Chapter 27 – Fallen Woman

A week later, Valentina sat in the large parliamentary structure on the palace grounds, squeezed between the duchess and Lady Beatrice in the rows reserved for the magnates’ companions. High wooden beams supported the linen roofs, which softened the bright summer light into a warm glow, and cooling Essence patterns ensured that the heat remained bearable. Nevertheless, there was a strong smell of sweat and perfume from the spectators.

Today, there was no debate on the agenda, but rather petitions and grievances, beginning with an inheritance dispute.

“What’s it about?” Valentina whispered to Beatrice as the lords and representatives of the cities and guilds took their seats down in the assembly hall.

Beatrice leaned toward her. “The Earl of Trissbrook versus his late father’s mistress. A rather ugly story.”

“Interesting,” Vyxara murmured in Valentina’s mind. “Look around. Who’s missing?”

Valentina scanned the ranks. Cosimo’s seat was empty. So were the seats of several other high-ranking lords, including the Duke of Edhel and the Earl of Redpool.

“Where is the duke?” she asked quietly.

The duchess’s lips twitched almost imperceptibly. “He has urgent correspondence to attend to. As do several other gentlemen.” Her tone made it clear that this was no coincidence. Some men clearly did not want to be associated with this trial.

“Guilty conscience. Decent enough not to want to be involved in this woman’s condemnation,” Vyxara murmured in her thoughts. “But too smart to risk standing up for her.”

“Too cowardly for that, you mean,” Valentina thought disappointedly. She understood Cosimo well. But it also hurt her.

A parliamentary servant stepped forward and announced in a booming voice: “The Parliament is convening to rule on the Trissbrook inheritance case! The honorable Earl of Trissbrook versus Elisa Ferrier!”

A woman was led forward. Elisa Ferrier might have been forty, perhaps even a little younger, but life had carved deep furrows into her face. Her high cheekbones, large eyes, and elegant posture, which she maintained despite everything, revealed that she must once have been very beautiful. But her skin was sallow, her dark hair stringy, and her dress, although clean, was obviously old and had been mended many times by now.

And she stood alone before the assembled power of the realm, with hundreds of pairs of eyes fixed on her. In most of those eyes, there was nothing but contempt.

“Does she not have a pleader?” asked Valentina.

“No one was willing to represent her,” Beatrice replied quietly. “Her case is too delicate, and no one wanted to get their fingers burned.”

The new Earl of Trissbrook, a man in his thirties who seemed absolutely sure of himself, stepped forward with a smug expression and delivered his indictment.

“Lord Chancellor, my lords, honorable representatives, this woman exploited and manipulated my father during the last years of his life. She insinuated herself into his trust when he was old and weak and persuaded him to shower her with gifts that are part of my family’s estate and rightfully belong to me as heir.”

He listed everything his father had given her and to which he laid claim. Jewels worth several thousand silver crowns. A small manor house in Trissbrookshire, five gold crowns, countless dresses, and even some furniture.

“She corrupted him,” the Earl concluded, his voice trembling with rehearsed indignation. It sounded almost genuine. “She took advantage of his weakness, clouded his mind, and made him squander our family’s fortune. I demand the return of all the goods she obtained through her indecent manipulations.”

A murmur of agreement rippled through the ranks. Valentina saw some of the older lords nodding sternly.

Then Elisa Ferrier was allowed to speak.

Her voice trembled, but she stood upright and held her head high as she addressed Parliament. “My Lords, I-“

“Anyone who speaks before Parliament must address the Lord Chancellor!” Lord Chancellor Blazen commanded her.

Startled, she corrected herself. “I beg your pardon, Lord Chancellor! I served the Earl of Trissbrook faithfully for fifteen years. The gifts he gave me were given freely and willingly and I did not ask for them. There are documents, letters bearing his seal, and there is even a deed of gift for the estate.”

She took a deep breath. “I cared for him when he was ill, and I was at his side when he died. I loved him and was faithful to him, and he loved me. We have a… a daughter together. I did not deceive him.”

Her words echoed in a sea of stony faces. No one wanted to listen to a mistress.

“She already knows she has lost,” whispered Vyxara.

Then a massive figure rose, dressed in magnificent robes of red and gold, brimming with silver embroidery. The Scorchbishop of Vandercourt, the spiritual leader of the Church of the Martyr in Sommerland, was a corpulent man with several chins, and two massive gold signet rings glistened on his fingers.

“Lord Chancellor, Lords and Representatives! This woman,” he boomed in a voice obviously accustomed to preaching, “is a shameless, impudent harlot and a wanton whore! She has led an honorable man astray from the path of the Martyr and enriched herself with his fortune while ensnaring him with the temptations of the flesh! And now she dares to brag here in front of everyone with the spawn that resulted from this fornication! I demand not only that the good Earl of Trissbrook be given back his rightful property, but that this lowly wench be exiled from the realm!”

Next to Valentina, the duchess snorted contemptuously. “That hypocritical whoremonger.”

The vote was quick.

The Lord Chancellor counted the raised hands, but it was hardly necessary. The overwhelming majority voted in favor of the Earl.

“Parliament rules,” announced the Lord Chancellor in a bored voice, “that all property fraudulently obtained by Elisa Ferrier from the late Earl of Trissbrook shall revert to his rightful heir. The mansion, the jewels, and all other documented possessions are to be handed over within one fortnight.”

He paused, and something like satisfaction flashed in his eyes.

“Furthermore, Elisa Ferrier is found guilty of corrupting public morals. She is banished from the realm. She has one month to leave Summerland, or she forfeits her life. We now turn to the complaint of the good people of Wolveshire against the conduct of the sheriff of-“

And that was it. The lords had already moved on to the next item on the agenda.

Elisa Ferrier stood frozen for a moment. Then her shoulders slumped and she allowed herself to be led away by the parliamentary servants.

Her path took her right past the stands where Valentina was sitting. There was no anger in the older woman’s eyes, only a sad and weary resignation.

A chill spread through Valentina’s chest.

“Imagine that,” Vyxara said gravely in her thoughts. “She served him for fifteen years, cared for him, loved him, warmed his bed, bore him a daughter. And now she has nothing, less than nothing, really. She is being chased out of the realm like a mangy dog.”

Valentina remembered what Lady Celestine had said last year in Dusktown, her advice to position herself early enough and build something, and her warnings about the fate of paramours who lost the interest of their patrons. That surely applied to paramours who outlived their patrons as well.

“Don’t forget that this could be you,” Vyxara continued with ruthless clarity. “It’s unlikely, yes. Cosimo is infatuated with you, and his son considers you the love of his life, but things can change, everything is in flux, always. When push comes to shove, you have no legal protection. You have no family who could do anything for you, no titles, and no lands. You have nothing that belongs to you that cannot be taken away from you.”

Valentina swallowed hard and suddenly saw the duchess even more clearly, the duchess and the complicated web of mutual benefit and loyalty that Rosalind had woven over decades. That was the reason for all of that.

“You must secure your position,” Vyxara said. “Every connection you make, every service you render, every debt others owe you are the stones with which you must build your social fortress. Otherwise, you will end up like her. Don’t ever forget her face.”

Valentina nodded almost imperceptibly as the debates continued around her and no one spared a thought for the woman who had just basically lost her life.

Her skills as an Essence Weaver, her intelligence, her hard-earned wealth, Cosimo’s affection, and Rosalind’s support, hell, even the arrangement with Innogen and Lorenzo, none of it meant anything without a foundation so secure that it simply couldn’t be torn away.

~

Over the next two weeks, the debates in Parliament continued to rage. Valentina watched from the gallery as Duke Cosimo fought for every single vote, taking lords aside during breaks between sessions, talking to them and winning more and more of them over to his side.

Only Marquess Farnsworth remained unshaken.

“The burden on the free peasants is too high,” he argued in his gentle, reasonable-sounding voice, while his supporters nodded. “The serfs certainly cannot shoulder these additional taxes. Do you want to risk a peasant uprising? Have you forgotten what happened to Scorchbishop Waldemar in Othal?”

His objections always sounded moderate, never fanatical, and that was precisely what made his resistance so insidious. He had gathered a group of representatives of the commons around him, guild masters and city representatives, as well as a few barons and knights, who hung on his every word and were only too happy to rally around him.

Cosimo came home more exhausted every evening, the wrinkles around his eyes deeper than in the morning.

“That damn Farnsworth,” Valentina once heard him say to the duchess when he thought no one was listening. “Blazen has already made several suggestions to His Majesty on how to deal with him, but that could ruin everything. I have to convince him somehow, but he just ignores all of my attempts.”

~

Innogen came whenever circumstances allowed. And the duchess made sure that circumstances allowed, repeatedly creating little opportunities for them to take a walk in the garden or spend an hour in the library while the men were otherwise occupied.

They didn’t dare repeat their tryst. It was too risky, and there were too many eyes and ears in the house. But there were kisses, brief, silent, stolen moments, hidden behind rose bushes or when they could be sure they were alone in the library.

“She’s drinking you in,” Vyxara remarked one afternoon as Innogen only reluctantly pulled away from her because footsteps could be heard outside the library door.

“I know,” Valentina thought back, watching Innogen fix her hair, which had gotten a little messy.

“And you enjoy it.”

She did. It was nice and satisfying, knowing that she could give her something that no one else could.

~

On the evenings, there were countless social obligations that were slowly but surely beginning to wear on her nerves.

There were always boring feasts and dinners or garden parties at this or that lord’s house, where the food was as lavish as the conversation was venomous. But at least it was better than the other way around.

She mainly kept her mouth shut and watched the duchess and Lady Beatrice at work. Fortunately, Beatrice willingly gave her all the background information she could possibly want.

“The Earl of Ravenshire and the Duke of Mirkshire haven’t exchanged a word in a decade,” Beatrice murmured to her at a reception as the two men passed each other with icy disdain.

“And why is that?” Valentina wanted to know.

“The Earl of Ravenshire single-handedly executed a vassal of the Duke of Mirkshire. A knight who crossed the River Mirky into Ravenshire and terrorized villages there. Ravenshire did the right thing, if you ask me, but legally he overstepped his authority.”    

Valentina absorbed everything like a sponge.