The Duke had departed at noon, taking Aeleon and Gallyia with him. The trip to Casanve would take longer when travelling with humans, and Dalton had estimated he would be gone for about a week to ten days depending on the weather.

That left Ellanor alone with Yvet for a week or more, and with no excuse to avoid the Duchess.

As soon as Dalton had left the castle, Clados had appeared outside Ellanor’s room with an invitation to join the Duchess in the gardens for tea. The golden woman had come to make Ellanor weary whenever she deigned to approach, which would no doubt be more often with the Duke’s absence. Ellanor gladly accepted the invitation, determined to keep Yvet unknowing and on friendly terms for as long as possible. Besides, tea in the gardens did sound nice.

Tara helped dress her Madam in a light, floral dress with big sleeves gathered at the wrist in a cuff. The dress was honestly too thin to wear in the chill mountain air – despite spring finally having chased away the bitter winter’s last snow – so Ellanor slung a short white cape around her shoulders to ward off the cold. With a final nod of encouragement at herself in the mirror, and a quick kiss from Tara, Ellanor left her rooms escorted by Jane.

The Redstone gardens could be found on a giant terrace a few stories up on the castle’s south side. It reached out far enough from the castle wall to provide morning, midday, and evening sun, and contained an assortment of plants from all over the Known World. The afternoon bathed the gardens in a pleasant warmth, just enough to keep the cold air from being a bother. The Duchess Yvet smiled as Ellanor and her guard approached.

“How lovely of you to join me,” said Yvet with a genuine smile. A teapot, two cups, as well as a tray of sweets had been set upon an iron-and-glass table, accompanied by a matching set of chairs. The Duchess sat perched on one, her blue dress neatly draped around her, hands folded over in her lap. She nodded to the other chair. “Please, sit.”

Ellanor thanked the Duchess and sat down, Jane taking up a place down the path where she had a clear view of their surroundings. A servant emerged from where she had been waiting beside a nearby fountain, and poured Ellanor a cup of tea, adding milk but no sugar. Ellanor knew better than to thank the man – despite him being a full blooded avvir – and instead politely inclined her head. The Servant bowed deeply without ever looking at Ellanor or Yvet, and returned to his place a few paces away. 

Birds chirped all around them, bees busying themselves at every flower, a few butterflies fluttering past. The windless day made the whole world seem to slow down, a moment of peace and quiet that Ellanor wished she could capture and keep with her in a box at all times. She closed her eyes and breathed in the crisp, sweet air through her nose. Her tail curled gently around her legs, her entire body relaxing.

“This place is magical,” Ellanor said after a moment. She lifted her cup and took a sip of her tea. The warm beverage tasted of roses and honey.

“Some would claim it is,” Yvet answered, her face turned to the sun, basking in its light. “The garden is enchanted to survive the winters and the harsh mountain storms. But I could swear it is more than that.” She cracked an eye open and smiled at Ellanor. “Although, the gardeners believe me crazy.”

Ellanor tried not to stare at the Duchess – this was not her normal chatter and gossip, the things Ellanor had gotten used to over the past few days, and during the parties before that.

The Duchess continued, “I do apologize for my brother, I cannot fathom what could be so important that he had to leave in such a haste. He barely said a word, just murmured something about ‘business’ and left.” She paused. “Kind of him to bring your slaves with him to drop off at Skyward.”

Ellanor tried not to stir at the word, so casually thrown into the conversation. “Yes, he is very kind, the Duke.”

“Too kind for his own good, I reckon,” Yvet scoffed. She picked up one of the sweets off the tray – compressed, flavoured sugar by the looks of it, wrapped in crinkly paper  – and put it on her tongue. After a moment she spoke again.

“Sometimes I wonder if our parents were too soft on him,” the Duchess said. “Keeping him on too long a leach. When he ran away to that temple and was taken in by the priestesses, I really thought it might do him some good. That he would stay there and choose the path of the blue-winged scholars – a worthy life, might I add, for a third born Grand Duchess son.”

Ellanor knew she was walking on thin ice and should steer the exchange in another direction, but– “Why do you think he changed his mind?”

“Oh, I have been trying to figure that out for years, and I am none the wiser,” Yvet answered. “Though I suspect he had a change of faith. I have not seen him perform even the slightest act of religiousness or superstition since he left the temple. Not even during the larger holidays, except for the bare minimum of traditions.”

Ellanor contemplated it for a while. “The Duke, he will not inherit much, will he?” she eventually asked, the words sounding much bolder out loud.

Amusement flashed across Duchess Yvet’s face and she turned from the sun once again to study Ellanor. “Why, are you looking to wed him?”

Ellanor nearly choked on her tea, having to fight every instinct to spit it out on the ground. Instead she swallowed hard and shook her head violently – childishly. “No, no, not at all–”

Yvet broke out laughing, hand in front of her mouth, wings shaking with the sound. “Oh, you should have seen yourself, dear Ellanor,” the Duchess laughed. She dried off a tear and collected herself with a breath. “Ah, no you are much too young for him, it would be wildly inappropriate. I have been trying to get him married for decades; have introduced him to countless worthy women – and a few men – who will inherit grand estates and fortunes. I even managed to present him to a princess, whom he charmed grandly, but when the offer of marriage was proposed he had the audacity to turn it down!” Yvet threw up a hand in frustration. “He could have been Prince Tor, even if the title is only by marriage. Can you believe him?”

Ellanor shook her head no, although inside she knew exactly why he had turned the princess down. “What about you, Yvet? You are not yet married – you must have a line of suitors!”

“Oh, you flatter me,” said the Duchess. “And yes, I have turned down a fair share of wedding proposals.” She sips from her tea. “I suppose I am a bit too optimistic in my taste in men.”

“Oh?” Ellanor enquiered.

The Duchess sighed dramatically. “I really should not chatter about my family so much, but I suppose us girls between…” She picked up another sweet and unwrapped it with graceful fingers before eating it. Ellanor too took a sweet this time, the sugary taste with a hint of strawberry lingering in her mouth.

“My sister and I were raised to take over the household once our mother – the late Grand Duchess of Redstone – passed. Mother was a loving woman, to all of us, though she did coddle Tor in a way she did not me and Philippa. But I was never jealous of him, mind you. I knew I had pulled the long straw between the three of us.

“It was clear from a young age that Philippa was more interested in battle strategies and world politics than household economy, but as sole heir to the Redstone estate for the first five and twenty years of her life she had little choice. When I was born she was finally allowed to join the military – and I was trained to take over the household in her stead.”

Ellanor’s interest was no lie as she leaned further toward Yvet. “Were you ever jealous of her?”

“Mother no!” the Duchess exclaimed. “Like I said, I have always been content with my place. I am no soldier, nothing like the Legionaries I hire, and certainly not like Philippa. The ‘Grand Duchess’ title would have been completely wasted on me, dear.” She waves a hand in the air and the servant reappears and pours the two of them more tea. “Are you hungry, Ellanor? Would you like me to call for something to eat?”

Ellanor opened her mouth to reject the offer, but then changed her mind – she had barely eaten lunch. “If it is not too much of a burden,” she said politely.

“Oh, nonsense,” Yvet said, once again waving to the servant who immediately disappeared toward the castle. “Now, where was I– No, I was never jealous of Philippa, and what I know she was never jealous of me. I loved court life – still love it, live for it – the balls, the manners, the language. It all came naturally to me.

“I began hosting my own events at the age of fourteen – can you believe! – and it was like living the dream. When Tor came along I practically took over the household, as Philippa had just become guard to the Queen and our parents were busy with the babe.” Something sad came over her and she gazed blindly out over the gardens. “When mother and father passed away Philippa signed over Redstone to me – despite it having been left to the two of us equally.”

Ellanor could not help but pity the woman before her. “I am sorry for your loss.”

Yvet gave her a gentle smile. “Thank you. And I am sorry for yours – I was surprised when Tor said you were coming to visit so close after Lourelle’s passing.”

“I– needed distraction,” Ellanor said honestly, “and to be away from Skyward for a little while. I felt as if everyone at the estate needed some time.”

They sat silent a moment, the air around them light despite the heavy turn in conversation. Eventually the food arrived, and with it a change in subject.

“You know what would be a wonderful idea?” the Duchess said between bites. “A ball! Oh, I have not thrown one in a while, and we could dedicate it to you! An official announcement of the new Madam Skyward.”

Ellanor blinks. “I am not sure that is necessary–” she begins, but Yvet speaks right over her.

“Of course it would not be in mockery of Lourelle, but a celebration of the life she had, and the heir she so gracefully raised on her own. It would be greatly appreciated I am sure – people will be expecting some form of memorium.”

The Duchess did have a point. Burials and funerals were a human tradition and not something that the Immortals of the Known World partook in, rather having their own traditions. In Avvyr, avvir bound their wings – or chests as Ellanor had done – for the amount of time they felt suited their own grief, a very personal decision that no one had the right to question. But the body of the deceased was not of the same import as in other cultures – after all the soul, the person whom it had once been – was no longer there. That did not mean they just discarded the remains in whatever way. No, the body was still preserved by medics and scholars, either to be used in research or to be cremated.

Instead the life of the deceased was celebrated, especially in the higher classes of society, with gatherings like dinners and balls. Ellanor had not spared much thought to what she would do to honor her great aunt – and Lourelle had not left much direction – but a ball at Redstone might not be such a bad idea. She could then throw a private luncheon or dinner for Lourelle’s closests friends once she got back to Skyward.

“I believe it is a splendid idea, Yvet.”

The Duchess shone up and giggled excitedly. “Oh, we have so much to plan! Decisions to make, what the theme will be. Oh, you have to provide me with all the details of Lourelle’s likes and dislikes – make her spirit proud at the Mother’s side.”

Ellanor could not help but feel a little bit excited.