010 – Festival
The festival of Peace Day celebrates the end of the civil war, but the Jovani royal family don’t seem to have much to celebrate this year.
Weaving his way through the crowds, a tankard of sugar punch in one hand, Valentin was forced to acknowledge that this was the least fun he had ever had on Peace Day.
There were a few reasons for this. Last Peace Day he had gone to visit Beroe at the Temple, but she was gone, and although the priestesses still accepted his contribution, none were so pretty and understanding as Beroe had been. Valentin discarded his sugar punch and went in search of something stronger, licking his sticky fingers.
Last Peace Day, Adrienne had been everywhere, among her people, giving gifts, granting mercy: a glittering, smiling reminder of the success Jovan had enjoyed since her grandfather’s coronation ended the civil war.
Today, Adelais had been seen, but Adrienne was still bedridden and recovering from the poisoning in Caith’il Deran. Valentin knew the hemlock he had administered had saved her from the nux vomica, but knowing the antidote, it was hard to escape the fact that Adrienne was now recovering from hemlock poisoning as well.
Since only he and Cassius knew the contents of Valentin’s special Tonic Against Poisoning, that possibly accounted for the fact that Cassius hadn’t spoken to him since they stepped off the ship in Tyresine.
Allowing Adrienne to drink from Beold’s cup had been a risk, but what Cassius didn’t appreciate was that Valentin had had no choice. He couldn’t have leapt up, dashed the cup from Adrienne’s hand and declared grandly that it was poisoned, could he? Where would Cassius’ precious Llewellyn have been if he had done that? But far from giving him credit for his cool-headedness, Cassius had made his clear that Valentin had stepped over some line in the dirt.
Having found a vendor selling mulled wine fortified with something pleasantly bitter, Valentin let the tide of the crowd drift him up towards the palace. The bells had started ringing, which meant the Empress would soon make her address. Or, Valentin supposed, Adelais would.
Along the way, he fell in with a pack of aura, who greeted him with amiability born of an excess of sugar punch, and immediately fell to gossiping about his kin. Having asked after the state of the Empress and exchanged cooing noises at her continued infirmity, they moved on to Princess Adelais. Upon Valentin agreeing that it was likely she would do the address, one of them said, “Such a pity. The Empress has the dignity and authority your dear gone brother and father.”
“Mm, such a pity,” echoed the others.
“It is amazing what a crown and a throne will do for one’s dignity and authority,” said Valentin.
He received several doubtful looks in reply, and endured a few brief questions about the health of Lord Cassius and the Empress mother, Lady Kyria. Having covered every member of his near family, Valentin hung back long enough to lose the pack of nobles, discarded his empty cup, and made his way into the courtyard pressed between a farmer and a butcher (to judge from their respective stinks).
Supposing with a sigh that he had better make his way to the terrace, he began to cut through the crowd, sidling by a well-dressed dowager with a smooth, “Excuse me, madam,” and a couple of children by the means of putting his hands on their shoulders and bodily shifting them. Most people seemed disinclined to acknowledge his right to be nearer the dais, and he almost got in a scuffle with one large workman over it, but eventually he pushed his way over to the balcony, where two guards leaned over the railing and hoisted him up.
The table where they held state breakfasts had been cleared and replaced by a curtained dais with a golden throne in the centre, draped with sable and blue ribbon. Lady Kyria and Princess Adelais were there, standing in the corner and talking quietly. Valentin sidled over.
“Uncle Valentin, mother says I must do the address,” said Adelais. The coronet she wore on her tumbling black hair seemed not to be pinned right.
“Well, if the Empress cannot, you are the best person to take her place,” said Valentin. “Er, has nobody prepared you for this eventuality?”
“Well, they have,” said Adelais. “And I suppose if I must, I must. My poor sister.”
Through narrowed eyes, Valentin saw that her modest reluctance only ran skin deep. “Mm,” he said, turning away, “such a pity.”
Someone cleared their throat, and Valentin turned his head to see a servant holding a gorgeous black cloak trimmed in rabbit fur and blue banding. Another servant stood by to receive the bland grey cloak he currently wore. Waving them forward, Valentin submitted to being unwrapped from his cloak and draped with the fancier one, which was fastened at his shoulder with a gold-and-sapphire pin. Stepping forward into view of the courtyard, Valentin waved at the crowd, reserving a special smile for the workman who had so aggressively disputed his right to move forward.
He turned in time to surprise a disgusted look on Cassius’ face. His brother had just stepped onto the terrace, pulling his shirt sleeves down over his wrists and twitching his cloak straight. Valentin inclined his head and received no acknowledgement in return.
The bells had stopped ringing; the crowd quietened in expectation. Valentin standing next to her saw Adelais straighten her spine and look around. Just as it seemed she would step forward, though, the doors onto the terrace opened and a herald stepped out.
“Her grace, Adrienne Sylvanus, Empress of Jovan,” he announced.
Adelais froze. Valentin leaned forward so he could see down the hallway. Slowly, placing a cane carefully before her, and with a hovering retinue of servants, Adrienne emerged onto the terrace. She looked dangerously thin, and her hair had been cut to her shoulders, a fact imperfectly disguised by her headdress. Her clothes hung off her, and were unusually simple in style.
Feeling a pang of disloyalty, Valentin wondered whether it wouldn’t have been better if Adelais had done the address. Grand though it was that Adrienne felt able to stand and walk, her appearance hardly inspired confidence. Still moving torturously slowly, she made her way to the throne and sat down. Then she raised her hand and the crowd cheered. Along with Kyria, Adelais and Cassius, Valentin stepped forward to surround the dais. His position gave him an excellent view of Adrienne’s razor-sharp collarbone.
Adrienne delivered her address seated. It contained all the right sentiment: thanks for another year of peace, and affirmation of the military and political might of Jovan, that they might all hold their heads high to be known as Jovanis, that she had determined on ten convicts who were to be granted mercy, and that a representative of hers would be available to hear petitions all afternoon. She finished by wishing all a happy Peace Day, and then hobbled off the terrace to applause and cheers. Looking over, Valentin saw a smile on Cassius’ face as he looked down at Adrienne. The smile dug deep into his cheeks and crinkled his eyes.
Valentin fell in beside his brother as they trailed Adrienne into the palace. “Do you suppose that when she said her representatives would hear petitions that she meant us?” he said, keeping his tone light.
He got a rather rough-edged look in reply.
“Lord Valentin, Lord Cassius. If you will please follow me, I will brief you about this afternoon’s petitions.”
Cesare. Valentin turned with a groan.
“What about me? Can I not hear petitions on my sister’s behalf?” Adelais, walking before them with her mother, had stopped and turned.
“Princess, the Empress designated your uncles as her representatives,” said Cesare in his most obsequious tone.
Adelais spun on her heel and flounced off. Rubbing his eye socket with his index finger, Valentin said, “I would happily yield my place to the princess, Cesare.”
“Be that as it may.” Cesare gestured that they should precede him down the hallway to the audience room.
A large fire had been stoked in the grate, and Valentin gestured a servant over. “Bring me a cloak more appropriate to indoors,” he said, then glancing over at Cassius, “and one for my lord Cassius, too.”
“I don’t need another cloak,” said Cassius. “This one will serve me well enough.”
Raising his eyebrows, Valentin looked up and down the heavy wool, fur-trimmed cloak. Then he turned back to the servant and stage-whispered, “Bring Lord Cassius’ cloak too. I will make myself responsible for getting him into it.”
As the servant left, Valentin turned and gave Cassius an insouciant smile. “No harm in having it here, brother. To save you from appearing in front of the petitioners sweating like a pig.” He paused. “Or worse, in your tunic.”
“Huh,” said Cassius and went to sit down. He was selecting grapes from a platter when Valentin came to sit beside him.
“You can’t stay angry at me for much longer, you know,” he said, when the server had moved away. “At any rate, the Empress is recovering.”
“You know that her physicians say she may never walk without that cane.”
“Physicians.” Valentin waved a dismissive hand. “Always such optimists.”
“She’s not yet twenty-two and she may never walk unaided again.”
Looking around to make sure nobody was in earshot, Valentin said, “But she lives, doesn’t she? And Beold does not. We saved Jovan, you, Llewellyn and I.”
Mentioning Llewellyn was a mistake. Cassius angled his shoulders away and beckoned the server over, thus ending the conversation.
By the end of the first petition, a land dispute, Valentin was glad to put off his winter cloak and drape himself in the lighter one brought for him. Cassius persisted in wearing his, brushing aside Valentin’s gentle suggestions that he might want to change. There were beads of sweat gathering at his neckline, which he mopped impatiently with a corner of his cloak as he heard a dispute involving a woman who seemed to have been keeping two husbands in different provinces.
After that matter was decided, they called a recess. Valentin took a glass of water. Cassius stood, and immediately swooned. Only Valentin’s quick leap to his feet to grab Cassius’ upper arm saved him from fainting on the dais.
“Oh you stupid boy,” said Valentin with impulsive fondness. “Here, help me unwrap his cloak.”
“No,” said Cassius, stopping the attendants a few feet away. “I can do it.” With his eyes closed, he unpinned his cloak and let it drop to the floor.
“There, isn’t that better?” said Valentin, still holding Cassius’ arm.
Cassius opened one eye and gave Valentin a rueful smile, and suddenly the wall of ice between them was melted. “The petitioners will just have to be scandalised by me in my tunic,” he said.
“Hardly your worst crime against style,” Valentin murmured, sitting down.
As Cassius unfastened the collar of his tunic, he laughed and waved away the hovering attendants.
“I hope you know,” began Valentin, “that if I had seen any other way, I would have taken it.”
“Let us not talk of it,” said Cassius.
“And I truly hope that Adrienne will walk again.”
“From your lips to the blessed few,” said Cassius.
There was a pause while Cassius took a glass of water and some fruit.
“Have you spoken to Llewellyn about what happened in Caith’il Deran?”
The air between them cooled significantly. “My forgiveness of you is still provisional,” said Cassius, slicing a peach. “Don’t push your luck.”
Putting his hands up in surrender, Valentin said, “There are only five more petitions to go. When we’re finished here, care to come down to the Sapphire with me? I hear a merchant ship from Baetica docked this morning.”
“You seem to know an awful lot about where and when Baetican wine might be had,” said Cassius, raising his eyebrows.
“I am well-connected,” said Valentin modestly.