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The Twelfth of Tal, Sixteen Seventy-Four.

The time before and just after dawn is the domain of the servants. They wake a few scant hours after retiring and go about preparing for the day. Mrs. Argall would yell for kitchen girls to fetch firewood as she prefers not to cook with gas. That is a decidedly archaic view, next she’ll say that electricity is bottled sunlight from the Shining Lord only befit for his churches. Maybe she is more befit in the time of the tribes? Mind you what of her Shining Lord then? I digress it is rude to speak ill of someone for their beliefs, no matter how unfounded they are.

I believe I like the house at these times, quiet save for the soft footsteps of the servants as they light the lamps, open windows, and scour the floor. Uncle was up late last night entertaining his retinue of advisors. If you ask me it was just an excuse to drink my Father’s liquor and smoke and if Mr. Ochoa gropes me one more time I may forget myself and my manners and slip with my dinner fork. I hope that common blood wont ruin the tablecloth, I would hate to ruin it, Uncle says it was a gift from Grandmother. His other advisor, Mr. Beaumont, is always eyeing the silver, I really don’t understand how those two speak collectively as his representatives at court. They are foolish foreign criminals and they are marring the good name of my Father.

I digress from the quick and effective descriptions of the men, I’m sure if someone were to read this they would assume that I am some kind of nattering gossip soaked in gin and eating tea cakes. After dinner we ‘entertained’ them in the parlor, they were exquisitely drunk and what entertained them was dropping crystal stemware on the floor and harassing the maids and one pretty footman. They did mention that Uncle as Lord Regent has been ‘asked’ to attend court. Uncle insisted I retire for the night before I could glean any more information.

The Prince has yet to take the throne, for now his Mother sits as Queen and will rule in her husbands name until her death. Rumor has it that she will be dead before Winter burns and I can see that happening she was old when my Father was a child and she will follow her husband into death. That is the protocol for grieving spouses whom worship The Cleansing Fire, in the time of the tribes one must forge on after the death to keep the tribe strong, mind you there was that tribe that ate a small portion of their honored dead but that is a ghastly thought. She may be stepping down which is an ill though but a good one and Uncle is probably being summoned to witness the coronation and swear his loyalty, my loyalty, to the crown as is the time honored tradition.

I think I may go for a ride today; I would prefer on horseback but no doubt Uncle will insist on the motorcar as I would need a chauffeur and would conveniently provide a chaperone to keep me from making a fool of myself. I find this whole game of cat and mouse to be extremely tedious, three drops would be all it takes to end the game. I understand that it is odorless and tasteless and pairs well with lemon. I have heard no more of the would-be suitors and I never saw them while they were hear but then again I was sequestered away, one would wonder if I am now betrothed.

The wind blows cold today and the waters glitter like diamonds.