002 — Breakfast
Families are always complicated: royal families are doubly so.
The sky was full of clouds, but showed no sign of rain. Valentin, staring out the window of his dressing room, examined each cloud individually, but they were a uniform fluffy white. Like sheep’s wool, he thought with disgust.
At least if they were threatening rain, it might drive off some of the gawkers. As it was, they would be there in full force, encouraged shamelessly by the clouds gambolling above them, and the unseasonably mild weather. Yech.
Blessed few, he’d enjoyed not attending the so-called private breakfasts while he was in the north. One fixture of his childhood he hadn’t regretted losing.
“Lord Valentin, you’re ready,” said his servant. Valentin realised the man had been standing back for some moments.
“Blessed be,” he said, gathering his cloak over one arm to keep it from dragging as he left his suite.
The terrace where the family took their so-called private breakfast was on the western side of the palace. It was separated by a balustrade from a wide courtyard. On the terrace, a table had been set with four chairs and a throne. The table was draped with blue and gold fabric, and a monstrosity of a centrepiece sprawled along it. As Valentin stepped out onto the terrace, there was a murmur from the crowd packed into the courtyard. The front rows, pressed up against the balustrade, leaned forwards.
Tourists.
The Empress’ mother, Lady Kyria, was already seated and calmly chatting to an aurum kneeling beside her chair. She looked up as he sat opposite. “Valentin.”
“Kyria.” She was only a couple of years older than him.
“Where’s Cassius?”
“On his way, I hope.” Valentin leaned back in his chair and rested one ankle on the other knee under the table.
At that moment, the topic of their conversation jogged out onto the terrace, cloak crooked and slung carelessly over one arm. Valentin sighed as Cassius deposited himself in a seat. Put him in a tunic and armour and he turned out to perfection; in court formal, despite the efforts of his servants, he always managed to look scruffy.
Valentin couldn’t resist reaching over to twitch the shoulder-fold of Cassius’ cloak into better alignment. Cassius gave him a wide, bland stare, and turned his attention to the Empress’ mother. “Lady Kyria. You are well?”
“Yes, I thank you. I am always well,” said the lady.
“Of course,” said Cassius, swallowing a smile.
They lapsed into contemplative silence, punctuated by the rustle and murmur of the crowd. Eventually, Valentin said, “Well, we’re all here, except the Empress, obviously, and… well.” He tilted his head towards the empty seat beside Lady Kyria, who looked pained.
Of course, it was a matter of policy with Adrienne to keep them waiting for at least fifteen minutes. Rather like the theatre, the rest of them were just there to warm up the crowd before the principal’s debut in the third scene.
Valentin leaned towards Cassius and asked, “Did you hear that Lord Batavius has brought his daughter to Monsilys?” Cassius responded with a quick nod and they amused themselves for ten minutes in a lively debate of the relative merits of various members of the court.
This ended when an aurum in Adrienne’s train stepped out onto the terrace, put up his hands for silence, and announced, “Adrienne Sylvanus, Empress of Jovan.”
The crowd went very still. Valentin noticed a couple of old hands who were looking not towards the aurum, but at the small wooden door behind the throne. The majority, though, stared agog at Lord—what was his name again?—as Adrienne made an understated entrance through the door and was settled onto her throne.
She nodded at each of her relatives, her eyes resting on the empty place. She looked over at her mother and raised her eyebrows.
Lady Kyria shook her head. Adrienne frowned. Then they both looked at Valentin. He sighed.
“Yes, yes, I’ll go and get her,” he said, standing up and pushing the chair back with his knees.
“Thank you, Uncle Valentin,” said Adrienne.
“Don’t let the food get cold while you wait,” said Valentin.
“The food’s always cold,” muttered Cassius.
The family quarters were on the other side of the palace. Valentin walked briskly until he reached the Princess’ apartments. Inside, he found her servant, a middle-aged argentum, who adored Adelais like only a tempestuous 16-year-old could be adored.
“Where is she?” he said. “Her sister wants her.”
“Is she not at breakfast, Lord Valentin?”
“I’m afraid not.”
“But…” the servant frowned, “that’s where she said she was going. Lord Marcio was escorting her.”
“I see.” Valentin nodded his thanks and left. Outside, he stopped a palace guard. “Have you seen Princess Adelais?”
“I believe she went to the gardens,” said the guard.
Valentin jogged down the hallway and out through the atrium to the gardens. If she was really somewhere so obvious, she clearly wanted to be found. Valentin didn’t know whether that should make him relieved or scared.
He saw her immediately upon entering the rose garden. She was sitting on the low stone wall surrounding a pond. Lord Marcio—Valentin presumed—sat beside her, his lips rather close to her cheek. Valentin cleared his throat and waited.
Adelais took her time looking up.
“Laisha,” said Valentin, “Your sister misses you.”
“No she doesn’t,” said Adelais.
Lord Marcio looked like he’d prefer to leave them to it, but Adelais had a firm hold on his hand.
“Go on, Lord Marcio.” Valentin added a shooing motion. That was enough. The lordling extracted his hand and fled the garden.
Valentin cocked one hip and crossed his arms. “How ungallant,” he said.
Adelais looked away. “You scared him off, Uncle Valentin.”
“One day you’ll meet someone who is willing to stand by your side against me, and your sister, and all of Jovan, if necessary.” And please let that person be someone appropriate.
Adelais admitted defeat on that front and returned to a more promising battle. “Anyway, my sister doesn’t miss me. She doesn’t even like me.”
“What have you done recently to make her want to like you?” said Valentin as he sat down beside her. “I never tried to make sure your father liked me enough to keep me around, so he sent me away. For you—it will be a foreign marriage when the Empress finally gets sick of your antics.”
“You’re not very kind,” said Adelais, hunching in on herself.
After a moment, Valentin said, “You shouldn’t be jealous of her.”
“Why not, she’s the Empress. Apparently she can just send me away whenever she’s sick of me, and in the meantime I get to stand around in her shadow being ignored.”
Valentin leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Every night before she goes to sleep, she counts all the lives under her care and hopes that nothing she has done that day has made their already untenable existences worse.”
Adelais puffed a breath out through her nose.
“You and I, we have only to worry about ourselves. We have no responsibilities, and hence, no worries.” Had he kept the bitterness out of his voice? This girl’s father had said those words to him—shouted them, actually: You little fool, why would you covet this? You have no responsibilities and no cares. You think only of your own pleasure.
Tilting her head, Adelais considered his argument.
“You need to be strategic about what you want from Adrienne. Remember, you’re a game piece she can move around the board, just like me, and Cassius, and everyone in Jovan. But you’re a piece of more value than most.”
“Was the Skyan ambassador’s son strategic, then, Uncle Valentin?” Adelais picked up one corner of her skirt and examined a piece of loose beadwork.
Wincing, Valentin said, “Laisha, it would be a mistake to take me as your role model. Now come on. I’ve been—er, told, to bring you to breakfast.”
“Yes, yes.” The lady pouted and stood. “Why do they always send you to fetch me?”
“They know you and I understand each other.”
They walked side by side into the atrium.
“I like Uncle Cassius better, though,” said Adelais.
“So do I,” said Valentin. Adelais narrowed her eyes up at him. They reached the terrace and Valentin stopped. “You go. I’ll follow on a moment.”
He sat down on a wooden chair against the wall and examined his fingernails for a while, then strolled outside and took up his seat next to Cassius. Wouldn’t want to give the impression he had been sent to fetch a recalcitrant niece.
“So nice of you to join us, Uncle,” said Adrienne.
Valentin half-bowed. “Just doing my duty.”
Servants brought around bowls of hit water and pieces of linen, and they all washed their hands, then the food began appearing. It was cold.
When he was finally able to escape from the terrace several hours later, Valentin ducked back to his room and shed his formal cloak and tunic. Having dressed appropriately for a pleasant day in town and tucked his full purse under his tunic, Valentin went to find Cassius. He found him heading out to the practice yard with five cloth-wrapped swords over his shoulder.
“I’m going into town,” he said, trailing Cassius out into the yard.
“Isn’t it a bit early for that?”
“If it’s early enough for you and Tamlin to be beating each other around the head, then it’s early enough for me to visit the town.”
Cassius bowed to this excellent logic and waved him on his way. Valentin wandered out to the palace gate, joining the sea of tourists making their way down t the town. The Imperial Guard were more concerned with those coming in, so Valentin managed to leave without being stopped. They wouldn’t have detained him long, but they would have tried very hard to send an escort with him, and he hated being escorted.
A couple of the people in the crowd gave him long second looks, but apparently it was too inconceivable that Lord Valentin Sylvanus would be milling around with them waiting to walk by the common way into Monsilys town. Crushed up against argenta and merchants, Valentin inhaled the heady scents of perfume and sweat, the mustiness of best clothes unpacked for the occasion. The woman standing directly in front of him had dented gold beads woven through her oily black hair. Beside him a man coughed, and wiped his hand on his sleeve. Someone jostled him into the woman in front, who flicked him an irritated glance backwards. Her hair smelled like lanolin.
“My apologies,” he murmured as they all shuffled forward.
They made their slow, caterpillar-like way down the hill and into town. Valentin strolled through the market district and beyond, to where the prosperous little storefronts and whitewashed walls gave way to crooked streets and red-faced insulae which leered drunkenly down at him. Here, one had to dodge any number of nuisances, from people emptying excrement out the window, to beggars and pickpockets. Valentin kept his arm pressed across his chest, guarding the weight of his purse against his skin. The streets were dirt and mud, and matched the colour of the homespun draped around the residents.
All the winding streets led eventually to the temple square or the docks. Today, the former was crowded with people. It had long trestles set up, and on the steps of the temple several priestesses stood, handing out rolls of bread and plates of meat, fruit and vegetables. Some amateur musicians had even banded together and were providing enthusiastic entertainment from the octagonal fountain in the centre of the square.
Valentin circled around the trestles and up to the temple. One of the priestesses, a whip-thin girl with blonde hair, looked up. “Hello,” she said.
“Beroe,” he said in return.
Her smile crinkled the corners of her eyes and burrowed into one cheek. “How are you today, sir?”
“Well enough. And the breakfast?”
“As you see, it is more popular than ever.”
Valentin nodded. “Good. Can we talk?”
“Talk, sir?” Beroe raised her eyebrows, but she tapped one of the other priestesses on the shoulder and gestured to Valentin.
The other priestess nodded, and Beroe led him quickly inside the temple. They hustled along corridor after corridor, her hand tight on his. When they found her room, Valentin stumbled inside, and Beroe pulled the door shut, then she put her hands on his cheeks and kissed him. He pressed her up against the wall, gently, his hands tucked against her hips. Her dress was thin; the cool breeze had raised goosebumps on her arms. She sighed and licked her top lip, then ducked around him and sat down on the bed.
He sat beside her, intent on continuing, but Beroe put her hand on his chest. “Lord Valentin,” she said, “I’m glad you came.”
“Does the money run short?” Valentin reached inside his tunic and drew out his purse. “I brought more.”
She made a fluttering motion with one hand. “No, the money is enough to pay for the weekly breakfast and more besides. I wish you would let me tell them who you are.”
“Who cares who I am?” said Valentin.
“They would. You have given them something to look forward to.”
Valentin gathered his hair in one hand and pulled it behind his shoulders, then he laced his fingers together and examined them.
Beroe continued, “I am taking my vows tomorrow.”
Sitting back, Valentin said, “Why?”
“Because it’s time,” said Beroe calmly. “I have been putting it off.”
“I’m flattered,” said Valentin.
Beroe put her hand on his cheek again. “I’ll miss you when I’m at the island.”
“I’ll miss you too. I would offer you a place at the palace—”
“—but you know I can’t accept it,” said Beroe.
Valentin nodded. Beroe leaned over and kissed him again. A while later, Valentin lay on his back, Beroe tucked against his side. He was holding onto her rather tighter than he liked, but he couldn’t seem to loosen his grip. Her steady breathing told him she was awake, so he said. “Thank you for not asking whether I will keep supporting the temple when you’re gone.”
Beroe tilted her head up and said, “I know you will. They’re your people, Lord Valentin. You won’t abandon your people.”
“Yes,” said Valentin, staring up at the white stone ceiling. “They are.”