The Blackberry Queen

Chapter Two - To the Northern Lands

The carriage jolted along, rocked by loose stones. Inside the cabin, neither Abélie nor Oscar spoke. The young maid had been staring at her double-laced ankle boots ever since they had set off—nearly twenty minutes now, at least. His heart heavy, Oscar nonetheless made the effort to clear his throat before breaking the silence.

“So you knew yesterday morning, then.”

There was no accusation, but he still expected answers. After all, if there was one person who could give them to him, it was her.

Instead, she kept winding the strap of her satchel around her finger, over and over again.

A minute passed…

“Abélie,” he pressed, his voice firmer.

At last, she sighed.

“Yes—well… Let’s say your father caught me rummaging through his cupboards. He informed me of my departure shortly afterwards.”

Oscar remained silent for a few seconds before muttering under his breath.

“What did I tell you? Be discreet. D.I.S.C.R.E.E.T. You should count yourself lucky my father didn’t punish you—and knowing him, he very well could have.”

She abandoned the strap of her bag to fidget with her braids.

“To be honest, young master… I think this is his way of punishing me.”

The young man raised an eyebrow.

“Oh, really? Letting you wander freely through lands where he can’t keep an eye on you? What a strange punishment,” he scoffed.

“Perhaps. But I also believe the duke considers these lands punishment enough… We’ll be far from everything—possibly even in enemy territory. Didn’t it strike you as odd that your father would part with one of his best fighters—no offence meant, I’m referring to Günther? It makes sense when you consider that Günther openly opposed the Master’s decisions. And with him, all the soldiers accompanying our convoy.”

Oscar considered her words for a moment. His signet ring suddenly felt far too tight.

“So my father seized this opportunity to rid himself of you, as well as me? I can’t say I’m surprised.”

He crossed his arms and sank back into the cushioned bench.

“Still… It’s not as if he’s sending us to our deaths,” he added sarcastically.

Abélie unbuttoned her trunk and pulled out some notes.

“You haven’t really looked into your future wife, have you?”

The stoic gaze of the young heir flickered with irritation.

“As if I’d had the time.”

“Even if you only learned of the marriage yesterday, you should at least know the name Wingfall… shouldn’t you?”

At his inquisitive look, she continued. Despite her serious tone, Oscar could tell she was delighted. This sort of exposition was her passion.

“Lady Brynn Wingfall, current Duchess of the Duchy of Wingfall. She’s a few years older than you. No living parents that we know of—she runs everything alone. That’s precisely why so many rumours surround her.”

“What kind of rumours?” Oscar asked, curious despite his indifferent expression.

“About her private life. Some claim she’s had hundreds of lovers—that she financially extorted their families using her charm. After all, how else can one explain her wealth?”

"The mines. Father said that the Wingfall family owed their immense wealth to mining."

She cleared her throat, ignoring him. “But that’s not all. Some even say she kills them once their purses are emptied… Suddenly, no trace of these gentlemen—or ladies—was ever to be found again. A few sensitive souls even claim she ate them.”

Oscar raised an eyebrow.

“I get the feeling you don’t believe me, young master.”

“All of this sounds a bit too… fanciful. Hundreds of lovers? All vanished, without a single investigation? Don’t make me laugh.”

Abélie smiled wryly.

“Of course, these are only rather imaginative rumours I picked up in passing. I can’t exactly say I had time to research the matter thoroughly…” She tucked her papers into a pocket of her trunk, then pressed her lips together.

“Still, my Lord, the rumours aren’t entirely unfounded.”

“Oh? So you’ve spoken to all her lovers, then?” he mocked.

“Not quite—but the name Wingfall wasn’t unfamiliar to me before yesterday either. Brynn Wingfall has drawn suspicious attention for several years now. Wealth drawn from otherwise poor lands—despite the mining founded within the last five years, coincidentally—the mysterious disappearance of political rivals, and a duchess who has never married nor publicly appeared with a man. Truly, I maintain that you’ll need to be cautious.”

Though neither superstitious nor particularly gullible, the young man nodded. Perhaps it was the sudden softness in the maid’s voice that finally convinced him.

No—there was something else. He, too, had his suspicions. After all, why would an independent duchess marry a noble like him? True, they were of equal rank, but he harboured no illusions. Rarely presented at court, he never shone through extravagant charisma or wealth. No… she had likely not chosen him for that.

Perhaps, like his father, she hoped for a docile husband—or perhaps she intended to make him disappear quietly…

Who would miss him?

Little by little, they left the domain of Eau-Claire behind. Verdant trees gave way to orange and red landscapes characteristic of the kingdom’s more central regions. The roads widened. Crossroads grew more frequent. Oscar had never set foot in the capital, yet though he knew they were still far from it, he could already feel its influence reaching the edges of their duchy. Rivière remained a region fairly isolated from courtly intrigues, something reflected in its architecture—shaped by borderland cultures—whereas the central duchies shared similarities in buildings, roads, and even styles of dress. The capital was a vast city whose influence radiated far beyond its borders.

Oscar sighed. And to think he was finally leaving Eau-Claire—only to get married.

Hours passed beneath a muted sun, then days. Each evening, they detoured through whichever city lay closest, stopping at luxurious inns within the walls. Sleeping in roadside taverns was too risky.

Oscar couldn’t help but marvel at the complex and varied organisation of each city they visited. Somewhere deep down, all that bustle he could not partake in for lack of time frustrated him.

After several days, the amber trees and wide, decorated roads grew scarce, revealing a more austere landscape. Far from Rivière’s vibrant hues or the ceaseless bustle of the central regions, the North now rose before the carriage—muted, populated by conifers.

Soon, Oscar could distinguish nothing but pines and a few trees whose species he did not recognise. Less greenery. More rock. An icy rain completed the portrait of his future home.

Gloomy.

What did his future wife look like? Was she… tall? Oscar had never had much interest in women. He had other priorities than courting young noble ladies of the domain. No one had ever shown him affection either—he seemed too intimidating, according to the soldiers.

Would they have to sleep together? That was what was expected of a young couple. Then again, in his childhood, his parents slept separately.

A pothole jolted him from his thoughts as the carriage shook violently. Outside, the sky darkened.

“Sinister,” Abélie murmured, breaking the silence.

Oscar looked up, an eyebrow raised.

“You think so?”

“Of course. Compared to Eau-Claire’s gardens, these lands are… sad. I preferred it when we were passing near the capital.”

“So did I,” he shrugged, then paused. “Think about it—you’ll be able to explore a whole new playground without fearing my father. A new castle, new challenges, new gossip to collect.”

She twirled a lock of hair around her finger.

“Hm… but no other maids to share my discoveries with. I’m not about to confide in servants potentially loyal to a demon.”

Oscar grinned.

“Maybe. But I might need a bit of information about this castle and its inhabitants.”

She raised an eyebrow.

“Are you asking me to investigate for you?”

“It’s the perfect opportunity, isn’t it?”

For the first time during the journey, a hint of determination crossed her face.

“That’s true. You need to know what’s going on in that dark castle we’re about to set foot in,” she added.

“Still on about your murder and cannibalism stories?”

“Every rumour has a grain of truth. Even if it’s not always what one expects.”

“Maybe, but you’ll find out soon enough. I think I can see the city lights.”

Indeed, in the distance, the fine rain was pierced by the glow of streetlamps. The gnarled silhouettes of trees stood out against the gloom. Daylight was fading, and a light mist crept over the land.

The road—now stone and earth—was coated in slush and mud. The grass was dull, and clouds veiled the setting sun.

Before them stood a city as large as Eau-Claire: Mulberry.

The dirt road turned to cobblestones still littered with mud and snow; the pavements gleamed beneath a layer of frost. Not a single gate nor rampart separated the city from the countryside, and suddenly they were in its very heart.

The shops, still open, were impossible to see inside.

In the streets, people hurried along, shielding themselves from the rain with oversized coats and worn hats. A few curious onlookers glanced at the passing carriage, but most simply continued on their way, their indifference heightened by the rain.

After several jolts, the carriage slowed before a massive structure set back from the city. Before them rose a great iron gate crowned with sharpened spikes—and behind it, a castle.

Drowned in thick darkness, it was, as Abélie had so aptly put it, “sinister”. The gates opened as though moved by a will of their own. Gravel crunched beneath wheels and hooves, and brief glimmers appeared in the windows—as if a colossal beast had just awakened.

After a few uncertain glances, Oscar noticed two guards had opened the grilles. As for the lights, one detached itself from the main entrance. Looking closer, Oscar discerned a stoic humanoid silhouette beneath an umbrella—a thin, almost skeletal man. Torchlight reflected off the glass of his monocle.

The carriage came to a halt, and two servants hurried forward, umbrellas in hand. They opened the door with a bow, holding the umbrellas aloft.

Oscar stepped out. He expected the dampness that immediately soaked his clothes, but for the cold that bit into him viciously, he restrained himself from shivering. No matter—the servants, still bowing, guided him briskly toward the castle. The skeletal man with the monocle held one of the great wooden doors wide open and inclined his head.

“Welcome to Mulberry Castle, my lord.”