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The Bell Tolls for Me 58: The House of Balat
🕑 Added 2025-06-14 07:00:14 +0000 UTCIsabella sat in an undecorated carriage, Randolph sitting just across her as he peeked out the window.
“So? What do you think?” Isabella asked.
“I think it’s an arresting display of architectural indulgence," he said, his eyes not parting from Archduke Felix’s estate.
“Now isn’t the time for that. Will I be in danger if I go in there?”
“I’ve orcish blood, not foresight. If orcs were soothsayers, they wouldn’t have been so readily conquered by your father.” He drew back the curtains and looked at her. “There’s definitely not an ambush waiting within. But maybe if you say the wrong thing… well, suffice to say no one can tell what the future holds.”
“You don’t believe so?” Isabella tried not to sound invested in that question.
“It’s impossible,” Randolph said with conviction.
Isabella wondered whether or not there was truth in his words. Just because she had gone back in time didn’t mean that she knew the future with absolute conviction. Even despite the insight her last life had brought her, things had deviated so far from the last course that the benefit of her reincarnation was rapidly fading.
“Are you going in?” Randolph asked her.
Isabella had a large degree of affinity for Abigail. She saw much of the struggle of her last life reflected in the young woman—enduring Duke Albert, and then others after him, just as Abigail had done. But… she was putting much on the line by going there alone. If anything happened to her, she was confident that people would be willing and able to avenge her. Foremost among them, Valerio. The archduke was a cautious man, and wouldn’t risk inciting Valerio’s wrath. More than that, he was diametrically opposed to the only figure who had substantial designs on Isabella—Albert.
“I’m going.” Isabella opened the carriage door.
With her stomach disturbed by a storm of butterflies, Isabella walked through the open gates of Archduke Felix’s estate. When she passed, it closed behind her. A single servant walked out of the estate just ahead of her. It was an aged woman, perhaps the stewardess of the estate. She walked up to greet Isabella, and bid her to follow.
Isabella was given passage into the archduke’s estate. It was morning, typically the busiest time for servants, but the archduke’s estate was incredibly bare right now. There were few servants and few guards, but their absence only unsettled Isabella’s further. She asked the stewardess no questions as she was led to a familiar room: Abigail’s.
The stewardess opened the door, bowing as Isabella passed by. Isabella walked in to see Abigail sitting upright on her bed, looking somewhat malnourished. Perhaps she was recovering from an illness. Archduke Felix sat just beside her, looking grim and solemn. The both of them turned their heads at her arrival, and they seemed to brighten when they saw her.
“I told you she would come,” the archduke told his daughter, an affectionate smile playing around his face that Isabella had never seen.
The door shut behind Isabella as she advanced into the room. She held her hands before her uncertainly. She didn’t know where to begin, so she began with simple pleasantries. “Are you well, Abigail? Have you been ill?”
Abigail shook her head. “I’ve been worrying about you a great deal.”
Isabella hadn’t been expecting that response, and looked around the room to dispel her unease. Rathern than dance around the issue, she decided to get to the heart of it. “I was told that the archduke would provide the answer as to why he so desperately attempts to establish you as Queen.”
“You’ve made your show of faith. All but sworn on your life, coming here alone,” the archduke conceded. “Now, it’s time for us to do the same.” He looked at Isabella. “Do you know the name of our house?”
“You are of House Balat.”
“Correct. But long before your father conquered the north, each of us still went by the title of King of the North. It’s an unusual styling, but it has a purpose.” The archduke rubbed his hands together. “It was meant to help forsake an unsavory element of our past that established us as the rulers of the North. Unlike most house names, Balat is not the name of a place, nor of our founder.”
Felix took a deep breath as he prepared to say the next words. “The name Balat is taken from the devil that our family pacted with centuries ago.”
Isabella said nothing. Many of the old stories had spoken of the existence of devils, but Isabella herself had never once been given cause to believe they were real. Still, Valerio’s mentality rung in her head. Never once did he dismiss something outlandish, not even her reincarnation, because he had seen so much of the world. Isabella resolved to listen.
“The devil gave us certain advantages over men and women. Dark gifts that manifest differently with every new generation,” Felix continued. “Before I passed that lineage onto my daughters, I had the power to listen through shadows in which I had left my trace. Now, that power is lost to me. I endeavor to replicate it with my network of spies, but it’s wholly insufficient as a replacement to the power I once possessed. It taught me the value of information.”
“Why is it lost?” Isabella asked, withholding judgment.
“The gift passes to the next generation the moment a new child is born,” Felix explained. “However… House Balat’s deal struck two ways. In exchange for this power, we must fulfill certain conditions. We may only have children with a woman that we love. Failing that, we are sterile.”
“Woman?” Isabella interrupted, looking at Abigail. “But… you’ve only daughters. I don’t—"
“I’m getting there,” Felix interrupted. “The life of the woman involved in the ritual was traditionally always… extinguished, to give birth to a son and heir,” he said, clearly pained. “That was the price that Balat mandated that we pay. The Kings of the North must come to know love, and then burn it for his twisted desires. When I met Abigail’s mother… when I came to…” he closed his eyes. “I decided that I was unwilling to accept that arrangement. She could not die.”
A silence fell in the room.
“I was unsuccessful in saving her life,” the archduke said with a heavy weight to his words. “Yet… my efforts bore fruit, partially. Never before had a daughter been born to House Balat, let alone twins. The deal was broken in twain, and its hold weakened enough that it may end with my daughters,” Felix said. “Abigail’s twin sister Allison contains one half of the pact. She is capable of deducing where life can best take root. Fields, couples, herds of animals—all manner of things. For a governor, it’s an invaluable trait. And she has performed her role as Regent in my absence incredibly admirably. My success is owed in large part to my daughter. But… in Abigail, the gift persists in a cruel, twisted way.” He looked to his daughter.
“…what is your gift, Abigail?” Isabella asked.
“I see death,” Abigail said simply. “It’s… difficult to explain, but… I can predict deaths that will come to pass. It began when I was young, with a stablemaster. I… I saw him with his neck, twisted and broken. Not long after… he broke his neck horseback riding. They come in dreams, visions… they come everywhere,” she said, shaking her head as if shaking away memories. “And when death is near, I see death on the person themselves.
“Though my visions are grim, they still sometimes give me the ability to save the life of the people involved. Except… I began to see my own death,” Abigail said quietly. “I would look in the mirror, only to see my own head removed by a guillotine. Not only mine… nigh everyone’s. All of them, dead, all of them the same fashion.” She seemed haunted.
“Allison has similar visions,” Felix said as he took his daughter’s hand. “They don’t manifest as frequently as Abigail’s do, however. And when they do, it’s often… bright, even cheery. When Abigail began to predict the death of House Balat, it was Allison who finally found a way out.” Felix looked over. “Allison learned that her sister must be the Queen of Doves for our house to live.”
Isabella stayed still, going through the events of the past with new lens to apply. If this information was true, it reconciled the divide between the seemingly contradictory actions of the archduke. He most definitely loved his daughter, yet he was nevertheless forcing her to become queen. If this was the reasoning, it made it all align.
But now that Isabella had this new context, she began to look at other things in different way. It partially explained Abigail’s strange behavior. Her solemnity, her aloofness, her cutting contact with friends at random. Abigail likely hadn’t been able to explain why she knew that people were going to die, or she might have been powerless to fix it. Isabella remembered something in particular. Lately, Abigail had been prone to crying.
Especially when she was around Isabella.
Putting the pieces together, Isabella swallowed. “Do you know how I’m going to die?”
Those words were definitely a trigger, and Abigail was obviously trying to hold back tears. Still, her friend looked her in the eyes and spoke as clearly as she could manage. “I’ve had dreams where you were beset by a strange illness that weakens your body and turns your skin to parchment. You lie there, alone, until the day that bells begin ringing and someone comes to extinguish your flame.” Abigail finally became unable to hold the tears, but she still continued to say, “It’s going to… happen soon. Too soon,” she said. “Lately… whenever I see you, that disease persists in your figure. And when I see death in my waking hours…” she trailed off, distraught.
Isabella felt the whole world spin all around her, and she staggered over to a nearby chair while Abigail wept in the arms of her father. Isabella’s brain felt like mush, her vision was spinning, and her breathing was labored. She remembered the day like it was yesterday—Bernadetta’s snuffing of her life. She had endeavored so hard to avoid the fate that Abigail was referencing, and to hear it return in such vivid detail now? More than that, from the mouth of someone who couldn’t possibly know of her last life?
Isabella thought she had time. Years, maybe, even if the disease was hereditary as she suspected. She thought that she would have time sufficient to remedy the terrible political situation in the kingdom, even if she couldn’t live a full life. There was even a lifeline in the form of Arthur, who was actively researching her strange illness years in advance. She trusted his ability almost the most of anyone—if a cure could be found, he might find it.
All these factors working in her favor, and yet… the wasting illness was coming sooner?
Isabella almost lost herself due despair in that moment, but her mind clung onto rationality that proved a beacon even amidst this all-consuming darkness. If the disease was coming sooner, that meant that it was caused by an external factor. If it was an external factor, it could be found and eliminated. Abigail herself had said that she had been able to prevent some of the deaths that she saw in her visions.
What had moments ago been a moment of profound despair shifted into a sobering warning—one that Isabella had the foresight to take incredibly seriously. Randolph must have been right. No one truly knew the future, not even the devils. Rather than alarming, the uncertain future was deeply comforting.
Isabella rose and went to sit by the side of her friend, wrapping her arms around Abigail. The weeping woman broke away from her father and returned the embrace, teary-eyed.
“Nobody’s dying,” Isabella said quietly, yet with conviction.
Comments
tibbish
My guess he had the disease transferred to her somehow as his blood
Peter
I love this! It’s so clear that the old king has targeted Isabella with the wasting disease earlier given that’s she’s too stabilizing on the kingdom. What his goal is, I have no idea but he clearly wants the chaos
elijah pickett
Heck yeah! Keep defying fate!
