LbN: LONG chapter ahoy. I nearly clocked 4ooo words with this one. Pinkie promise to reply to all reviews, and have the final chapter up by Monday! Happy reading!

Baron Karofsky slipped into bed that night with a smile on his face. He was always slightly afraid of disgracing himself on the rare occasion that he was warden of the Lowlands. But the week had gone by quickly, and Santana and Rachel would be back next morning. He'd done his duty faithfully, as always, and went to sleep happy that everything was as it should be in the Lowlands.

Or so he thought….

There were many small towns to compliment the major cities in the Lowlands. That was the reason for so many Lower Nobles to oversee things. Hemlain was one of these small towns, and all was well there. They were still celebrating one of their own being raised so high. In another town, however, things were not so fine. It was a tinier town than even Hemlain, to the southeast of the city of Angelione, and mere miles before the border to the country of Breckengore.

The only pub was packed that night. Men and women drank their wages, and sang, and gambled the night away. It was crowded, and noisy, which was perfect for the purposes of the small group of men sitting in a shadowy corner. The landlord had debated keeping a surreptitious eye on them, but decided against it. He also cautioned his son and daughter to stay away, and let him deliver that group's ale. There are just some things, some people, that it is dangerous to overhear. The landlord, called Garland, was a steady, honest man. A good man. And he'd lived quite a good life, but he'd like to live that life a little longer. More important still, he'd like his children to outlive him. So he instructed them to make merry with the other patrons, and left whatever shadowy dealings were taking place up to the High Ones.

In the corner, the men spoke in whispers.

"It's an insult," said one. "And I'm not the only one who thinks it. Lord -"

"Hush, lad," said a gruff voice. "Best not to speak too boldly there. We all know who shares our feelings about the new Duchess."

"The question," said a third, smoother voice, "now becomes… what do we intend to do about her?"

A raucous round of laughter from the other side of the pub made them pause.

The fourth man, who until now had stayed silent, spoke up. "For the time being...perhaps we should do nothing. I don't think the girl will prove to be anything more than a distraction for the Archduchess. Perhaps even a welcome one, if we play the game right."

"She's an insult," said the smooth voice, agreeing with the first. "What sort of High House muddles their bloodline with commoners? It's a disgrace to the whole land. And further, in case you've forgotten, Santana is in line for the throne."

There was silence at this.

"If the rumors coming out of the capital are true," the gruff voice grunted, "It seems that King Darren may go to the Far Fields sooner than we'd like. And his son is…." He trailed off, and spat on the floor. "Prince Blaine," he sneered. "Far too much like Santana. Far too invested in matters of peasants and lowborn. We have to protect our interests, after all. If the king dies, and something were to happen to the heir in a year or two…. Santana would take the throne. The first Lopez in history to hold it in their own right rather than a regency. Any half-low bastards she has with the singing wench would be above all of us. I agree… waiting may not be prudent."

The first voice sighed. "I must visit a few people. I think we may have options, but we shall need to meet again."

"The first day of High Winter. And we cannot meet here again."

"To travel too far outside our own...areas, even in secret, would attract comment."

"I come and go freely," the smooth voice said. "We," he nodded at the first voice. "Shall meet in Ugontir. The mountains are free enough from meddlesome people. I shall travel to each of you in turn to report."

Garland the landlord had just finished clearing a round of empty mugs when he spotted the empty booth. He took a deep, nervous breath, and prayed that whoever they were would not return.


Prince Blaine paced while his mother slept on the sofa. She hadn't been getting much sleep lately, and he was happy she could. He found himself missing the company of his brother. It had been an easy enough ruse - he'd simply told Cooper that the Chang House wanted him to come stay with them for a while. The younger prince had been a tad suspicious, but the Changs had often welcomed him into their home, so it wasn't all that surprising. The real reason, however, was that Blaine knew his father was worsening. And having two prince in the same place when a king died was a very poor idea, indeed.

"My prince?"

"Sam," Blaine whispered, careful not to wake his mother. "What of my father?"

Sam's smile was small and sad. "He's getting better."

Blaine expelled a shocked, delighted breath, but sobered when he saw Sam's expression. "But?"

"I fear a relapse. His condition can be treated, but not fully cured. And it's degenerative. I… Forgive me, but I have to speak the truth. Even if he seems the picture of health...I believe you should… prepare yourselves."

Blaine nodded, and clapped Sam on the back. "Thank you, Sam. Will you stay with his team of physicians?"

"Of course, my prince."

"I'll see you tomorrow, then."


The days passed by. High Winter came with a vengeance in the Lowlands, bringing not snow, but ice storms. But life ticked on still. It was Rachel who had come up with the new system - taking her new role as Lady of the Manor quite seriously. There were various sorts of petitions, and a lot of the ones that took up the most of Santana's time were the easy ones. Rachel had put forth the idea that Baron Angelo and Lady McGuinness could hear petitions coming from the commons closest to their cities, while she, Rachel, would hear petitions from the commons in Angelione and the surrounding towns. It split the responsibility of the land into three, and left Santana more time to deal with the more challenging requests from the Low Nobles, and the matters of state that came down from the capital.

It was one of these matters that occupied Santana's time at the moment. She smiled at the note of approval from the king. She had talked with Rachel about the girl's insistence that not all raiders go straight to Merconton. Together, with the help of a few history and law books, plus Baron Angelo and Lady McGuinness's input, they had devised a system in which serious offenders were granted a week-long holding period, during which they could be tried by a council of Low Nobles, and petition for a lower sentence. The king had agreed just last week, and the proclamations had been sent across the land. From what Santana heard, it was an immensely popular decision. And this had surprised her. She'd always thought people would feel safer under her rule if she took a no nonsense approach to serious offenses. It looked as though they felt safer knowing they'd always be heard. The note from the king said as much.

There was a knock on the door.

"Enter."

Her page, Seekins, entered carrying another stack of mail. "Sorry, your grace," he said.

"It never ends, man," Santana groaned. "Sit a moment."

Seekins looked surprised, but did so.

"Are you happy here, Seekins?" she asked.

"Very much so, your grace."

"But you're eighteen in two days, yes?"

"Aye, your grace," he said, clearly wondering where this was going.

She smiled. "I've grown fond of your service, but I also want to take your future into account. I've written to the Masters at the College of Granatrova, out in Carmel. They're happy to offer you a place, if you so desire it."

Seekins gaped, and then remembered himself and closed his mouth. "Th-thank you, your grace. I shall have to speak with my mother about it."

"Of course. Take this weekend and visit her. You're free to go after you take this last batch of responses down in a bit."

"Yes, your grace! Thank you!"

She smiled as he left. She wanted college for all of the young servants, but she knew it would only be possible for a few. Nigel, of course, would be eligible, but she truly wondered if the boy would go. Master of the Menagerie, and quite content with staying in the Lowlands…. It would be an interesting conversation, in a year or two.

She made her way through the short stack of letters. Luckily, they were mostly reports that didn't require response. She got to the last and paused. It had no return stamp, no seal of ownership. That was curious, as were the paper and ink. She didn't recognize the make. Carefully, she opened it and read the clean, bold script.

We denounce your recent marriage, and hold you in contempt. Divorce the singing wench by Year's Feast, or we will take matters into our own hands. She will burn from the inside out, and you will have lost your lands.

Santana's blood ran cold, and then burned hot. But she was older now, and wiser, and she knew what to do. "Seekins!"

"My lady?"

"There are no responses today, lad," she said, in a calm voice that belied her rising panic. "But could you fetch Ridcully and Gendry to me before you leave?"

"Yes, of course, my lady."

Santana was shaking. She wracked her brain for a way to summon Rachel back without alerting the suspicion of these scoundrels or alarming her wife. Two o'clock. She'd be in Angelione at the Arts Center for practice. Santana debated sending Asa and Markus down, but decided against it. She needed to think…. She needed… Hold on a moment.

She crossed the study and tossed a bit of potion into the fire. Kurt's face appeared a moment later.

"Santana! To what do we owe this pleasure?"

"You said in your letter that you would be visiting the capital next week, and staying through the Year's Feast."

"Indeed."

"I...need a favor. Is Sugar qualified to do recon? I know you keep up with her grades."

"We do indeed, and they are splendid," Kurt said with a grin. "We believe young Sugar has just earned her first stripe, which means, yes she can. But only recon. She's not licensed to kill, capture, or extract information yet."

"How do I hire her?"

"We can send a note to the Headmistress."

"Thank you, Kurt. And… your young man… the one they call The Shadow?"

"Yes?"

"When you're in the capitol, will you have him keep his ear to the ground about Rachel?"

Kurt's expression changed. Santana had seen it before, and it was one of the reasons she liked him, for all his pompous posturing. There was a subtle hardening of the features he got when he was taking an issue very, possibly lethally, seriously.

"Is something wrong, Santana?" he asked.

"I don't know yet," she said, and explained the message.

He nodded. "We'll put him on it. And we'll have Sugar down there in a few days."

"Thank you, Kurt."

The fire message died, and Santana had just sat back at her desk when Ridcully and Gendry entered. She waved them into seats, and without preamble, began to explain the note she'd received.

"Ridcully, are there ways of testing for poison without another human or animal having to try the food or drink first?"

"Yes, your grace," he answered. "Three other ways, to be specific. All safe and accurate. I can start compiling the necessities right now, if you wish."

"Thank you, Ridcully. Go ahead."

The Mage bowed and exited.

Santana looked at Gendry, and was heartened to see some of the anger she felt reflected in him. "I trust you, Gendry. And I know you care for her ladyship."

"Yes, your grace. Why would anyone want to hurt her?"

"I'm not in fact completely sure that they do," Santana sighed, standing up. "Perhaps they just want to scare me. But in any case, we have to make sure she is safe. Your vows say that you are to fight under me if ever our House is called into battle. I want you to be her bodyguard, though. Even if there is an uprising. Even if there is a war. You will stay by her side."

"Aye, your grace," he said immediately.

"There's something I must show you. Follow me."

She led him down through the Manor, to the northwestern wing. On the ground floor, there was a doorway hidden behind a thick curtain. In fact, it wasn't a doorway, as such. It was stoneworks, just like the rest of the walls. But Santana counted fifteen stones up and pushed, and a small section swung in to reveal a tunnel.

"Quickly," she said, looking around to make sure they weren't seen. "Can you remember this place?" she whispered, as she closed the door behind them.

"I think so, your grace. What is this place, exactly?"

"A nightmare from my childhood," Santana muttered, and conjured a light for them.

Gendry noticed, as they walked, that the ground turned from stone to dirt.

"It's been a part of the Manor for… a very long while," Santana explained. "It's been years since I was down here. When I was small, raiders intended to kidnap me and hold me ransom. They attacked the Manor one night, with the help of a few treacherous servants. Cordelia somehow found me in time, and brought me down here." She stopped, and shone her light down the tunnel. "In all, it's about an hour walk to the end," she said. "It puts you out on the northernmost edge of the King's Wood, on a path that will take you directly to the capital. Or, if you turn east at the norther border, to Lord Rutherford's territory. If there is ever any...trouble… you are to get Rachel out. Bring Nigel and the hounds if you can, but your priority is her. Do you understand?"

"Yes, your grace. Do...do you think there will be trouble?"

Santana peered at him in the faint light. He looked so young, suddenly. "I don't know," she admitted, squeezing his shoulder. "Let's get back."


Rachel knew something was up as soon as she returned to the Manor. Santana was waiting for her, which was worrying in itself. Not that her wife wasn't attentive, but she was a High Noble. She had duties, and usually wasn't around when Rachel returned from practice.

"Love," she said, accepting a kiss. "What's the matter?"

"Come talk to me," Santana said as they made their way up to their chambers. She sat in the window seat, and pulled Rachel into her lap once they were alone in their room. "I promised to always be truthful with you," she began. "And to protect you."

"What is it?" Rachel asked.

"Someone's making threats against you," Santana explained. "I don't know who, but…. I'm going to find out. I've named Gendry your bodyguard, and Adam will continue on with you as well."

"What do you mean by threats?" Rachel asked. "I mean...what sort of threats?"

Santana pulled the note from her breast pocket and allowed Rachel to read it.

Rachel turned and kissed her. "I'm not worried."

Santana reeled back in shock. "Really? I'm scared shitl - stiff."

Rachel nodded. "Perhaps I'm a little anxious, but… I have you on my side. I have Gendry, and Adam. The Manor itself protects me. Plus, if this is real, these people still need time to plan how to get to me. That's time for the Rangers to catch them. And...well, I wasn't expecting this, but I also hadn't much hope for widespread popularity. This could be just someone venting their frustrations. It could be more. But for now, until we know more, there's not much we can do." She kissed her wife again. "What comes will come. And we'll meet it when it does. Everything's going to be fine."

Santana held her tightly, pressing a kiss to her neck. She hoped her wife was right.


Time trickled by leading up to the Year's Feast, but it was passing quite quickly for Sugar, who had a lot to do.

She sipped her lemonade and looked over her coded notes. She'd been in the Lowlands for three days now, but hadn't seen her sister yet. No, instead she'd been traveling around the border cities under the name Mathilda Pine, and keeping her ear to the ground about her sister. She'd actually expected worse than she'd heard. In fact, the peasants seemed thrilled with their new lady - a complete change from when Rachel was nothing more than a "mistress". This didn't cheer Sugar at all. That meant that whatever Santana was worried about (Lord Kurt hadn't explained in his letter), it wasn't coming from the commons and lowborn. She'd crept in those circles long enough to know how to infiltrate and hear quickly. It was coming from either the merchant class, or possibly even the Highborn. Sugar was young, but she knew that meant trouble.

"Anything else I can get you, dear?" the old woman asked.

"No, thank you," Sugar said, flipping her now black hair out of her face. She set a few coins on the counter. "Keep the change."

All of the trappings of the Year's Feast were in place at the Manor, even though they weren't hosting. Santana had paid for feasts for the city of Angelione and the town of Hemlain. Down there, her subjects were making merry. Up in the Manor, she was keeping a sick Rachel company.

"Ridcully checked three times, love," Rachel assured Santana. "I haven't been poisoned."

"I know. I just...I wish there was something I could do," Santana said.

"It's High Winter, Santana," Rachel said, smiling. "I usually catch a little something when the cold sets in."

Santana smiled and nodded. "You said you just started feeling ill yesterday?"

"Yes. And it's not too bad. Just an upset stomach and I feel incredibly tired."

"I should let you rest," Santana said, kissing her forehead. "Ring if you need anything. And Gendry's just outside the door."

"I will. Goodnight."


Blaine spun Kurt in his arms as the band played on. He was happier than he had been in ages, even with Santana's wedding. He had his suitor here, his dad had recovered enough strength to hold a ball for the Year's Feast, and Prince Cooper was back at the capital.

"Boys!" King Darren called, beckoning them to the table. He smiled brightly when they approached. "I mean to retire in a moment, after I've found your brother and wished him a goodnight. Lord Hummel, do make sure my son enjoys himself for the rest of the evening. He's far too serious lately," he said, winking at Blaine. Then he wrapped his son in a hug. When he pulled away, he kept a gentle hand on Blaine's neck. "Goodnight, son. We'll talk about those plans for the new college tomorrow, yes?"

"Yes, Father," Blaine said, happy that his dad's hands weren't shaking and his voice wasn't wavering anymore.

"Good. A good evening to you all!" he called across the hall.

The people bowed as he strode from the room.


Santana refused to sleep apart from Rachel, even though Ridcully warned her that she could very well be contagious. He was going to run more tests in the morning to see how best to treat her, but for now he said the best thing was to let Rachel rest. Santana didn't care if she caught whatever this was. By now, she knew the people who had sent the threats had probably realized she had no intention of divorcing Rachel. And this worried her, because she didn't know what their next move would be, or what hers should be. She lay awake, listening to Rachel's quiet breathing. She knew she ought to sleep. It was probably around four in the morning now. Perhaps she'd be safer staying with Matt and Keira? No...they had babies to think about. And besides, she didn't want to send Rachel away. Although Kurt was adamant about her coming to visit. Perhaps she'd -

Her thoughts were interrupted by a loud booming gong from outside. Five seconds later, there was another...and another...and another….

"Santana?" Rachel said, waking up. "What is that?"

Santana had never heard this bell before in her life, but she knew what it was. "High Ones… gods, no…."

"Love," Rachel said, now fully awake. "Wait...that's the lowest bell I've ever heard. Is that… is that the Tsarist?" she asked, turning wide eyes to her wife. A look was all it took. "No…."

"King Darren is dead."

The whole Manor was awake within the hour. Baron Angelo arrived in another hour and a half. Santana had her advisors with her, of course, but she wasn't listening to a single one of them.

"I have to go!" she thundered. "Prince… King Blaine is like my brother."

"Santana, you're an heir too," Angelo insisted. "You should stay here, at least for a day. Until we find out what happened."

Santana huffed, pacing the room. She thought of Rachel. "One day, to make sure my wife is alright. And then I must leave."

"I'm fine."

The small group turned to find Rachel in the doorway.

"Songbird," Santana said quietly. "You should be in bed."

"I feel fine, for now. Please, don't stay on my account. If you feel you need to because of unrest, or some political reason, that's fine. But I'll be okay."

Santana glanced up to see Gendry just beyond the doorway. "Go back to bed," she whispered. "I'll come see you before I leave. Dave is already on his way - he sent an eagle ahead."

Rachel nodded, and walked back out of the room, pulling her dressing gown tightly around her.

"If you go, Santana," Baron Angelo said, realizing defeat. "You must allow me to send an albatross to the capital and request an Airship. Your father would come back to haunt me if I let you take a coach."

She smiled sadly at him and nodded.

He squeezed her shoulder. "You should get some sleep. We'll see to the arrangements, and greet his grace when he arrives."

"Thank you, Angelo."

Rachel was still up when Santana got back to the room. She pulled her wife into her arms, just as grief and exhaustion overcame her. "It's going to be alright," she whispered.