The Last Page: Episode 06

In the velvety black of night, Duke Ruisín Ó Siadhail’s office seems to breathe in the shadows, its meticulously ordered furniture hunkered down under a dense quilt of darkness. Ruisín, seated behind an imposing mahogany desk, appears like a phantom born from the ember glow. His countenance is impassive as ever, but his keen gaze betrays a touch of curiosity. Across from him, Finnian Mac Iomaire sits and stares.

“So,” Ruisín breaks the silence with his voice, deep and resonant as a cello note, “What did you wish to discuss, Finnian?”

Finnian hesitates. He draws in a breath, lets it out slowly, his fingers twining and untwining in his lap.

A chuckle rises from Ruisín’s throat. “It’s been some time since I’ve seen you show any semblance of emotion,” he says, leaning back in his chair with an air of detached amusement. “Not since Queen Padhra’s funeral.”

The mention of the late queen ripples through Finnian, and he flinches. Finnian’s gaze strays to the whiskey nestled in the crystal decanter on Ruisín’s desk. inviting him, promising a numbing warmth that too tempting to resist. Without a word, he reaches out and grabs the chilly bottle. He brings it to his lips, swallowing the fiery liquor straight from its source. The corners of Ruisín’s mouth twitch upwards, a ghost of a smile playing upon his lips, but he does not comment.

Finnian swallows again before turning his attention back to Ruisín. “Lady Ein,” he says, forcing each word out with difficulty. “How is she?”

“Ein’s always been delicate. I spoke with Niall recently. He said she’s doing… well, as well as she usually does.”

“She is not angry?” The Ein in Ciara Romantica went off the rails when her engagement was called off. And an angry Ein is a lethal Ein; particularly lethal to Finnian. But why isn’t she angry?

“She seemed relieved, honestly,” Ruisín continues.

Finnian lifts his gaze to meet Ruisín’s, surprised by the note of amusement in his voice. Relief? His mind grapples with the word, turning it over and examining it from every angle. Something in this world is different from the game. He takes another swig from the decanter. Relieved… It doesn’t fit the image he has of Ein; so full of venom and anger.

He tries to reconcile the image of Ein from Ciara Romantica with what the duke is telling him of her. What else had the duke called her? Delicate? As well as she usually does? Is she ill? He strains to remember anything about that an illness from the game but comes up with nothing. He shakes his head. It doesn’t matter. What matters is that he is safe from her fury—at least for now. And that’s all Finnian can ask for. 

“Why do you ask? Are you interested in my niece?” The duke raises and eyebrow in amusement.

Finnian chuckles under his breath, remembering his brother asking the same thing. Why would I want to be anywhere near the woman who might murder me one day? 

Ruisín’s arched eyebrow seems to demand an answer, and Finnian shakes his head. “No, no, I am not interested in Ein,” he says, the words tumbling out of his mouth. “But why aren’t you more upset?” Finnian blurts out, his voice tinged with bewilderment. “You meticulously orchestrated that marriage between Lochlann and Ein decades ago. You penned the contract yourself. Why aren’t you outraged that Lochlann has flouted it to marry Ciara? A commoner?” Finnian watches the duke with an unwavering gaze.

“I was a much better soldier than a schemer, you know,” Ruisín says, sipping from a teacup. “I placed one king on a throne—your great-great-grandfather. But you see, I am not interested in playing monarch-maker again. I am no good at scheming. The marriage between Lochlann and Ein,” Ruisín muses, his voice laced with contemplation. “It was arranged as an appeasement after the execution of my brother Seanchen—appeasement of many parties. It was meant to stop a civil war. But clearly, there is no need for that now.”

It is common knowledge that the duke had been instrumental in unseating his own family from the throne and putting the Mac Iomaires on it instead. But was that the case in Ciara Romantica, too? The tingling in his neck tells him that something in the history here is different than it was in the game. Or is he on a route he didn’t know about? Is some of this knowledge not known to the player until they go through new game+?

“The only way I would have objections to the end of Ein’s engagement is if my niece did,” Ruisín says. “But I prize her happiness foremost, and she does not seem unhappy with this outcome. So, I am content to let it be.”

Finnian’s mind whirls. Ein’s happiness? The duke was just a young soldier when he led the army of a usurper against his own family, and in the decades since then, he has been a favored advisor who still maintains as much power as if he were part of the royal family still. His concern is Ein’s happiness? Is this really the same man who’d been plotting and scheming for years? The duke who’d once held such sway over the kingdom’s political landscape now sits before him, speaking of his niece’s happiness as if it were the most important factor in the world. 

“I see,” Finnian says, his voice steady despite the turmoil within him. His mind races, spinning with thoughts and questions, but he keeps his expression carefully neutral. He leans in, his voice low. “Do you know of anyone else who might object to the end of Ein and Lochlann’s engagement? Or perhaps someone who might not take kindly to Lochlann choosing Ciara, a commoner?” He watches the duke’s face closely, noting how the firelight plays across his weathered features, deepening the creases that time has etched into his skin. The duke, despite still being sharp of mind and spry of step, is old.

The duke squints at Finnian, his gaze piercing. “You remind me so much of your grandmother. You know how to hold your cards close and only show the emotions you want others to see.”

Finnian feels a twinge of unease. The comparison is not lost on him. But to hear it from the duke—it’s like being seen too clearly when he’s spent so long shrouded in shadows.

“But you’ve closed yourself off entirely since your grandmother passed away,” the duke continues, his voice soft yet carrying an undercurrent of something Finnian can’t quite place—concern? Suspicion? “I know the doctors said you suffered no long-term injury from your fall...” The duke trails off, but the implication hangs heavy in the air.

“You didn’t answer my question,” Finnian states flatly, cutting off the duke’s musings. His voice is calm but firm, brooking no room for argument. “Do you know of any threats to my brother’s engagement with Ciara?” Each word sharply enunciated. The facade of politeness is gone now, his impatience bleeding through.

The duke stands and wanders to the hearth, turning his back to Finnian and staring into the low flames. Finnian’s lips press together. He rises abruptly from his seat, the legs of the chair scraping harshly against the floor. “It seems our conversation is at an end. I bid you goodnight, Your Grace.” With that, Finnian turns on his heel and stalks from the room. His footsteps echo down the empty hallway as he retreats, his frustration evident in every clipped footfall. The duke’s words continue to gnaw at him, but he pushes the irritation down. 

Right now, his priority is confirming that Lochlann and Ciara’s engagement will proceed without issue. And he will do whatever it takes to make sure no one interferes. This isn’t about their happiness; it’s about ensuring he doesn’t die an early death. Again. He will do anything. Even if it means resorting to more covert methods of gathering information. 

Something tugs at his mind, a stray memory. In the game, Ein resorts to several means to try to eliminate Ciara, means which, in the good ending, she is caught for and eliminated. If she’s relieved to be single again, though… Will she threaten Ciara? He needs Ein more than just content on the sidelines. He needs her locked up or dead. He should be able to rely on the plot of the story to do so for him; however… 

Finnian’s eyes narrow as he vanishes into the shadows of the night, mulling over ways he might ensure that she is out of the picture until wedding bells toll.