Fiction: The Library of Eristat / The Seven Suitors, Chapter 2
A serialized mystery in a fantasy setting, now with extra Tarot
Author’s note: The Seven Suitors is a novel-length mystery in a fantasy setting I’m serializing here. It’s also the follow-up to the Library of Eristat story you may have read. Chapter One can be found here.
Silas had still not found a way to dispose of his drink, a situation that was rapidly becoming a social handicap as he watched a slow migration of well-dressed young men heading to the courtyard. An event like this only drew that many noble males to one place if there was a fight breaking out, or if there was a woman involved. And if Silas was going to follow them, it would probably convey a better message if he didn’t show up looking like he couldn’t pause in his drinking for long enough to meet the princess.
Seeing no better option, Silas gently set the partially full goblet on the ground next to a pillar, telling himself that surely no one here would be drinking so much at a funeral to find themselves tripping over what looked like a valuable enough cup to have covered the entire cost of his travel here.
One yellow-haired young man seemed on the verge of setting out into the courtyard himself, but hesitated, holding himself in place just as he seemed on the verge of crossing the threshold.
“Excuse me! Do you know where I could find…” The question caught in Silas’s throat, as the yellow-haired man gazed at him with a mix of amusement and disbelief.
“You’re not from around here, are you.” The yellow-haired man’s locks drifted to one side as he turned to look at Silas.
Silas smiled tersely. “No. My name is Silas of House Nareth, I’m from Erelia.”
The yellow-haired man seemed bemused as he shook his head. “And let me guess. You have come to visit our country, and finding yourself on our doorstep in this time of crisis from the late Lord’s death, you intend to offer your services to the princess. And you are so confident this is a good idea that you are now announcing your intention to me, a noble of the region myself, so I can steer you in the direction of pursuing one of our women.” The young man chuckled sadly to himself. “And here I am, someone who has known the princess for years, still weighing whether or not I should be doing this. Perhaps I should learn from your confidence.” The yellow-haired man gestured in the direction of the courtyard. “Follow me, I can show you the way.”
Silas nodded, and began to walk behind the yellow-haired young man. As they passed into the courtyard, Silas did his best to not gawk at some of the most impressive feats of replicating the details of the human form in sculpture that he had ever seen, as the yellow-haired man was beginning to talk, his tone suggesting no antipathy towards Silas as he led him to their mutual goal.
“My name is Cedric. I am the heir to my own house. That title comes with a number of responsibilities that could end up taking me away from here before we have the chance to get to know each other better, depending upon whether the princess shows either of us the favor of hosting us at the castle to court her. I couldn’t help overhearing you earlier, you said you were the eldest of your own house yourself?”
Silas nodded, unable to help feeling defensive despite Cedric’s seeming politeness. “I understand what you’re saying, and I’ve thought through the implications. If the princess were to decide that what she wants is to marry me, I could choose to—”
“If this is what she wants—I’m sorry.” Cedric sighed, pausing for a second as he collected his thoughts. “I am probably hurting my own chances by saying this, but I would ask that you choose your words more carefully in front of the princess. Irrespective of whatever happens next, I can guarantee she will not, at the end, want to marry you. I know that she doesn’t want this. For all I know, she may not want to hear from any of us, and would rather be left to herself with what time she has left. But if she is seriously thinking of going through with this, it will be because she has no choice.”
Silas flushed, feeling like he had just been lectured. “I am sorry for my choice of words. I realize I am coming in here as an outsider…”
“Yes, you are.” Cedric let out a second sigh, longer than the first. “I cannot blame you for not fully understanding the situation, but please understand that you did not arrive at the public unveiling of some young debutante, here to collect admirers from around the world. Rowena has just lost her father, and her fate will be to lose everything if she cannot find a way to change it.”
Cedric pointed at a spot near the castle wall as they reached the spot in the courtyard where the young nobles seemed to have gathered, a large set of double doors separating them from what Silas assumed had to be the throne room. “You can speak with the steward if your intentions are serious. I would assume that the princess is only entertaining applicants from the nobility, but he should know enough about the region to be able to validate your claim.”
“Thank you.” Silas nodded at the man. That went about as well as he could have hoped, considering the position he was in. “Perhaps we’ll see each other again if she asks us both to stay.”
Cedric seemed to smile at the notion. “That would make less sense to me than her picking either one of us, or neither, but we shall see. Now, I can not, speaking honestly, say that I wish you good luck.” Cedric gave a firm shake of Silas’s hand. “But I hope that you come away with a story worth telling, and a fate not weaved for the worse.”
Cedric nodded, before walking off towards a well-dressed man Silas took to be the steward. Silas repeated the last words in his head, a fate not weaved for the worse. It was a religious reference, to the local goddess of death, Moriae. Interesting that Cedric would offer him what was essentially a prayer. If some of the nobles here took their religious traditions seriously, rather than wielding them as a tool to prop up their own power, that by itself was useful to know.
After Cedric finished his business, Silas pressed forward and introduced himself to the steward, a short grey-haired man shuffling papers with a long list of names. There was a flicker of recognition in his eyes as Silas presented his credentials. The steward nodded at him, made some notes, and Silas made room for another young noble in orange robes who seemed similarly out of place—probably another foreigner.
Silas had somehow lost Cedric, but peeling out of a circle of hopeful men, Alexander was walking towards him with a smile on his face.
“See, I knew I’d find you here.” Alexander patted him on the back with a casual familiarity. “Clearly, you aren’t the kind of man to settle for paying your respects, when you can win some respect for yourself instead. Have you decided on your strategy yet?”
Just talking to Alexander made Silas feel like he had downed more of his drink than he had intended. “Do I need one?”
“If you want to have something to do for the next two weeks before the wedding instead of washing out right away, then yes. And no, you can’t do the star-struck lover.” Alexander wagged his finger at Silas. “That’s my thing, and there’s no way you could pull it off as well.”
Silas shook his head, in a mix of disbelief and bemusement. “What are my other options?”
“Well, this is your disadvantage for coming in late. Most of the classic archetypes are already being performed.” Alexander leaned over to point towards a tall man in dark purple clothes engaged in sober conversation. “Gideon of Trent is all-in on playing it aloof. He has less of a need than anyone to be here, he’s currently lord of the house with the largest standing army in Aeolia. He’s situated well enough that he really could just have come here to pay his respects. But I doubt it.”
“If you want to try charming and dangerous, there’s someone you should be taking lessons from.” Alexander pointed to one of the men in red who was gazing up at the towers of the castle. “Wesley of Gilder. His wit is as sharp as his blade, and supposedly he’s already been chasing the princess for a while—and a few others besides.”
“And unless I mistake myself, it looked like you already met the sap attempting the role of the white knight.” Alexander rolled his eyes. “Cedric of whatever. Too deferential and courteous to say what he really thinks. Chivalry may be dying, but if he’s any indication, it will hardly be missed. So what are you aiming at? Exotic foreigner with tales from another land? Brooding stranger with a dark past? What’s your game?”
Silas blinked. “At this stage, if I were in her position, I imagine the princess would be looking for security. Someone she could trust to make an alliance with, someone reliable and capable of looking out for her interests.”
Alexander shook his head. “You’re talking like you’re trying to impress her father—who, in case you missed the point of the last few hours, is no longer around to play a role in his daughter’s love life. You’re not going to convince the princess of anything. The whole point is to make her feel something.”
“I’m not sure I agree.” Silas responded. “Shouldn’t she want to know she’s making the best choice?”
Alexander laughed. “Of course she won’t know whether she’s making the best choice. It would be impossible for her to know. Trying to know for sure would only drive her mad. What she wants is to have that decision taken out of her hands. She wants to be swept off her feet, fall hopelessly in love, and rush into this thing without catching a breath to worry about it.”
Silas let his skepticism show through. “You’re really sure about that?”
“Of course.” Alexander smiled. “You probably think me rude, an experienced traveler like yourself must think himself well informed on the ways of the world…”
“Well, I have read a lot of books…”
“But it is clear that you do not understand women. Rowena is not the first desperate heiress in need of a husband, the path her life is about to follow is a road well-worn. She will end up with whoever stokes her passions the most and takes her mind off her problems. Think about it. What else can she do?”
Three Weeks Ago
Rowena sniffed involuntarily as she crossed over the threshold. The tent was damp, musty, and reeked of incense. A lantern resting on a hook suspended from the ceiling cast shafts of light that reflected off crystal balls, pendants, and other mystical knickknacks, but revealed no sign of an occupant. Part of the tent’s interior was obscured by a makeshift curtain separating the owner’s probable mundane living space from their fantastic storefront. The sign outside had promised visions of the future, and the secrets of the universe revealed to those who would step inside and pay the right price—with no explanation offered as to why someone in possession of those secrets preferred such humble accommodations. A worn circular table with chairs on either side seemed to be the liminal threshold where futures were revealed and prices were haggled. A dagger mark near the center of the table suggested that at least one customer had not been happy with their future, or the price they had to pay to see it.
Rowena took another step forward apprehensively. She wasn’t used to traveling without an escort—or being in a place like this at all. Her carriage was waiting outside, and it would only take the briefest of moments to have help rushing in. But unless she was prepared to admit that coming here had been a complete waste of time, she wanted to make sure that whatever she learned, she learned alone.
“I’m sorry, we’re not open for business right now.” A creaky voice carried from behind the curtain, and an elderly woman with stringy gray hair poked her head out to look at Rowena. “The use of the gift is very taxing, I do hope you’ll stop by tomorrow.”
“I was hoping you might be able to see me tonight.” Rowena spoke softly. “I’ve come a long way.”
The old woman took a closer look at Rowena, who was wearing a plain hooded robe intended to give away nothing about her background or status. But after the old woman began to emerge from the back room, Rowena guessed she must still have the air of someone not used to being refused.
“For the right guest, exceptions can always be made. For some souls, the fate Moriae has woven is easier to perceive.” The fortune teller moved slowly across the room, fixing her eyes on Rowena, who was staring back at her. “Have we met before, I wonder? You seem familiar. There is an aura about you I recognize. Perhaps only from my visions.”
Rowena stared impassively at the old woman, while inwardly hoping she meant what she said. “You once advised my mother.”
The fortune teller looked confused for a moment, and then her eyes widened in recognition as she stared at Rowena. “The princess of Lithos! Please, please, sit down.” The old woman scrambled around the room, straightening and rearranging piles of goods almost at random. She picked up what looked like a deck of tarot cards and hurried over to the table. “Your mother was a child of destiny. So many futures lay before her. Few have such potential, but fewer still have the wisdom and opportunity to pick the best one.” The fortune teller began to shuffle her cards. “I’ve heard news of your father’s illness, I expect you wish to know how he will fare?”
“My father is dead.” Rowena stated bluntly. The fortune teller stopped shuffling and looked at her in surprise. Rowena closed her eyes and sighed, feeling her tears well up again, but choosing not to give in to them just yet. “The moment the news becomes public I will only have a few weeks before I lose everything. Until then I am trying to figure out what to do next. But I am running out of time.”
Rowena didn’t think it possible, but the fortune teller’s eyes seemed to widen even further. “So you too must find a husband! It would seem that fate as well as fortune can be passed on by blood.” The fortune teller’s agile hands shuffled, cut and interleaved the cards as she spoke. She had an excited gleam in her eye. “You have come to the right place.”
“I’m sorry for the imposition. I can of course pay you quite well...”
The fortune teller waved her hand disapprovingly and went back to shuffling. “There will be no talk of money tonight. Too often is my gift wasted on those who do not have the will or opportunity to change their fate. A chance to shape history is all the reward I need...”
The fortune teller laid her palms on the table and closed her eyes. Her eyelids fluttered to reveal empty whites underneath, and she began to murmur to herself. Although she wasn’t sure if the old lady could notice, Rowena did her best to seem engrossed in the process. After about a minute of this, the fortune teller breathed a sigh and opened her eyes.
“I see seven men coming to seek your hand, each bent on it with all their purpose. But the cards shall tell us more.” The old lady reached for the top of her deck and turned over a card. It showed a young man about to walk off the edge of the cliff. “The Fool. No surprise. Among your suitors there is a man ill-equipped to be your husband: he is ignorant of both you and the realities of the game he finds himself in. Let us see what more we can learn.” She turned over a second card, crossing it over the first. It showed a regal figure sitting on top of a chariot pulled by two otherworldly steeds. The fortune teller laughed. “The Chariot. And so the source of this man’s folly is revealed. He fancies himself the master of his fate, but he is at the mercy of forces beyond his control and comprehension. I do not think you will be in danger of picking this man, although he may still have his role to play. Let us see what else the cards have to say.”
Sliding the two cards to one side, she laid down another. It showed a young man holding up a single coin marked with a pentagram. “The Page of Coins. Not a champion of wealth, and not a master of it. I would say that this is a seeker of wealth and power... perhaps come with an eye to your family’s fortune.” She turned a second card over the first. “The Moon. What else indeed for a seeker of wealth? This man is marked by deception and illusion, the false mask he wears conceals his true purpose in seeking you out. You would do well to be wary of him.”
Another card appeared with a knight charging into battle. The fortune teller smiled. “Ah, the Knight of Swords. A man who possesses both power and inner strength. This would be an individual of great courage, as well as...” She turned over another card and frowned. “Selfishness. The Four of Coins. He uses his power for his own benefit, or possibly for those close to him. Which may or may not suit you.” The fortune teller took a careful look at Rowena, whose face was caught in a frown. The fortune teller shrugged and moved on.
The next card appeared to show a man standing on a tree branch... until the fortune teller reversed it and showed the man dangling from that same branch. “The Hanged Man. A scapegoat or a martyr. This is not someone whose fate you want to tie to your own.” A second card was revealed. “The Ace of Coins. Lured into a trap by the promise of a sudden fortune, perhaps? Whatever is leading this man to his fate, you should have no cause to join it.”
The fortune teller began to reveal her fifth pair of cards, showing a blindfolded woman bound by ropes and standing against a wall. “The Eight of Swords. This is the card of captivity, and bondage. One of your suitors is not a free man, in either his circumstances or his will.” A second card revealed a trio of swords piercing a heart. “The Three of Swords: emotional loss. This man is tied down by some grief he can not escape. He lacks the freedom to love and live, to direct his own fate.”
Rowena’s head was swimming trying to keep up with everything she was being told, but the fortune teller pressed gamely onward, seemingly eager to have a captive audience. “The Page of Cups! A seeker of love, but like our other Page I suspect his desires outmatch what he is prepared to give.” A second card was flipped over, showing a man gazing at a set cups filled with everything imaginable. “The Seven of Cups. Wishful thinking. This man desires to invite you into a fantasy of love that has little to do with the real thing. Whether he believes in it or not hardly matters—you will not want to be around to see the illusion shatter.”
Whatever else she might think of the reading, Rowena couldn’t help but notice none of her options sounded particularly appealing. But there was still one more to go, if she had been keeping track. She leaned in to watch the final reveal.
The fortune teller looked at the card and frowned as she laid it on the table. It showed a hideous demonic figure with red wings sticking out from its shoulders. “The Devil. The card of bondage and enslavement. This is a truly evil man, full of dark intentions and a will that would stop at nothing to fulfill them. Out of all the ones we’ve seen, this is the man you want nothing to do with.” A second card was placed on top of the first. “The Wheel of Fortune. Your actions will change this man’s fate forever. He will either rise or fall depending upon your actions. You should pray that he falls, but with the fate that stands before you now, he seems set to rise.”
Rowena slumped back in her chair. The reading was over, and without a bit of good news. But the fortune teller was still holding a card in her hand. “And finally we have...”
“You said seven men would seek my hand, right?”
The fortune teller froze, still grasping the card. “I believe I did.”
“There’s already seven sets of cards on the table. Shouldn’t this be it?”
The fortune teller looked at the cards already on the table and frowned. She glanced back at the card already in her hand. “Well, sometimes the path the goddess has weaved can be hard to interpret. It appears there is still more to be revealed, perhaps this will make it all clear.”
The card showed an old man holding a lantern. “The Hermit.” The fortune teller paused, unsure of what to make of this final revelation. “This is not a trait I would expect of a noble suitor. This is a man who has lived in isolation from the world.” The next card showed a man standing in front of a table with arcane symbols, wand raised up high. “The Magician. This suggests someone with knowledge of another realm. with gifts not shared by others. Secrets define this man. The ones that he keeps, and the ones he will reveal. Your future is shrouded in mystery, and a man like this could be a powerful ally. Or he might simply be mad.” The fortune teller sat in silence for a moment, then gazed over at Rowena. “What do you make of all this?”
Rowena blinked in disbelief. “You’re asking me? I thought you were the one with the gift.”
“I can only see the general form your fate will take.” The fortune teller offered. “You’re the one who must ultimately interpret and decide how it applies to you, and what choices you will make.”
“That’s not what you told my mother.”
The fortune teller paused again, caught off guard. “Excuse me?”
“That’s not what you told my mother when she came to you for advice. You gave her a reading, but then you named names. You told her who each suitor was, offering up secrets about the men in her lives their own families didn’t know.”
The fortune teller began to look uncomfortable. “For some the goddess’s path is clearer...”
“What changed between then and now?” Rowena felt her face flush. “Did you lose your gift? Has this all just been a waste of my time?”
The fortune teller began to crumple in her seat and look downward. Rowena began to feel guilty for badgering the old woman. It had been a mistake to come here in the first place, thinking all her problems could just be solved just like that. She began to stand up. “I’ll just go...”
“I never had a gift.”
Rowena looked back at the fortune teller, surprised.
“I’ve never been able to see the future.” The fortune teller sighed. “Most of what this is, is an excuse for people to talk about their problems. I give them some vague advice, then they go on their way doing whatever they wanted to do anyway.”
“Then how—”
The fortune teller didn’t let her finish. “It was different when your mother came to me. I was receiving regular visits from the serving girls of all the major houses. They told me everything as we talked through what my cards meant. I knew who was sleeping with the help, who abused the lower classes, and who was a decent man. When your mother came in, I gave her a reading, then filled in the rest with what I knew, letting her know who she should marry, and who she shouldn’t.”
Rowena slumped back in her chair again. “But you can’t anymore.”
The fortune teller shrugged. “I think word eventually got out I was learning a few too many secrets about how the families were run. My business dried up. I understand they run tighter ships now, I don’t think anyone knows now what I knew then.”
Rowena left out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding and sighed. “So there’s nothing you can do for me.”
“Not unless you want to talk about it.” The fortune teller pointed at the cards on the table again. “I have a few conversation starters ready.”
“But isn’t it all just lies?” Rowena felt ready to explode.
“I hear good things sometimes. It couldn’t hurt to try. And I can’t really say why...” the fortune teller looked genuinely distracted for a second. “But this feels the same as last time. Like all I’m missing is a name for each. If nothing else, talking about it might make you feel better.”
“Forgive me.” Rowena sighed in exasperation. “But my problem is not that I feel bad that my life is about to be over. My problem is that my life is about to be over. Feeling better about it is not what I need right now. What I need is answers.”
“I mean, you have to know something, or someone.” Rowena looked pleadingly at the fortune teller. “Doesn’t anyone have the kind of gifts you claim to?”
The fortune teller shook her head. More than anything else, the old woman just looked tired. “I’ve lived in a lot of places, and I’ve seen a lot of things. Anyone who claims they can tell you what’s going to happen tomorrow, a week from now, let alone whether you can be happy for the rest of your life is lying. No one knows the future.”
The old woman hesitated for a moment. Her eyes drifted to the last pair of cards laid on the table, the Hermit and the Magician. She leaned in close and took on a quiet tone. “However, there is someone that you should talk to.” The old woman’s voice dropped down to a whisper. “If you leave now, you will have barely enough time. Head to the castle of Eristat. The librarian’s son—look for a man named Semote Verent.”
Continued in Chapter 3, now available here.
Fortune-telling is always a fun gambit in stories...tarot especially, with its endless symbolism and advantage that even an amateur can actually do it irl and "feel" the effects. Props really help sell it! (And I must confess that the title Seven of Suitors made me immediately think of tarot and other numerology/kabbalah hooks coming up.)
I'm reminded of the final movie in the Garden of Sinners franchise, which interrogates the philosophical implications of predicting the future. Maybe it really is all smoke and mirrors, but fortunte still favours the bold anyway...people really do change their behaviour in response to fortunes, tarot, prophecy, tea leaves, whatever. So it's a useful topic to address in fiction, where one is allowed to make it "actually work" - because even when it doesn't irl, it still alters fates anyway. Sympathetic magic is fun, or at least I believe so.
A rather ambitious story you've set out to tell. Great job so far. I do like a good Tarot reading.