A Hurried Revenge
All was silent in the stone halls of House Jesby. The grand feast that had followed the arrival of Zane's emissary was long past. Wine and song had filled the halls and hearts of those attending, and the banquet was immense. It was a glorious time in the Courts of Chaos. But eventually the festivities died down, and guest and host alike turned to rest and recuperate from their revelry. Zane's recent pronouncements had shaken up much of the power structure, but Lord Jesby was well in the new King's good graces. The House would stand high in the new power structure, and with so many now fled to Middlecourt, the possibilities were nearly endless.
But one member of House Jesby had been noticeably subdued during the dinner. Edwin ate only sparingly of his meal, and drank only a little wine. His countenance was strained as he attempted to laugh and joke with the others. Lady Jesby was concerned about her son; his behavior had been strange since he returned from Lepidopolous three years prior. She had inquired about his little foray, and the rumors that he had taken up with some woman, but he awkwardly avoided her questions. Something had happened that had disturbed him greatly, something that seemed to drain his very vitality, leaving him a morose and fearful young man. But Edwin was often imponderable to her, and with so many other distractions she lacked the time and inclination to pry further. He would confide in her in due time; he always had in the past.
And so he wandered those quiet halls, lost in thought. A letter had arrived the previous day...his name on it in a graceful feminine script. And inside...only a blank page. It confused him awhile until he noted that the page had been scented...something delicate and floral. And with a touch of fear he recognized the scent...dahlias...it smelled of dahlias...and with slowly mounting apprehension he realized that it must be a message from her...his former lover Dahlia.
It was hunger that had caused him to awaken and wander, and so now he slowly made his way to the kitchen, tired and sad, and perhaps just a bit paranoid as well. He had felt as if someone were watching him these past few days, but his father had dismissed his concerns. He had no enemies and lacked the prestige or position to acquire any. And so he kept his own counsel.
As he approached the kitchen, he heard a humming sound...and a persistent chopping, as of someone cutting vegetables, and when he passed through the door he noticed a figure with its back to him. Tall and thin, hair bound up in a chef's cap, busily cutting at a small pile of vegetables. The cook turned around immediately, looking slightly startled at Edwin's sudden appearance. He was a thin young man, with green eyes and reddish hair, long of jaw and nose and with a slightly mischievous look about him.
"Evening, milord. You startled me. Is there something I can get for you," the cook inquired, peering at him intently.
"No, I'll just grab something left over from the feast," he replied, feeling somewhat intimidated by the cook's presence.
He hadn't wanted to disturb anyone, had just wanted to be alone really. Something about the cook bothered him. He looked at the young man...his eyes were so very vividly green. Something about that color that reminded him of better times...of forest glades and engagement rings...and he felt himself growing faint. He tried to look away from the cook's eyes and found that he could not. The eyes veritably bored into his mind, and then he blacked out.
When he awoke, he was strapped down to the wooden table in the center of the kitchen. The cook was gone, and in his place stood Whimsy...his beloved...his wife...whom he had abandoned years ago in Lepidopolous, fearing the retribution of her mother, the Princess Fiona of Amber. Whimsy was busily sharpening a butcher knife, humming all the while.
"Don't bother trying to shapeshift your way out of the restraints, I've locked away that portion of your mind. And don't bother screaming. I've taken your voice from you, as well. But don't worry, your thoughts are audible enough to me," she said without really glancing over at him. There was an edge in her voice he had never heard. She looked like the woman he had loved, but something about her was so much harder and colder than before.
"Dahlia, I can explain," he thought to her.
"I do not doubt that you could, Edwin, and were I in the mood for explanations it might do you some good, but I have had three long years to consider our little honeymoon in earnest. I doubt any explanation of yours is going to keep from taking my revenge upon your useless body," she replied aloud.
There were so many things around the room that suddenly stood out to him in perfect clarity. The stew bubbling on the fireplace...the smell of onions...and the steady sound of the sharpening of the blade. The straps holding him moved with him, tighted when he attempted to test them...as if they were alive in some way. And he could not even remember how to speak or shift. "Dahlia, you don't understand...I was scared...."
"Yes, yes, yes, Edwin. So scared you left me bleeding and sobbing in that hostel...so scared that you couldn't even see fit to send a healer to me. So scared that when I began screaming you just couldn't stop," she stated coolly. "Do you think I haven't been over all the possiblities...that I haven't tried to find some way to forgive you? You were, after all, my beloved. I'd love to act out the full drama of this little moment, but I just don't have time. Someone will come her eventually, and by that time I plan to be long gone. I don't want the 'fate worse than death' for you Edwin; I just want you dead."
She moved towards him and began cutting his clothes off of him, being very careful not to cut him with the knife. "Did you know that we had a child, Edwin? He died in childbirth...due to the same defect that caused our first little tussle to become so agonizing for me. I nearly died from it. Just think of it: dirty and bleeding, clutching my dead child in hand, wandering the slums of Chaos. A far picture from the courtly tranquility you promised me, wouldn't you say?"
"I didn't know...."
"You didn't care...."
"Dahlia...give me a chance...it's now what you think...I love you...."
And suddenly she stopped and regarded him. He could see in her eyes some kind of internal struggle, and a lone tear rolled down her cheek. "Oh, Edwin," she whispered softly, "...you said that then, too." And then she ran the blade along the line of his ribs, and began gutting him like a hog.
The process of skinning and deboning Edwin was lengthy, but immensely satisfying. She had to be careful that he hadn't set up some contingency to restore himself, and luckily she found no sign of any sub-brain or such nonsense. She carefully burned his head and remnants in the fireplace, keeping only his heart in a glass jar. Caine and Teresa had taught her a lot about preparing meat for cooking, and so she prepared the ribs, thighs, and other portions as appropriate, and hung them in the icebox of House Jesby, removing just enough meat from the locker to keep anyone from noting the sudden surplus. She activated her amulet to assume a mundane guise, and then left the halls of Jesby, humming as she went.
When she returned to their safehouse, she had blood covering her arms and clothing, and explained it away with the food she had brought. "I had to gut him myself," she commented as she handed over the meat to Caine.