“Have you settled in well, Steward?” Valentin’s father inquired.
The Steward sipped at his wine. Small slurps could be heard emanating from the cup.
“Things are as comfortable as I can make them,” Steward Tressavie admitted, placing his cup back down. “The air has been agreeable to me. You are constantly suffocating to the odors that permeate the streets of the city. I fear that my tolerance will only degrade due to my visit and I will no longer be able to wake up in the morning without pining for these fresher aromas.”
Valentin had not been prepared to be present at this meeting. However, when he had awakened from his nap, his father and Tressavie had returned to the room. Euna was nowhere to be seen and Roland was giving Valentin a suspicious stare. Once Valentin had cleared the fog of a freshly awakened mind, he realized the best course of action was to continue to feign sleep. Joining the conversation seemed much too troublesome.
The two were enjoying an evening meal of bread, cured meats, and cheeses. A small platter was placed near Valentin and he slyly picked at the assorted morsels whenever he saw an opportunity. He was also given goat’s milk inside of a small porcelain cup painted in the floral colors of Bláth. Sneaking the cup towards him would be too great a task and instead he watched the beverage meant to remove the dryness from his sleepy mouth.
“Is there anything else you’d like, Steward?” Roland asked.
“Enough with the pleasantries,” The Steward interrupted curtly. “It is time that I fulfill the purpose of my trip. Let us discuss business.”
“Very well, Steward,” Roland replied. “What happenings in Briste bring you to the far corner of the realm?”
“Are you certain that your wife does not wish to be present for this discussion?” Steward Tressavie questioned. “It is my understanding that her clan is the owner of the vineyard and you married into it.”
Steward Tressavie’s eyes watched Roland like a hawk does towards a small animal. If his needling comment struck Roland, he would know. However, Roland’s expression remained placid. To accentuate that fact, he took a few more sips from his cup, allowing the statement to linger in the air just a little bit longer.
“Your understanding is correct, Steward,” Roland replied cordially. “Marion insists that she lacks the stomach for politics and I do not wish to bring her undue stress. Do not worry, Steward, I will not make any decisions without consulting my family first.”
“Admirable, some women simply lack the disposition for such matters. Many men too,” the Steward chuckled at his own jest. Valentin noticed that the Steward always covered his mouth with one hand before laughing. “Did your daughter inherit that disposition as well?”
“Daughters,” Roland corrected. “I have an eldest, Louise, but she is out of town attending to her husband’s grandmother. She resembles her mother in all ways.” Valentin’s father then shook his head. “As for Jeanne, it is a shame. She is the one that possesses the greatest talent but I believe she has ambitions to be a member of the Lunoult clan.”
“So that just leaves the boy,” remarked the Steward.
Valentin felt the gazes of both men turn onto him. Unwelcome looks to the unwelcome boy. He cursed the musician who had slipped away without alerting him of the impending danger. Valentin continued his restful ruse and attempted to toss and turn restlessly in his sleep before rolling so that his back was to the men.
“He has some talent and many more years to attempt to overtake his sister. He just needs those around him to stop coddling him so much,” his father explained. “Marion and I are unfavored, it is likely that the Bloodstone will not respond to him. We won’t have to worry about his recruitment into other factions. Which makes his development now all the more important.”
“One of the rare cases where that is the preferred outcome. Imagine, a father that prayed for his son to be common,” the Steward laughed at the absurdity. “Though, a small glow is irrelevant. It’s not as though you’ll have him standing guard at a checkpoint or waltzing the front lines as javelin fodder.”
“My brother is favored so it is not as though my clan has no history,” Roland explained. “But I find that kind of power is as much a curse as it is a blessing.”
“Don’t let the druids catch you saying that sort of thing,” joked the Steward. “Were your parents favored?”
Roland fell silent for a moment. “No.” He responded. “No they were not.”
Valentin felt that the two were conversing with little concern if he was awake. In some ways, he was happy that he was important to his father. For the longest time he has felt inferior to his middle sister who seemed to conduct herself flawlessly in all situations. His importance in these plans provided him with a sense of relief. In other ways, he did not like the way they were discussing Louise and Jeanne. Louise may not have the cunning that their father does but she was kind and honest. Jeanne had wavered towards Vincent but it seems that Father cared little and had already dismissed her.
What confused Valentin was this discussion of the Bloodstone Ceremony. Did Father pray to the Great Spirit to keep the Bloodstone slumbering? It made no sense as there was no higher honor than being favored.
“Allow me to be direct, Roland,” Steward Tressavie continued, pointing a tremendous finger at Valentin’s father. “My presence here is at the direct request of the High Tiarna of Briste, Antolo d’Gauval.”
“High Tiarna d’Gauval? But why?” Roland’s face was agape with the revelation.
“Indeed the High Tiarna himself,” Steward Tressavie said with a nod. “A few months back, the High Tiarna hosted a celebration for one of his nieces. She’s a fine girl, very studious and polite. Anyways, as custom, refreshments are ordered through one of the junior pages under the Chamberlain. Are you familiar with the hierarchy of the courts of Strettia?”
“For the most part,” Roland responded.
“I’m glad that they teach you something out here,” the Steward replied in a manner that teetered on unfriendly. “Then, as you are aware, the Chamberlain is responsible for the region’s finances and oversees the collection of taxes. He has many pages and attendants to help them perform this job.”
“I am familiar with this relationship,” Roland confirmed, his voice edging close to impatience at the Steward’s dismissive way of speaking.
“Good, good. At this party a wine was served and the flavor was excellent. Naturally questions turn to where this wine had been procured from. Before every function, the High Tiarna is provided a list of all wines partially to answer these very questions and partially so we know who to punish if the cup-bearer dies of poison.” The Steward chortled at this but Roland did not smile. “But this wine was not included on the inventory list and, therefore, the High Tiarna did not know who to assign credit to.”
“Sounds like a fiasco,” Roland remarked.
“In my circles it is a massive embarrassment. Both the High Tiarna and the Chamberlain left the party distraught and angry. Poor girl, it really ruined her celebration,” Steward Tressavie remarked sympathetically. He took a bite off of his platter and chewed angrily. He spoke without fully finishing his bite. “Now, Roland, tell me a bit of your clientele.”
“My clientele?” Roland thought for a moment. “Very well. I don’t wish to drag you down into the specifics, Your Eminence. We sell two different qualities of wine. The first I primarily sell to the taverns and merchants of the towns and villages of the region. Much of the wine that is drunk tomorrow will be from this vineyard. The flavor will in no way impress you but it is the variety that keeps us fed. The other is of a higher quality grape and barrel, aged longer too. I sell that to the wealthy of the region and to the druids at a discount. But the largest buyer of that variety is a group of learned men from Briste.”
“Learned men?” Tressavie seemed to perk up with interest at the mention.
“Yes,” Roland confirmed. “If I understand correctly, there is a small university that courtiers, judges, and pages among others attend to gain skills before appointment to offices.”
The Steward nodded. “The University of Briste is a tight-knit community of men and women of good breeding. Typically third born and below. Are you saying it is the members of the university that are making the purchases?”
“Not just the students, some of my customers are now alumni. After a few years of selling to the university, I was getting orders from senior pages and rising courtiers and judges.” Roland mentioned this last fact with a great deal of pride.
“I see. I admire your approach to reach the inner circles of Briste, Master Duvin,” the Steward complimented. “Gain a strong relationship with the up and coming generation of lower nobles and use that to purchase entrance. With your explanation, you have confirmed my thoughts. So allow me to continue.”
The Steward received a refill of wine and took a large drink of it. He smacked his lips in satisfaction.
“I was asked by my dear cousin, the High Tiarna, to locate the origin of the wine and decide what should be done. I sent my own courtiers and pages out to determine where it had come from. To my surprise, it was identified almost immediately by one of my own. The pages have been indulging in a certain southern wine and ordered eight crates for their socials this year. Since the pages also order for many other official events, some of their personal purchases got mixed in with the party inventory and made its way to the High Tiarna. You understand what I’m saying right, Roland? You know the identity of the one that sold the wine?”
“The High Tiarna drank my wine?” Roland asked with genuine shock.
“As have I,” the Steward made a show of taking another large drink. “It is indeed excellent, Roland. While your village is unsightly, your soil must be of an enviable quality. I see why the lower court is so infatuated with it.” The man wiped his large hand over his mouth. “Now I want to make you an offer. But I have one final question for you. Where do your ambitions lead?”
“My ambitions?” Valentin’s father seemed to go into deep thought.
“I know that you do not aspire to be king of the shit huts for the rest of your life,” the Steward asserted and gestured broadly to the town outside of the estate’s walls. “You wouldn’t have chosen the customers you did. I wish to hear your honest answer. It won’t leave this room.”
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A small smile grew in the corner of Roland’s mouth.
“Well, to tell you the truth, before today I would have said my ambitions would only be to gain the chamberlain's attention and obtain a contract through Briste,” Roland admitted. “But now I just may have gained the aspiration to be able to call you brother one day.”
“What a poisoned flower you’ve revealed to be Roland,” the Steward remarked. He broke out in a loud guttural laugh unlike any of the chuckles or chortles that he had given over the day. “But will you be a beautiful flower that will serve our realm or an unsightly low born weed that will suffocate our illustrious roots? I want to put that poison to the test.”
“And how may I be of service, Steward?”
“I want to make you the third Deputy Chamberlain,” Steward Tressavie answered.
“I thought that position was reserved for the nobility.” Roland spoke coolly, seemingly unshaken by the proposition. “I fear you will have all my clientele turn to hate me if I leap over their positions and reach a higher station.”
“And I thought you were soon to be a Tiarna’s brother in law. You’ll be nobility enough when that happens,” the Steward assured. Wedged between his fingers was a piece of cured meat. He flung the piece of meat down his gullet and swallowed. “So I hope that it does.”
“It will,” assured Valentin’s father. “And what am I to do as third Deputy Chamberlain?” He paused between each word in the title, as though he were trying it on.
Valentin did not understand most if not any of the conversation up until that point. But he did understand the meaning of what was just said. Jeanne was being traded for a name. If she intended on marrying Vincent from the beginning, Valentin supposed that it was alright. An added boon to something that would already come to pass. But what if she no longer felt that way? Her actions today sowed the seeds of doubt in his mind already. Would his promised endorsement of Vincent only make things worse?
“My dear, dear friend, Chamberlain Brisson, is approaching the age that earns him a well-deserved respite from the political circuit,” the Steward informed, almost lamenting over the position of his friend. “Over the many cycles, he has appointed two deputies.”
Tressavie leaned forward and cupped his mouth with one hand as if he were telling a secret despite them being the only ones present. Save for a sleeping boy.
“To be frank with you, I care for neither,” Steward Tressavie admitted. “The first deputy is the nephew of the chamberlain and he does not understand the concept of reserves, arrogant too. The second deputy is content to simply be a better alternative to the first. She makes no progress whatsoever and would prove to be impotent.”
“So I’m to be a fox in the hen house?” Roland asked for clarification.
“The two have been too isolated from the ambitions of people below them. They rely upon the recommendation of Chamberlain Brisson. They are mistaken and you will be the beast that makes them feel fear again,” the Steward replied with a scowl. Whatever deeper emotions he held for these two candidates had bubbled up to the surface of his otherwise jolly demeanor. “It is High Tiarna d’Gauval that decides and I help inform him of that decision!”
The Steward took deep breaths and procured a cloth from somewhere on his person. He mopped the sweat that had been building on his brow.
“You don’t need to win the appointment in the end,” the Steward said. “I just need the two to be terrified for their futures. I’ll reward you as long as the two improve by the time Brisson steps down.”
“What will I earn as a reward for my efforts? I have heard rumors that entering this kind of business can become quite cutthroat and I lack connections,” Roland countered. He had long lost his customer face and was fully in his negotiation demeanor. “That is if you wish for me to be properly menacing.”
“What a bold beggar you are to demand things of me!” The Steward bellowed. “This is impudence that can only be found among these provincial paupers.”
“I am a merchant, Steward. It is in my nature to ask for recompense.”
“Clearly. I will ensure that your teeth are plenty sharp to accomplish this goal, consider it a down payment for services rendered. As for a reward, if you are not satisfied with my undying gratitude and service towards all of d’Gauval,” the Steward began his offer. He rubbed his chin in contemplation. “How about the elevation of your clan name as a noble of the court of Briste? You will be allowed to own property within the city and your family will be eligible to attend the university you have been supplying for all these years.”
Roland sat in contemplative silence.
“No need to answer right now. I will give you until the snow melts to hold an audience with me in Briste to provide your response. And you better be a Tiarna’s relative by then,” the Steward demanded.
He rose laboriously from his cushion. Pants and groans of exertion left his mouth as he willed his overfull body to its feet. Valentin felt the floor shake beneath him with each foot he planted into the ground.
Roland surged from his seat and assisted the Steward. The man placed a meaty hand on Roland’s shoulder and lifted himself to stable feet. Valentin swore that he could see his father’s bones creak under the effort but the man gritted his teeth and endured.
“Many thanks,” the Steward said in appreciation. “That is all I have to say about the matter. I will be retiring for the night. Goodnight Roland and do not disappoint me.”
“Goodnight Steward Tressavie.” Valentin’s father returned the farewell.
Once Steward Tressavie departed to his quarters, Valentin waited patiently for his father to retire as well. However, it seemed that he had no intention of leaving any time soon. Not wishing to remain on in the room any further, he awkwardly stood in the room with just his father. There were things that he wished to ask but feared the possibility of receiving a rebuke from Roland.
“Goodnight father,” Valentin said.
His father did not answer. Valentin saw that Roland’s eyes were burning holes through the floor in front of him. He could begin to imagine what sort of thoughts those seemed to be, but Valentin had expected his father to be happier in this situation. Had he not received something that he wanted?
Not wishing to disturb his father further, Valentin scurried back to the shared room with Jeanne. There was a time when all three Duvin children shared the same room but that had not been since Louise’s marriage. Some of the toys that Valentin used were originally made of his eldest sister. As a result, his pretend wars had more princesses recruited to the ranks that the average boy’s.
His sister was reading through some worn leather books at the desk. Valentin recognized them as the ledgers detailing all transactions and inventories within the estate. He plopped himself down on the straw mattress and released a long, despondent sigh.
“Why were you out for so long?” Jeanne asked and looked away from her book.
“Father and the Steward were having a private meeting and I had to pretend to sleep to avoid disturbing them,” Valentin replied with a sigh too exhausted for a boy his age.
Valentin shifted on the mattress to find some comfort. He pressed his hands into it to try to massage out any clumps and returned to a resting position. It didn’t work in the way that he had hoped, but he did not feel like trying further.
“Most of it I didn’t understand and what I did understand I did not like,” Valentin continued. “Father said he’d tell the clan so he can explain it better.”
“You are making a sour face.” Jeanne got up from her desk and sat next to Valentin. She gently placed a hand on his head. “So tell me what happened.”
“What do you think about Vincent?” Valentin asked, springing the question upon his sister immediately.
“Vincent?” Jeanne asked with bewilderment before sporting a reserved expression. “Why? Are you unhappy with Vincent?”
“Do you like him?” Valentin said with exasperation.
Jeanne drew her index finger up to her lip and thought for a second. The pause made Valentin worry for the young noble’s feelings.
“Vincent is a dependable and caring man,” Jeanne answered. “He’s also very serious about our potential future and is determined to do anything that will make me more comfortable with it. But he’s also a little immature and whimsical. Sometimes I think I’d act as the Tiarna if I were to marry him. What do you think about Vincent?”
Valentin wondered if the right time for his promised endorsement of Vincent was now or if it would drive his sister deep into a corner. In this tense moment of deliberation, he decided to defer the decision entirely.
“Does it matter what I think about him?” Valentin asked curiously.
“It matters most what you think, silly brother,” Jeanne chastised with a pout and gently tapped Valentin on the forehead. “If I am to be with a man you dislike then you may never visit. And that thought is too sad to consider.” His sister dramatically lifted her arm and tilted backwards, reaching towards the ceiling.
“This is all too complicated,” Valentin complained as he kicked his feet out in frustration.
“What’s the matter, Valentin?” Jeanne cooed, failing to ditch her sweet tone that Valentin rebelled against. “You know that I won’t be angry with you.”
Valentin sighed. He didn’t know how to express his feelings. The thoughts in his head were jumbled and made little sense even to him
“You are to marry Vincent as a condition of Father’s appointment,” Valentin blurted out.
“Appointment? Appointment to what?” Jeanne asked. His sister’s expression hardened.
“Something involving a chamberlain. He’d go to Briste and help the Steward but he can’t unless he has a noble relation. Marrying into Vincent’s clan would solve Father’s problem,” Valentin reported and scratched at his head in frustration. “I like Vincent but I don’t like it if you are forced to.”
“As childish as it sounds, Valentin, I agree with you. Something about that makes it feel sour,” Jeanne confessed. She leaned backwards and smiled mischievously at him. “Maybe I should call it all off formally.”
Valentin rolled onto his side. Somehow that still wasn’t the correct course of action. “But Vincent didn’t do any of this. There was no way he could know. You like him as well, at least you used to.”
“So what is it I am to do, brother?” Jeanne asked with a frown.
“I don’t know,” Valentin replied in frustration. The boy rolled restlessly on the mattress. This was hopelessly difficult. “I don’t want you to choose unhappiness just to make me feel better. And if you don’t marry Vincent I worry he may kill me.”
“Kill you?” Jeanne’s voice trembled with a hint of anger.
“Well I wouldn’t get my Killicia present,” the boy grumbled.
Jeanne tried to stifle a laugh but her efforts were in vain. A belly laugh echoed in the room.
“You’re right, that would be the end of the world,” she agreed. “I will wait until after Killicia to have this conversation with Father. You should be able to enjoy this time without worrying about adult things.”
“Right, Killicia.”
Valentin removed his carving from the pocket and held it up. What a hopelessly far away concept for the boy that could only think of it just that morning. He ran his fingers over all the imperfections of the carving and felt oddly soothed by the failures that covered it.
“It feels that nobody shares my desires for Killicia,” Valentin complained.
“And what’s that to mean?” Jeanne requested.
“Am I the only one that desires to be favored by the Bloodstone?” Valentin demanded as he rolled over and looked her in the eyes. “I know you and Mother would prefer I wasn’t. Father desires it because he has already given up on you and Louise running the vineyard. Even Uncle Gilles doesn’t seem excited at the prospect.”
“Being favored is a tremendous honor, Valentin,” she agreed, caressing his cheek with one hand. “But it’s also a perilous life. Many die young. I just want you to live a long and happy life here, on the vineyard. Is that bad of me?”
“No,” Valentin grumbled. “But what if I don’t want to run the vineyard? You should be the person to do it.”
“It’s natural to want to be favored. All of the great heroes and kings are favored by the Bloodstone.” His sister attempted to reassure him. “Besides, we all have worries about the future.”
“Did you want to be favored then?” Valentin asked.
“Of course. Though I didn’t have the same desire to go gallivanting around the country like you do,” she answered, giving a thoughtful look. “I just wanted to be something special to the Great Spirit even if I knew that it was unlikely.”
Jeanne moved to pull Valentin close to her. The morose boy did not put up the same fight that he had valiantly fought earlier, but he by no means cooperated. She pulled the child close to her.
“I’ll root for you if you let me worry,” she offered as compromise.
“It’s better than everyone else,” Valentin grunted.
“For someone that slept most of the day, you are quite lethargic,” she remarked.
“You left me alone with the troubadour and I learned how to be a lazy and rude man who doesn’t love his sister,” Valentin teased, resisted the embrace with renewed vigor. “I will be uncouth to all the nobles and travel with beggars on the main roads. Perhaps I shall wed her. Rue this day that you didn’t take me with you after dinner.”
“Perhaps I should keep you here and teach you how to be courteous again,” Jeanne offered with the type of threat that only their mother would invoke. “You don’t need to go to Roucotte tomorrow. Bloodstone can wait until next cycle.”
“There’s no reason to be so hasty. I’ll behave,” Valentin relented. He noticed that his sister was staring at him with complicated eyes. “What’s the matter, Jeanne?”
“It’s just,” Jeanne searched for the right words. “It’s just difficult to believe how old you’ve gotten. It feels like just yesterday you were an infant and I got to hold you in your swaddling. And now look at you. Things move so quickly and I wish they could stay the same longer.”
“I don’t want to be a child any longer,” he complained.
“You’re too impatient,” she chastised. “What’s so good about being older?”
“I don’t know,” Valentin slumped onto the mattress. “That’s what I want to find out. I’m tired of feeling that I don’t know anything.”
“Well when this is all over and you don’t want to be an adult anymore, you can beg for me to take you in and I might be kind enough to let you.” She got up and snuffed out the candle on the desk. “Now get some rest, tomorrow is too important a day for you to be half-awake for.”