42nd of Frost, Year 119
As compelling as Eloise's words had been, a small strand of doubt filled his thoughts and only further resonated as he delved into it. Despite what Eloise had just told him -- of her being Anna Clara, of her membership of House de Blanciet -- he could only remember her conflicting stories from days prior. Of her mother, and her pressure towards her in becoming a mage; her exploitation of her daughter's status to further herself. How she died, at Eloise's direction... Taelian now had to determine which story was the truth, and which was a lie. And why would she lie about either story? Both were grim; both made her appear something like a failure. Or a craven. Or even a murderer.
He frowned.
"Eloise... you told me that you were born a peasant. Those things about your mother -- her death, your games as a Valran, how you played the Candor... now, you're telling me that you're a member of the Entente. That your family died; that your name is not even Eloise. You constantly throw me between truth and lie and ask me to decipher, but I do not know. Your story could have been either. How can I really tell?"
The woman smiled faintly, and nodded once as if to give herself permission to understand him. Her stare, beyond Taelian and out into what almost looked like an endless nether, was empty and far removed from their reality. She appeared to be lost, deep, in thought. But the woman was cognizant.
"Sometimes the truth is what lies in the middle of two lies. But that is not what happened here -- instead, there are two truths simultaneously, held together by a wide gap. Gillian was the Elven mother I told you of before; a peasant woman. But she had me as Louen's bastard daughter, and I was a talented mage, and perhaps through my talents, Louen decided to marry her as he believed her blood was imbued with strong magic. Strong enough to justify becoming wed to his paramour of old." She frowned. The Umpire remembered the days before they married, before she was elevated to the Entente; how she was always so confused when receiving gifts and visits from her eminent father, like a God descending.
"I was a very young girl at this time; Louen was the only father I ever knew. And he was a good one -- a good man. He loved me and my younger sister, Henrietta, very much."
Of course, that meant that...
"Cailan was a human, yes. My half-brother. His mother died some time before Louen and Gillian met, and so he was a few years older than I. He was... mostly kind, but reserved, drawn to his own world. His fantasies. Cailan was a very disturbed individual, disinterested in people who he believed to be predictable and droll. He had an infatuation with the unnatural; the way in which life could twist and bend. He was... one of the greatest Necromancers in Daravin; he must have been. Each of his creations was an entangled work of art."
As disturbing as that was, given the context.
