Treachery and Tea
The Mystery of Moriamis
Part 1. Fenswick Keep
“I could never understand this Fenswick fascination for tea.”
“Try it. And have some crumpets, as well. These are considered the best in the Known World.”
The young man watched as his hostess gracefully raised her outstretched arm, holding out a porcelain teacup. Her movements were carefully practiced, suave and slow and almost seductive.
When the young man had reached out for the crumpets, a disturbing thought jarred his mind. Looking at the slim alabaster arm of his hostess, he realized her skin was white as snow, and almost as pale as the albino skin of his “brother” whom he had come here to betray.
“Do go on, Noussoir. I’m listening…” she said, as she poured herself a cup.
“Princess… I…”
“Dolores, dear. In private, you may call me Dolores.”
Noussoir was clearly uneasy at even mentioning her name, and decided to avoid addressing her directly altogether, or even looking straight into her eyes. Instead, Noussoir looked around nervously at the sitting room, its somber drapes and dark paneled-walls, its heavy furniture lined in deep-colored velvet. It was quite unlike most other Fenswick sitting rooms… dreary, threatening, even sinister. And perhaps most sinister of all, Noussoir thought, was his hostess and her charming manners, much like poison disguised with sweet honey.
In that self-same manner, Dolores continued their conversation: “So you’re saying that Dame Diane de Moriamis has been… replaced?”
“Y-yes, Princess… Dolores. Madame La Vicomtesse is being impersonated by another who appears in her place at the social affairs.”
“But I have not seen either this new Dame Diane, nor the old one (not that I miss her), in the recent parties of Glantri.”
“Oh but she has only made appearances in Nouvelle Averoigne. She represented Prince Malachie at the d’Ambreville wedding a few years ago, and by all accounts she is a sight to behold: young, vibrant, with golden-brown hair, chestnut eyes, and a voluptuous figure, not at all like the real Vicomtesse.”
“Is that so? And aren’t their differences rather… conspicuous?”
“Mais oui, madame princesse! But the d’Ambrevilles—the strange lot that they are—they treat her as if they’ve known her for ages. And they all say that she is charming and gentille, and completely familiar with the d’Ambrevilles and the rest of the Sylaire nobility.”
“And who is this new Dame Diane?”
“Some say she is actually the grandmother of the Vicomtesse who has traveled through time to guide her—how do you say—prodigal children.”
“A grandmother who looks younger than her granddaughter? And one who can travel through time? Why, chronomancy has been unheard of since the time of the Alph…”
Princess Dolores deliberately let her voice trail off to prevent the young rumormongering socialite to hear her words. In her mind, ancient memories stirred… an empire of wizards… powerful ambitions… and even more powerful magic… tales of traveling into the past… and the future… the wrath of the Immortals… and secrets kept forever.
Princess Dolores quickly resumed the conversation before Noussoir noticed her lapse into reminiscence.
“And the old Dame Diane? What of her?”
“That I do not know, madame princesse. The last I know of her was years ago, when she exiled herself to Château Malinbois. She may still be there to this day.”
“Unaware of the present events, apparently…” noted Dolores, her mind already hatching some sinister plot.
“Then again,” suggested Noussoir, “she may already have ‘died in a laboratory accident.’” Noussoir met her gaze for the first time, signifying their mutual comprehension of the Glantrian euphemism for a suspicious death.
But when Dolores turned away, Noussoir allowed a little shiver to run down his spine.
