Chapter 6 – The Audience

The Greystone group stepped forward. Cosimo and Rosalind led the way, Lorenzo a step behind, then Beatrice and Valentina. They sank into almost perfectly synchronized bows, the men with an elegant kick of the leg, the women in a deep but not submissive curtsy.

“Duke Cosimo,” King Edmund spoke, his warm baritone voice filling the room effortlessly. “We are pleased to see you and your family well.”

“Your Majesty honors us with your attention,” Cosimo replied smoothly.

“How is your hospital, Duke Cosimo?” the king asked with seemingly casual interest. “And the quarries? We hear the Greystone marble in the new vein that has been found is of exceptional quality.”

“The hospital is thriving, Your Majesty,” Cosimo replied with obvious pride. “And the quarries are indeed tapping into one of the finest veins we have ever seen. A very light, almost white marble with only a few grey inclusions, which is highly sought after by the builders, I hear.”

“Excellent. Prosperous trade means a prosperous realm.” Edmund turned to Duchess Rosalind. “Duchess, you look radiant as always. Our consort greatly admires your sense of fashion, as she has mentioned many times.”

Queen Beatrice nodded in agreement. “Indeed. This combination of cut and fabric is exquisite, Rosalind. You must tell me the name of your tailor.”

“You are too kind, Your Majesty,” Rosalind replied with an elegant bow of her head. “As always, it is Master Silkhand from Dusktown. He has an exceptional eye for fabrics, but when it comes to cuts, he always draws inspiration from your example, Your Majesty.”

The king turned his attention to Lorenzo. “Lord Lorenzo, we hear you are a gifted Essence Weaver?”

“I try my best, Your Majesty,” Lorenzo replied modestly.

“A future duke who has mastered Essence Weaving is a rare blessing for Duskenshire.” Edmund’s tone became more meaningful. “Tell us, are your martial skills as pronounced as your Weaving abilities?”

“My father insisted that I be trained in both, Your Majesty. I practice with weapons daily.”

“Good, very good.” The king nodded slowly. “The combination of these skills will be of great use in the times to come.”

The implication was barely veiled, and several nobles within earshot exchanged knowing glances.

Then Edmund’s gaze fell on Lady Beatrice. A smile of recognition lit up his face. “Lady Beatrice! Is your father not Sir Roderick?”

“Indeed, Your Majesty,” Beatrice replied, clearly pleased that he remembered.

“A brave man. He once saved my life… oh, it must have been thirty years ago. A goblin incursion in Eightwood Forest. I was young and cocky, riding too far ahead of the main group.” Edmund shook his head at the memory. “Your father slew three goblins single-handedly that day and pulled me out of the ambush. How is he?”

“He’s still as spry as ever, Your Majesty,” Beatrice beamed. “He’ll be overjoyed to hear that you remember him.”

“A man of his quality is not easily forgotten.”

The king’s brown eyes wandered over the group and lingered on Valentina for a moment. She felt the weight of his gaze like a physical touch.

“And this must be the young Essence Weaver We have heard so much about,” Edmund said. “Valentina of Palewood, is it?”

“He knows your name,” Vyxara laughed in her mind.

Valentina took half a step forward and curtsied again. “Your Majesty.”

“The winner of the Greystone Competition.” There was a hint of recognition in his voice. “Duke Cosimo has told Us of your remarkable achievements in the medical application of Essence Weaving.”

Cosimo seized the opportunity immediately. “Indeed, Your Majesty. Valentina worked with my son Lorenzo and Master Wilford to perfect the Greystone Cascade. Since their purification patterns successful implementation, we have not had a single infection or case of gangrene in the hospital, not even during last winter’s plague.”

“That’s clever of him,” Vyxara murmured. “He presents you as his discovery.”

Lorenzo cleared his throat softly. “With all due respect, Your Majesty, the true genius lay with Master Wilford and Valentina. I merely assisted.”

The woman with the primrose emblem straightened noticeably, her grey eyes focusing sharply on Valentina. “An impressive achievement for someone so young. For years, the Greystone Cascade was considered too difficult to improve.”

King Edmund nodded. “Lady Agatha here is a Weaver of Our Order of the Primrose, one of the most skilled Essence Weavers in Our realm.” He turned back to Valentina. “The realm needs talented Essence Weavers, especially those with practical skills. War brings us the wounded, and the wounded need healing.”

Valentina held his gaze for a moment, then respectfully lowered her eyes. “It would be an honor to serve you and the realm in any way I can, Your Majesty.”

“Well spoken,” the king murmured with satisfaction.

“What a lovely young woman, you are, Valentina” added the queen with genuine warmth in her voice. “Duke Cosimo, you have excellent taste in choosing your proteges.”

“Stay calm,” Vyxara warned sharply. “She probably knows, but she’s not testing you. This is courtly conversation.”

“You flatter me, Your Majesty,” Valentina replied in a firm voice. “I am merely a student who has been fortunate enough to gain the attention of generous patrons.”

The queen smiled a warm, maternal smile so different from Eastwald’s repulsive fantasies about her. “Modesty is a virtue, my dear, but false modesty is not. Tell me about the state of things in Bridgewater. I hear the university has been through some turbulent times?”

Valentina’s throat felt tight. This woman, so elegant, dignified, and kind, had no idea that Valentina had played her role, taken on her form, for a fanatical, hypocritical Illuminator who had already done unspeakable things to her in his imagination.

“I really wish you could tell her,” Vyxara sighed. “I’d love to see her face.”

“Shut up!” Valentina thought angrily.

“The challenges have only made us stronger, Your Majesty,” she replied aloud, forcing herself to speak calmly. “Thanks to the Illumination of the Church of the Martyr, we are now safe again.”

Vyxara snorted in her mind.

Lady Agatha took a small step forward. “With your permission, Your Majesty, I would like to ask the young lady a question.”

King Edmund made a gesture of permission.

The Essence Weaver fixed Valentina with a gaze that pierced her to the core. “I’ve read the publications of Master Wilford in that matter, of course, but one thing isn’t quite clear to me. The Greystone Cascade is a pure Leb Essence amplifier. When you integrated the purification pattern, how did you prevent the Wazzer component from creating harmonic dissonance and thus destabilizing or even corrupting the primary healing flow?”

The question was technical, precise, remarkably insightful and obviously a test. Valentina took a deep breath and replied: “We treated the purification pattern as something I’d almost call a parasitic substring, my lady. By isolating the Wazzer component in its own Vanderlieu spiral, it was able to draw power from the Cascade without its specific resonance bleeding into the primary Leb channels. A Zît anchor at the Nexus then stabilizes the combined vibrations.” 

“The king didn’t understand a word,” Vyxara sneered.

Lady Agatha’s eyebrows rose slightly. “Elegant. Unorthodox, but elegant.” She turned to the king. “The girl has real understanding, not just memorized knowledge.”

“Excellent,” said Edmund. “As We said, The realm can use young talent like yours, Valentina of Palewood. Perhaps We should discuss your options for serving the crown in the future at the appropriate time.”

Valentina swallowed hard. A royal “invitation” to serve was not a request.

“He sees you as a tool,” Vyxara commented dryly. “A useful little instrument for his war plans.”

“I am at your disposal whenever Your Majesty wishes,” Valentina replied with another curtsy.

The king nodded with satisfaction and turned his attention to the next group, a clear sign of dismissal. The Greystone group withdrew, never turning their backs on the king, until they had reached a suitable distance.

“That went well,” Rosalind murmured as they reached the corridor. “You did well, Valentina.”

Cosimo looked extremely pleased. “Lady Agatha is notoriously hard to impress. That she described your solution as ‘elegant’ is praise of the highest order.”

Lorenzo caught her eye briefly, and for a moment she saw pride in his eyes – and something else, something warmer, which he quickly hid.

“Interesting,” Vyxara purred. “The king is planning a war and is already recruiting healers. Lady Agatha is screening potential candidates for the Order of the Primrose. And the queen…” The demon paused. “The queen actually likes you. How ironic.”

“Ironic isn’t the word I would use,” Valentina answered Vyxara in her mind, as the memory of Eastwald’s sweaty hands on her hips came flooding back.

~

When the Greystone affinity rejoined the larger gathering, the atmosphere had noticeably changed. The formal stiffness of the morning hours had given way to a bustling energy.

A herald in the royal colors ascended a small platform at the edge of the temporary structures. He cleared his throat audibly and waited for the conversations to fall silent.

“By royal decree,” he announced in a piercing voice, “a grand tournament will be held in parallel with the Parliament of the Realm to celebrate the martial prowess of our nobility and the flower of the realm!”

An expectant murmur rippled through the crowd. Tournaments were not unusual during the parliaments, but the details were always of interest.

“The events will include mounted jousts, individual sword combat, and the grand melee. Participation is open to all knights and qualified warriors of the realm.” He paused dramatically. “The winner of the tournament will be rewarded with one hundred gold crowns!”

The murmurs swelled to excited whispers. One hundred gold crowns was a small fortune, more than enough to purchase a modest estate or pay off the debts of a minor noble family.

“That’s more than some of the earls here earn from their lands in a year,” Vyxara remarked, impressed. “The king really wants to attract the best fighters.”

Valentina watched Duchess Rosalind roll her eyes. “Men and their games,” she muttered quietly enough that only her ladies-in-waiting could hear.

“At least it keeps them busy,” Lady Beatrice whispered back with a mischievous smile.

Young Lord Tristan Whitehall, whom Valentina had seen earlier near his father, could hardly conceal his enthusiasm. His hand was already on the hilt of his sword, as if he wanted to rush off to fight immediately.

“Will you be participating, Lord Whitehall?” asked another young lord beside him, a Crowley, if Valentina correctly interpreted the crest on his tabard.

“Of course,” Tristan replied with the unbridled confidence of young men. “One hundred gold crowns and the chance to dedicate my victory to Princess Adeline? Who would turn that down?”

Valentina let her gaze wander over the gathering as the men discussed the tournament announcement. Then she finally spotted the family she had been unconsciously searching for.

Marquess Merrick Ashbourne stood among a group of Marcher Lords. The way he stood, weight evenly distributed, ready to move in any direction, betrayed military training, but without the aggressive display of a Duke Whitehall.

“A man who has seen some real battles,” Vyxara commented. “See how the other Marcher Lords listen to him. He has earned their respect, not just inherited it.”

Next to him stood his wife, Marchioness Alessandra, a born Greystone, a cousin of Duke Cosimo, as Valentina knew. The family resemblance was unmistakable. She had the same aristocratic nose and the same way of taking in a room with only a glance. She was talking quietly with another lady, but Valentina noticed how her eyes constantly wandered, registering everything.

The Duchess followed Valentina’s gaze and nodded to her cousin by marriage, a gesture Alessandra returned with equal formality. No warmth, but no hostility either. The polite distance of relatives who respected each other but probably didn’t particularly like each other.

“Jasper!” a youthful voice suddenly called out.

Valentina saw Prince Hugh, the sixteen-year-old brother of Crown Prince Gareth, waving enthusiastically to another boy. Jasper Ashbourne, she recognized. Innogen’s younger brother, who was staying at the king’s court as a ward. The two boys found each other like magnets, immediately engrossed in a lively conversation about the tournament.

“Would you participate if you were of age?” Prince Hugh asked eagerly.

“Of course!” Jasper replied with youthful enthusiasm. “Just two more years, then I’ll show those old men what an Ashbourne can do!”

His father apparently heard this and gave his son a mild rebuke, but his eyes sparkled with amusement.

Valentina continued searching, her heart beating faster. Where was-

There. There she was.

On the other side of the gathering, partially hidden behind a wooden pillar, stood Innogen.