane from higher up the mountain.

“I say. Who is that odd fellow?” Manx asked, twitching.

A young man with a broad smile, spectacles, and a bowl hat approached. He wore a smart waistcoat, vest, long-sleeve shirt, and trousers, which would have seemed quite reasonable, except his entire ensemble was in various shades of blue. Even his button-sided boots were blue leather. In his hand was an elegant walking cane with a lovely silver handle. The shaft was polished beechwood and intricately carved with a pattern of stars. Georgia gazed at his lapel, where a gold pin made to look like a daisy with some sort of rune etching glinted in the sunlight. The young man stopped, as a songbird flew over and began to chirp. He listened and then said, “I’m sorry, I do not know where she got off to. You should probably keep an eye on the nest until she returns. I mean, that would be the responsible thing to do.”

The songbird chirped flatly and flew off. The young man smiled, then turned back and spotted the picnic party. “Good day,” he said.

“Good day,” Mr. Hampton greeted him back.