Frigga
An investigation was conducted and once it was concluded, Sapphire called an unscheduled coven meeting.
Frigga was in a fragile state. Her dreams for the last week had been filled with nightmares and stress had been her constant companion the rest of the time, so she was thankful her part to play in today’s meeting was small. It was a shred of comfort against the pit of dread that had permanently settled in her gut. She’d already spent the morning begging her aunt out of the least comfortable items of clothing. Sapphire had picked for her a corseted, high-neck dress with tightly-fitted sleeves that ended in scratchy lace to be paired with oversized golden earrings and medallion necklaces that Frigga found annoying most days. After some back and forth, Sapphire finally relented on the dress and allowed Frigga her usual ritual clothes, a comfortable sleeveless dress, but she’d been immoveable on the jewelry and instead added jangly bracelets that irritated her wrists. Better that than feeling like she was going to choke like she would have in that monstrosity her aunt called a gown.
As the coven members filed in, Frigga decided to refrain from socializing as much as possible, so she stayed with Marcus and allowed him to do all the interacting for her. His chipper demeanour was a welcome balm, both today and when he and his father had visited two days prior. He hadn’t left her side that day, and Marcus had been especially attentive and sweet ever since, which only made her feel worse, but today she was glad of his willingness to take the burden of socializing off her shoulders.
Usually the room the coven met in was left empty as meets were usually focused on performing rituals. Today the large studio had been set up with a broad table and enough chairs for the nine Head of Households and their heirs as well as a few chairs at the side of the room for others Sapphire had seen fit to invite today: the Mayor, key members of the community and city council, a single reporter from the Daily Star newspaper, and the Captain of the Guard with a few of his men. The studio’s ceiling and floors were of highly polished dark woods, and twinkling star constellations drifted across the ceiling, reflecting their real-time positions. It was an effect invented by two of the coven’s Heirs, Luna Cromwell and Wade Morgansons, from the year before. The walls were constructed of dark walnut panelling, save for one which was lined with floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the north grounds and forest. Victoria Bloodswell had mentioned years ago that, because of the coven’s activity in this room, the manor was like a well of energy, acting as a lighthouse for land spirits and wandering souls. Rosalind had added that spells cast here would be more powerful because of how much magic had been performed, that the impression of a hundred years of magic functioned as an energetic boost of sorts. With the way the room’s atmosphere hummed, Frigga believed both necromancers’ every word.
When all the witches and special guests had arrived, everyone found their seats. Sapphire and Frigga took theirs at the head of the table on rather grand chairs that denoted their esteemed position as the First Family. To Frigga’s left sat Ophelia Rynauld, the history keeper, and her teenage Heir Apparent Aphrodite Rynauld. To Sapphire’s right sat Theodore and Marcus, and directly across from the First Family sat the Second family, Victoria and Rosalind Bloodswell. Victoria sat perfectly straight and proud as was her way while Rosalind leaned on their armrest and stared vacantly out the windows. They were in their usual all-black ritual wear under their jacket with the golden embroidery, and their mother in hers, a gorgeous black and red dress with a high neckline and capped sleeves. Though there was an official arrangement for more formal occasions, the rest of the families, the Morgansons, the Downspires, the Blackwoods, the Cromwells, the Crestfalls, and the Honeywoods, sat in no particular order today. The Crestfalls and Cromwells always sat next to each other and the Blackwoods always sat as far away from the Bloodswells as possible. If every spot in the coven was filled, there would be a total of eighteen witches. However, there were only seventeen witches present today as Celeste Downspire was deemed too young for the content at hand. She’d been placed under Gertrude’s care and was visiting with Leland instead.
Sapphire rose from her place, and though her gilded arms opened in a welcoming gesture, she was a formidable sight and the exact image of authority; her dress’s gold thread and beading sparkled against its intricate field of royal blue, and her angular features were framed by the circlet of gold that sat at her brow from which a single, tear drop sapphire sparkled. “Welcome friends, and thank you for taking the time out of your busy schedules to attend this last-minute meeting.” She raised her chalice, and everyone followed suit. They all took a sip and placed their cups back on the table. A hush fell upon the room, and the meeting officially began.
She sat back down and motioned for Stephan to bring over a towering stack of documents. He placed them in front of her. “As everyone is aware,” she began, her tone clinical and deliberate, “last week there was a break-in in my home, and we believe it was an attempt to steal information. During this invasion, my nephew was assaulted and would have died if not for a servant who happened to be nearby when the attack took place. An investigation was launched, led by the honourable Blackwoods, and we’ve determined the attack’s origin.”
A tense silence settled over the room as Morgan Blackwood, the Head of the Blackwood family, rose to speak. He was an older man, deeply respected in the coven, and sharply dressed with his famous gold divination pocket watch peeking out of his suit’s breast pocket. “Thank you Lady Thorneheart,” he acknowledged before coughing to clear his throat. “The information the bandits were after was very specific, involving our coven’s history and founding. As everyone here knows, there has been some debate regarding leadership over the years. We all have our opinions on the matter, but the fact is the Thornehearts are wonderful leaders and have led our coven successfully for nearly a hundred and thirty years. Today is not a day to debate the role of leadership, but a day to hold someone responsible for harming a child of the coven, for trespassing, and for attempting to take what was not lawfully theirs.”
A murmur of agreement echoed through the room. Frigga glanced around and her tired, reddened eyes met Rosalind’s. To her surprise, they were visibly uneasy as this specific debate always prominently featured their mother. They maintained eye contact with Frigga for a meaningful instant before purposefully glancing at their mother, then back to Frigga. She did not respond but kept her expression neutral. Rosalind winced at the lack of response and returned their eyes to the windows. Their posture wilted with a sigh and they reached a hand to scratch at the back of their neck.
Moira Blackwood, a sturdy middle-aged woman with dark shoulder-length hair and a full face, stood and picked up where her father left off. “The authorities detained one of the thieves to question, and was able to extract more information. This stack of documents we’ve presented to you, Lady Thorneheart, is a summary of all the compiled evidence, and we’ve drawn an incontestable conclusion.”
Morgan bade Moira sit and turned towards the opposite end of the table. “Victoria Bloodswell, you’re accused of treason and conspiracy.”
Nobody was shocked.
Victoria rose from her seat with her arms braced on the table and her dark eyes narrowed in a hurricane of outrage and resentment. “How dare you?” she seethed. “What kind of evidence? This is nonsense! Malicious, incompetent nonsense!”
Morgan held up a page covered in writing. “Lady Bloodswell, these are plans to steal information written in your hand, and they were taken from your desk.”
Victoria snarled, her rage manifesting as a soft red glow at her hands. “Excuse me? I don’t recall allowing you or anyone else near my home, Morgan, so how was this so-called evidence retrieved? I have been nothing but loyal and have been an invaluable member of this coven for years, and this is how I am thanked? Being obviously framed for-“
“Mother, shut up and sit down,” Rosalind interrupted, their sharp yet quiet voice cutting through her protests. Everyone’s eyes shot to them and Victoria fell silent in her surprise. Rosalind did not historically speak during a meeting unless there was a need for specific necromantic knowledge, and when they did speak it was always polite, measured, and succinct. Frigga couldn’t remember them ever demonstrating anything but respect, but she was sure they had never publicly contradicted their mother.
Rosalind looked to Victoria and stood to their feet. “I let him in. Sit down.” Victoria spluttered, wordless in her shock, but yielded and sank slowly into her seat. Rosalind took a deep breath and looked around the table like they were trying to escape a trap, but their voice was as calm as it ever was, “Friends, when the honourable Blackwoods arrived at our doorstep yesterday, I received them and reviewed the evidence presented to me. There was very little, but the pages they retrieved from the thief’s fireplace undeniably had my mother’s writing, so I assisted Sir Blackwood and searched her office. What I found repulsed me beyond my ability to articulate.” Rosalind’s face had cleared of their momentary discomfort and was now void of emotion, but their pinched tone of voice suggested absolute disdain. For her part, Frigga was stunned that someone known for shunning others’ attention at all costs would volunteer to testify against their own mother. Unthinkable.
They bowed in respect, their hands at their side, and continued, “I apologize on behalf of my family. Needless to say, nothing can make this right, and I express my deep regret that young Leland Thorneheart was so badly injured. I ask only, on my mother’s behalf, this esteemed company show mercy despite her being utterly unworthy of it.” They returned to their seat and reassumed their previous facade of disinterest, immune to the anger radiating from their mother.
The evidence was shared to the rest of the coven and was truly as definitive as Rosalind had implied: written correspondence regarding the break-in, documents going back months with plans for a fully-fledged coup, a few pieces of evidence collected from the scene of the crime, and a full confession from the thief naming Victoria as his employer. The scheme was laid bare, months in the making, interrupted by Razi the night the plan had begun.
Frigga trembled with rage as she read, and her hands shook while passing documents to her neighbour. She had been privy to some of the evidence before the trial, but most of the information was new to her. How dare she? How much nerve did Victoria have, how entitled? Entitled to what was not hers and willing to risk harming others for it? Where did she find the audacity to think for even a second she could overthrow the coven’s leader like this? Why did she think anyone would go along with it? How did she gather up the audacity to attempt a coup when she knew how terrifying Sapphire could be? Was Victoria really that powerful herself, or was she just stupid?
Frigga skimmed a page and her heart sank when she received her answer. It was a copy of a letter written by Lady Bloodswell:
The Thorneheart Heir Apparent is soft-hearted, so I anticipate convincing the coven she is unfit for such a demanding task will be simple once we’ve found what I need. She certainly doesn’t believe in herself, and it’s not like she’s fit for being anything except a pawn of her bullheaded aunt anyway. Everyone knows it, surely!
Another page read:
We must hasten the plan. Before it seemed the Thorneheart Heir Apparent would complete my task for me, but now these thieves have an alternative. We must act on our first opportunity.
A shadow settled over Frigga’s mind and guilt into her stomach. “Soft-hearted”? “She certainly doesn’t believe in herself”? Had Victoria been emboldened by her hesitation, had hope to overthrow the First Family because Frigga had doubts? Had she not been doing a good enough job as Heir Apparent? She was doing her best to hide her misgivings, but was her best not good enough? Was this all her fault?
After everyone reviewed the documents, Sapphire rose to her feet. “Ladies, gentlemen, and esteemed guests, now is Lady Bloodswell’s chance to defend herself. The floor will be open afterwards for deliberation which will end one minute after the last word has been spoken. What do you have to say for yourself, Lady Bloodswell?”
Everyone watched as Victoria stood heavily to her feet, defeated by the crushing weight of the indisputable evidence. She had nothing to defend herself with, and her Heir wasn’t going to rescue her. With her posture penitent and her voice weak, she said, “My… my intentions were never for Leland to be wounded. For that I can only apologize from my soul. As everyone saw, I specifically ordered that nobody be injured, but that does not change the fact that a child was almost killed on my behalf. I’m so sorry, and I accept the guilt for that.” She then straightened her posture and held her head up with pride once more. “I do not, however, apologize for my effort to uncover the truth of our coven’s history! Our family possesses records claiming the leadership should have fallen to us, and I believe the Thornehearts have documents affirming it and are withholding them. Twice I’ve submitted for an investigation to look into the account of my great grandfather, and both requests were denied without any consideration. I then inquired through legitimate channels to access the Thorneheart’s private library to conduct the investigation myself, but was again denied. With all legitimate options exhausted, I did what was necessary for my family’s sake. Why refuse to look into something if they’re not hiding anything? I wish only to uncover the truth of the matter, as did my mother, her parent, and their father. Generation after generation, our simple request has been brushed off and dismissed, and yet we are the ones seen as disloyal?”
After pleading her case, she reclaimed her seat and maintained her prideful posture as she cast her eyes around the table in a frantic appeal to her coven-mates. Rosalind just rolled their eyes, and everyone else whispered to their neighbour. The floor was open for others to defend her, but the minute passed in silence; nobody came to her defence. After the minute expired, Frigga stood to perform her role and conduct the vote. “All those who find Lady Bloodswell guilty, raise your hand.” Hands rose all around the room, a lot of them. Notably, Rosalind did not raise a hand. Frigga looked to Ophelia Rynauld, the keeper of the minutes, who transcribed the votes from each family. When given the go-ahead from her, Frigga continued, “All those who find Lady Bloodswell not guilty, raise your hand.” Not a single hand rose, so Frigga continued. “All who abstain, please raise your hand.” A few hands rose, including Rosalind’s; it was their usual vote regardless of the topic.
Once Ophelia’s record was complete, Frigga thanked her and sat back down. Sapphire rose and she seemed taller than she had mere minutes ago. “Victoria Bloodswell, you’ve been found guilty. For your transgressions, the coven’s law dictates excommunication. Due to the nature of the bodily harm committed against my nephew, this case will be handed over to the local authorities. They will try you, find you guilty, and deal with you further.”
There were a few “hear, hear!”s in response, and Victoria remained expressionless in her prideful posture. She was escorted out of the room by the guard’s captain, and her name was struck from the coven’s member registry. As it was, Frigga looked at Rosalind who was no longer feigning inattention but who’s expression was heavy with the weight of what was happening; Rosalind would be head of the Bloodswell family. They had handed over their own mother for judgement and had immediately and dramatically altered the course of the next twenty years of their life by doing so. They were usually a fair individual, but they’d lost what little colour they had and Frigga spied their hand shaking as they signed the registry as the new Head of Household.
Once all the paperwork was completed, Sapphire handed the records to Ophelia for safekeeping. She stood again and faced the rest of her coven. “I would like to thank you, Mx Rosalind Bloodswell, for your aid.” Everyone looked to them, who shifted in their seat and fixed their eyes to the stack of documents they were being given by Stephan. “Without you, the evidence would not have been so concrete, and more harm may have come to others. It must have been stressful, and I recognize your honesty.”
The witches raised their chalices in Rosalind’s direction, who started scratching at the back of their neck, still avoiding everyone’s eyes. Frigga didn’t know Rosalind well, but in this moment she was proud to be part of their coven. She raised her glass and drank with the rest in gratitude. Afterwards, Sapphire announced that arrangements for Rosalind’s official succession ceremony would start immediately and their gathering at the next full moon would be cancelled for it. After a final acknowledgement to her special guests’ attendance, she dismissed the assembly.
Most families departed shortly after, eager to avoid the reporter who had already tried to pull Aurora Morgansons and Saffron Honeywood aside for comment. Rosalind remained in their seat as Sapphire had asked them to stay behind to discuss more details, and by the time their conversation was finished, the journalist had left. As Rosalind readied to leave, Frigga held them back and placed a hand on their shoulder. “Thank you.”
Rosalind recoiled at the touch and glared at her. “I understand how this looks,” they said, their hackles raised and eyes narrowed. “I didn’t have anything to do with what happened.”
Frigga frowned. “I believe you.”
Nodding reluctantly, their affect softened, and their gaze fell from her face. “I’m… I’m sorry about your brother. I hope he recovers soon.”
“You…did you notice your mother acting strange at all? Like she was planning something?” Frigga asked meekly. She didn’t think poorly of Rosalind, but they always seemed indifferent. Not heartless, per se, but purposefully distant from their coven-mates’ lives. That they’d stepped in, to the detriment of their mother and to their own wishes, was unexpected to say the least.
Rosalind frowned with obvious affront. “No. You might not appreciate this, but her energy since… for the last year and a half has been unstable. She has been more nervous lately, but I did not think it was unjustified.” They looked her over and settled after seeing Frigga’s sorry expression. “Believe me, if I had learned of her plans sooner, I would have acted sooner. Do not think of my mother’s ambitions as mine.”
Before Frigga could answer, Marcus walked over to the two of them having finished his discussion with Sapphire and Theodore. “Glad that’s over!” he exclaimed, earning an exasperated look from Rosalind and a weary grimace from Frigga. “I missed some of that towards the end, though, I was starting to doze off.”
Theodore bade Marcus leave with him. Before he followed after his father, Marcus took Frigga’s hand, placed a gentlemanly kiss on her knuckles, and flashed his charming smile up at her. “I’ll be seeing you soon?” Frigga nodded vacantly in response. Marcus’ smile tempered before he turned to Rosalind. “I guess I won’t be seeing you at the library anytime soon? Maybe I should come over instead?” The two of them left together, which Frigga thought was weird, especially when she spied a smile on the death witch’s face.
But she turned her thoughts back to the afternoon’s meeting, still disturbed by what she’d read and heard. Her mind fixated on what Victoria wrote; was she really just Sapphire’s pawn? Did everyone think that? And, if she had done a better job, would Victoria have even attempted such a heinous plan? Frigga had so many questions, and she couldn’t push the ill-boding thought away that the answer to all of them lay somewhere in her own inadequacies. But this couldn’t all be her own fault, could it?
