Chapter Text
Chapter 1: Summer Solstice -
The Summer solstice ball was a time for customary seasonal greetings of all the important fae-people of a very important society with a very important court. It was what they all told themselves and, being the most glamorous and brilliant magical beings of them all, was what they all agreed upon.
Camila liked these affairs enough, they were a chance to catch the eye of emissaries and dignitaries who could later be smoothly called upon to support the bootstrapped operations of her animal rescue and rehab operation. Every little bit of sponsorship and goodwill helped, a bag of gold or rubies traded for feed and medical equipment saved the lives of innocent animals.
Savvy with soliciting sponsorship and skilled with an enviable dexterity, she also moonlighted as a contracted taxidermist hired out for commissions, with the money earned going straight back into her own rescue center.
Last time at one of these parties she snagged a great tribute from a Duke and Duchess who had a kid with a soft spot for great winter owls and fell into a deep trance after Camila showed him an enchanted portrait of one she helped nurse back to health and set free. The silent flight of this owl, the boy whispered with a haunting dulcet voiced tone, would herald in the great voice of winter. His parents swooned and pledged chests of treasure.
Although Camila was from a great house, it was not a particularly cuddly nor generous one, they lacked any interest in tossing over even one silver dime to her. From their point of view their logic was sound. What the hell’s so great about animal rescue and rehab? It earns you no additional prestige, no additional money, and does not make you more powerful. They also found taxidermy an unbecoming occupation, they did not think beautiful women should trouble themselves with craft or waste their hands on laboring. Camila was largely on her own, though thankfully not completely.
She scanned the crowds to find and make her way to a very attractive peaches and cream blonde, one with a countenance of lush fruit and whose words in contrast were often cantankerous with acid. An academic genius with a cadre of parasocial admirers, this woman was rude and acted like she hated (mostly) everyone, because she did. She was one of Camila’s great loves.
Ellie was her best friend and had a much stronger grievance about attending. They were each other’s since their young academy days, swearing with crossed pinkies during a late evening sleepover to never let the larger machinations of their melodramatic families and their multi-generational squabbles get in the way.
Their houses viewed one another as sometimes enemies and sometimes friends, there was never a clean label nor had there been one for at least half of the last 300 years. And these young women made the mature decision to put their relationship above all that.
They shared a lot in common: they especially both loved to read, research, and had a fascination with dark, morbid topics not appropriate for respectable young ladies. Camila loved small animal anatomy and surgery. Ellie loved political intrigue and vintage spellbooks that elicited gruesome horror. Both were a little too weird for their families desperately seeking conventional popularity and social climbing, and both could not care less.
“Aren’t you glad you came?” Camila whispered discretely, leaning her cheek upon Ellie’s in a customary greeting, low enough only for her to hear. Out of the two, Camila was by far more polite.
“I’ll be glad to leave,” Ellie dryly replied, her apricot skin already beginning to flush. It was too damned hot, the outfits were too stuffy, and the beverages weren’t cold enough. Attendance was mandatory but she wasn’t in the mood to pretend and smile. Everyone in her immediate family was around. Her parents, her brothers, she was to be on good behavior, they already knew better than to ask for her best. Helios, the oldest, mother’s current focus, was helpless cattle on the marriage market for her ambitious political machinations. Ellie’s younger brother played up the fop role of the second son beautifully and created no reason for others to try and look for deeper meaning beyond his outlandish bids for attention and spectacle.
The pavane is customary at these types of gatherings and Camila’s last partner of the evening was a young man she knew of through a warm connection, built like a sylph and who led a very superfluous existence of fine clothes, fine companions, and fine parties. Ladies-in-waiting twittered after his presence and whispered like goldfinches. Slippers and chopines well-jeweled with silk, gold and crystal travelled across the floor. Music was played by an enchanted orchestra and the DJ, supplying electronic dance beats, was an electron sprite. Outfits of every color and texture. Decoration of tapestry and mirrors and warm light. Servants holding platters and incense. It was heady, intoxicating, suffocating, decadent, and also not entirely Camila’s vibe.
“You’re still running your little menagerie? Are you sure you aren’t trying to raise an army of witch familiars?” he teased. His doublet was luxuriously soft and well-fitted and he cradled her hand lightly with his long fingers.
“Yes, I am. Dear Argent, speaking of which, when will you decide to do something for society?” she chirped back playfully.
Argent’s eyes were hilarious and he said nothing further. They did not talk anymore that evening.
The courtyard was a dazzle of orange and flame colored pomp and circumstance. Up ahead a juggler of fire hoops was entertaining a crowd of silent, blue-skinned fairfolk, and a few yards away, a lady on stilts offered lemonade to passerbys for the price of a secret from a monteith.
The evening’s guest of honor was the Duke of Warwick, a diplomat. Handsome and wide-shouldered, in the appearance of a human in his 50s with a good wife and five sons. He had a reputation for being formidable in his younger years in battle and eased over time into the role of a skilled politician who knew how to count and call in favors. Up on the dais, his solemn speech emphasized the need for continued negotiations and goodwill towards multiple factions and opposing parties. A politician's speech designed to say words, mean nothing, and upset nobody unless you were attuned to key shibboleths.
At the 15 minute mark, when both Camila and Ellie were done with giving each other side-eyes and quite bored and ready for the whole thing to be over, a swift arrow from the corner of the room struck the diplomat straight into his heart. The killer was easily spotted by the crowd, lingering by the exit path for a half-second before making his escape with light footfalls.
Diplomat Warwick, previous chancellor to Pisces, fell to the ground quite dead, with a cold iron arrow halfway buried in his chest.
Camila instinctively grabbed for Ellie’s hand, her brown curls disheveled and breath ragged.
Ellie was wordless, her eyes were wide and she leaned on Camila, a wave of horror turned her knees weak.
For the murderer was Argent, her favorite brother and beloved twin, and while his reputation of being a frivolous spare was widely known, no one before that day ever suspected him capable of killing a well-regarded statesman in front of countless witnesses at the biggest social event of the season.
Like quicksilver and wind, Argent was already gone. Guards trampled heavily in uniform after him, they would fail and not find anything.