Chapter 28 – Social Intelligence

One evening, when the house was quiet, Valentina sat down by the light of her Essence lamp and picked up her quill to finally write a few letters to her family.

My dearest Adeline, she began the first one.

After all, she had promised her sister she would write and tell her all about life in the capital.

She described the tournament, the shining armor the knights wore with their imaginative helmet decorations and their fluttering banners. The ladies’ dresses, the silk and brocade in every color imaginable, and the palace in all its splendor. She reported on Parliament, where the most powerful men in the realm decided the fate of the kingdom in serious deliberation.

It is more exciting than I could ever have imagined, she wrote. Every day there is something new to see, to learn, to marvel at.

“That is a very carefully edited version, of course,” Vyxara remarked dryly.

Valentina paused.

Of course, she wrote nothing about her arrangement with the duke, or her complicated feelings for Lorenzo and Innogen, although she would have liked to. She didn’t mention her night at the Tower either, although she would have bet her sister would have wanted to know all about it. And she said nothing about Elisa Ferrier’s face as she was driven to ruin.

“Adeline deserves a few dreams,” she thought back and dipped her pen in the ink again.

She would learn the truth soon enough. Everyone did. But not today. Not from her.

Take good care of yourself, little sister, listen to what Father and Mother tell you, and look after Mabel, Colm, and Thomas, she concluded the letter. And dream of all the wonders in the world. With love, Valentina.

She carefully folded the expensive paper that the Marquess Ashbourne had gifted to the duke and which the duke had given her and sealed the letter with wax before sitting down to write the next one. Tomorrow she would give the whole stack to one of the ducal messengers and send it to Palewood.

~

Late one evening, as she returned from the inner garden, where she had been enjoying the quiet evening hours and curiously studying the ingenious Essence pattern that operated the fountain, she encountered Lorenzo in the corridor.

He had just come out of his father’s study. He looked tired, had dark circles under his eyes, and stopped abruptly when he saw her. Valentina also paused.

For a moment, they just looked at each other, and Valentina saw his hand twitch, reaching halfway toward her, then dropping back down.

Her own hand twitched briefly, because she would have liked to take his.

But they couldn’t. Not here, not now. Cosimo’s jealousy was a sleeping lion that neither of them wanted to wake.

“In a moment he’ll ask you what you think of the weather,” Vyxara sneered.

Lorenzo cleared his throat softly. “How are you? Are you settling in well at, um, court?”

The demon laughed in her mind. “So close!”

“Fine, thank you.” She kept her voice as neutral as his and stayed on safe ground in terms of content. “It’s quite the experience.”

A faint smile flitted across his lips. “I would have said it’s deadly boring.”

“It’s bearable. And it really is an experience, after all, I’m not quite as used to it as you are.”

“Innogen and you,” Lorenzo finally asked in a lowered voice, little more than a whisper. “Have you seen each other? Since then?”

Valentina nodded silently.

“Good.” Something warm lit up in his green eyes. “I’m glad. Really.”

Before she could answer, footsteps sounded at the end of the corridor and both instinctively stepped further apart, as if they had done something forbidden.

Lorenzo bowed formally. “Good night, Valentina.”

“Good night, Lord Lorenzo.” She curtsied.

Then they walked away in opposite directions, and Valentina did not look back, but her heart was heavy.

“Patience,” Vyxara whispered gently in her mind. “You too will have your time. Just not here and not yet.”

“I know,” Valentina thought with a sigh and opened the door to her chambers.

~

The garden party at the Duke of Southwatch’s was one of dozens that had taken place in recent weeks, and in Valentina’s memory they had long since blurred into a single slush of boredom.

She sat at one of the long tables set up in the garden, sipping her diluted wine, while the usual chatter surrounded her. The duchess was talking to the Countess of Meadowshire a few seats away about the fabric trade, and Lady Beatrice was engrossed in what was obviously an amusing conversation with an elderly lord, even though he was desperately trying to hit on her.

“You seem bored,” Vyxara remarked lazily.

“I am bored,” Valentina replied in silence.

But a movement beside her made her look up. A young woman in an elegant light blue silk dress sank gracefully into the empty seat to her right.

“Is this seat free? Oh, wonderful.” She smiled broadly at Valentina, who didn’t even have time to respond, but it was an open, unaffected smile that made her dark eyes sparkle. “I’m Tilda. Tilda Farnsworth.”

Valentina now recognized her. She was the daughter of the Marquess of Coldby. They had seen each other at several events, but had never really spoken.

“Valentina of Palewood,” she introduced herself, bowing her head politely.

“Oh, I know who you are!” Tilda reached for a wine jug and generously filled her goblet. “You study at Bridgewater and you’re a winner of the Greystone Competition. My cousin Francesca told me that last year at a garden party in Dusktown, you healed a lady who had broken her foot so badly, the bone was sticking out of her leg, and her foot was barely attached!” She sighed heartbreakingly. “I wish I could do that!”

“Charming little thing,” Vyxara remarked with interest. “And she doesn’t mention the duke at all. Either she’s tactful or she’s actually only interested in you.”

Valentina smiled modestly. “The stories get a little bigger with each retelling, I’m afraid.”

“Nonsense! You’re just too modest. People always want to be so terribly polite!” Tilda leaned in a little closer, her voice taking on a conspiratorial tone. “I envy you so much! Your talent, I mean. All I have is a name and a dowry, and my father always says that if I were any dumber, I’d bark.”

Valentina had to pull herself together to keep from bursting out laughing.

“That’s unusually direct for, um, this society,” she said cautiously.

Tilda laughed a little too loudly. “Oh, I know. My mother despairs of me. She says I should learn to keep my mouth shut and smile prettily.” She rolled her eyes. “But that’s so terribly boring, don’t you think?”

“I like her,” Vyxara announced.

So did Valentina, she realized with surprise. After weeks of evening events filled with calculatingly polite courtiers and hundreds of identical, shallow compliments, Tilda’s directness was downright refreshing.

“Terribly boring,” she agreed. “And so exhausting.”

“By all the flames of the Martyr, yes!” Tilda sighed dramatically. “Every night a different party and every day a new suitor that my father tries to oh-so-subtly make appealing to me.” She grimaced. “And all of them are stupid overgrown boys who have nothing more interesting to talk about than their hunting successes or how much land they own. One of them talked my ear off for at least an hour about falconry. He should just marry his stupid bird and leave me alone.”

“No good prospects?” Valentina asked, amused.

“Not one who makes my heart beat even a little faster.” Tilda rested her chin on her hand and looked at the company with feigned despair. “I sometimes wonder if there are any men out there who are interested in a woman like me. Real men, I mean, not pompous peacocks with more titles than muscles.”

Valentina’s thoughts wandered involuntarily to grey-blue eyes and huge hands on her hips, and she suppressed a smile.

“Oh, there are,” Vyxara chuckled in her head. “But maybe you shouldn’t necessarily give her directions to Baron Foncemendicant’s townhouse.”

“Maybe you just need to give them a chance,” Valentina said diplomatically.

Tilda sighed. “Quentin always says the same thing. He thinks I’m too picky.” A loving smile flitted across her face as she mentioned his name. “But he’s still unmarried himself, so he can hardly lecture me.”

“Quentin?”

“My brother. He’s a knight. A real knight, not one of those tournament cockerels. He’s captain of our garrison on the western frontier, a true Marcher.” Pride was in her voice. “He protects the realm from the dangers beyond the mountains. Goblins, trolls, sometimes even raids by the Ny-Tau.”

Valentina listened attentively. “That sounds dangerous.”

“Oh, we don’t know any different.” The marcher pride didn’t allow another answer but Tilda’s smile faded a little. “He’s been there for two years now and rarely comes to visit. I miss him terribly.” She twirled her wine goblet between her fingers. “And I worry. Especially now, with all this…”

She broke off and shook her head, as if she had said too much.

“With all this…what??” Valentina asked gently.

Tilda glanced around briefly, as if to make sure no one was listening. “I don’t know exactly what’s going on in Parliament. My father won’t talk to me about it. But I hear things about troop mobilizations and fleet preparations.” She lowered her voice. “I’m not that stupid, I can put two and two together. There’s going to be a war. And young soldiers like my brother would be right in the middle of it.”

“Interesting,” Vyxara murmured. “Ask her about her father.”

“Your father is the Marquess of Coldby, isn’t he? I’ve heard he’s supposed to be quite, um, stubborn during this Parliament, regarding those questions.”

Tilda’s expression darkened noticeably. “He never used to be like that.” She took a deep sip of wine. “Lately, he’s been very different. Quick-tempered and secretive. Last week, during a conversation with my mother in his study, he banged on the table so loudly that even the guards were startled.” She shook her head in confusion. “He shouted that ‘they will sacrifice the flower of Summerland, our best young men, for their pride and greed.’ I’ve never heard him talk like that before. He’s so loyal to the king!”

“There we have it,” Vyxara said with quiet satisfaction. “It’s about his son.”

“What does your mother say about this?” Valentina asked.

“She thinks he fears for Quentin. He’s my only brother, you know. Life as a knight in the Marches, the skirmishes on the frontier, that’s one thing, we’re used to that. But a real war?” Tilda shrugged helplessly. “I wish I could help him, but Father won’t talk to me about it. He just locks himself in his study and broods. I really don’t know what to do.”

Valentina gently touched Tilda’s arm. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m just worried about Father and Quentin.” Tilda smiled crookedly. “I’ve probably talked too much again, but you’re good to talk to, you know that? You listen so attentively.”

“I hear that a lot.”

“We should meet again,” Tilda said, her face brightening again. “Not at one of those stiff parties, but properly. Maybe a walk in the palace gardens? Just the two of us?”

“I’d like that,” Valentina replied politely.

“Does Innogen have reason to be jealous?” teased the demon.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Vyxara,” she thought back.

Tilda beamed. “Wonderful! I’ll send you a message!” She raised her goblet. “To new friendships?”

Valentina raised her goblet es well. “To new friendships.”

When the table was cleared later and the guests took to the dance floor, Tilda said goodbye with a warm and borderline inappropriate hug and the promise to send a messenger soon.

Valentina watched her as the young woman walked back to her parents. The Marquess of Coldby stood on the edge of the gathering, a tall, gaunt man who barely touched his wine, but instead talked energetically to the Earl of Redpool, who kept shaking his head.

“I think we have his secret,” Vyxara said with satisfaction.

“I think so too. And tomorrow,” Valentina thought as she walked over to the duchess, “I’ll tell Cosimo how he can solve his problem.”

“So eager to prove your value beyond the bedroom?”

“Just another brick in my social fortress, Vyxara.”

“I love it when you’re so determined, little Weaver.”