“Oh, my dear, I know just the thing,” Lady Dia said immediately, with a laugh. “She isn’t the only youngster to find this annual fete a little overwhelming. I’ll take her to the Palace Library myself, no one will bother her there, and it is child’s play to find your way back here. She won’t even need an escort back, it’s only two rooms away and there are Guards everywhere.”
Before Mother could do more than utter a few words of thanks, Lady Dia had tucked Violetta’s hand into the crook of her elbow and they were making their way out of the Great Hall. Jewels flashed in the candlelight, gold and silver embroidery gleamed, and fabrics of every color swirled in and out of their path.
“Now pay attention, but I promise you will be able to find your way back simply by listening for the music,” Lady Dia told her, as they left the Great Hall by a side door, and turned to the left. “This is the Throne Room—see the Princess Royal over there at the end?” The room they had just entered was about half the size of the Great Hall, but had the same high ceiling, and the same wood-paneled walls. The main difference was that every other panel boasted a beautiful tapestry hanging of the arms of the Kingdom, the winged horse rampant, with broken chains, in white on blue. By walking on tiptoe, Violetta could just see the top of the Princess’ head, and the head of someone right beside her. She vaguely remembered what the Princess looked like from when she and her sisters were presented two days ago. Beautiful, of course, and so very dignified and composed. Could I ever be that calm and confident? She and Dia crossed the foot of the Throne Room, and came to a wooden door; this one was closed, with a Guard at it. Dia nodded at the man, who nodded respectfully back. Evidently he recognized her. Even in this crush! Does everyone at Court know Lady Dia?
“The young lady is feeling a little overwhelmed, and would like to sit in the quiet for a little,” Dia said. “Is anyone using the Library who would be disturbed by her being there?”
The Guard—who was almost as old as Father, gray-bearded and very dignified in his blue-and-silver uniform—smiled at her with an understanding look on his face. “No one is in there at all, Lady Dia, and she is welcome to go sit for a while.” He nodded to Violetta. “I imagine your head is swimming a little, eh, milady?”
“Just a little,” Violetta lied, stammering a bit, because her head wasn’t exactly swimming. Then she added something truthful, to give some veracity to Lady Dia’s claim. “I’ve never seen so many people in one place in my life.”
“You should see one of the Great Fairs, or one of the Collegia summer gatherings. There’s twice that many people at a summer gathering, and the population of Haven almost doubles for a Great Fair,” the Guard told her, opening the door for them. “Now, just you go and sit down in there. Read a little if you like. Come out when you feel better.”
Dia led her into a dimly lit room that held more bookshelves and books and stacks of papers than Violetta had ever dreamed existed. Granted, since Father wasn’t much of a reader, most of the books in the household were hers, with the exception of a few in her father’s office. But the mere sight of all of these was a little intimidating. How could anyone ever read all of these?
Oh now, don’t be so naïve. One person doesn’t have to read all of them. The Palace is full of people.
There was no fire here. But there was brickwork that looked like the back of a hearth, with chairs and little writing desks with lit candles fixed to the top of them next to it. When Dia brought her over to it, Violetta realized it was radiating heat. There must be a fire or an oven of sorts on the other side of that brick mass, to heat this room. Which made sense; you wouldn’t want an actual open fire in a room so full of paper.
“Now just rest there until you feel yourself again,” Dia said, kindly. “Then come back to the Great Hall. I’ll make sure we don’t move from where you left us, but in case you can’t find us anyway, just ask a page for me. Or, if you decide you would rather not rejoin us, you can send a page with a message to me and just stay here and read.”
Lady Dia left her alone in that quiet place, closing the door softly behind her. It was surprisingly quiet in fact, with the distant sound of music and voices muffled thoroughly by the thick walls and all of the books.
Under any other circumstances, Violetta would have been content to just sit there for, well hours. She hadn’t realized that all the heat and the noise had been giving her a headache until she sat down in one of the chairs beside a writing desk. There were probably hundreds of books of poetry and romances here that she had never read, never even heard of, probably, and although she didn’t know where in all of these shelves such things might be found, it would be pleasant to look for them.
But then she realized that right next to her was a writing desk that had been set up for anyone who needed it . . . and on it were an ink pot, quill pens, a basin of sand, and palimpsest paper—paper that had been scraped of former writing, so you could use it for notes without spoiling good, clean paper. In short, everything she had been longing for less than a quarter candlemark ago.
She actually could write that letter to that beautiful young man! And get it into his hands, too! All she had to do was find a page or a servant, and there were lots of them in the Great Hall. No page would question a lady; most of them were very young children and would never even think to do so. Not only that, but Mother would never know what she had done! And if there was any chance that he had overlooked her by accident, or had been given orders which young ladies he was to dance with, at least he would know how she felt—and most importantly, who she was!
Feverishly she set to work, picking the cleanest piece of paper she could find, and dipping a new quill carefully into the ink. The things she had thought to say tumbled about in her mind. How would he react to this? Women were not supposed to be the ones approaching men! But then . . . young women were not supposed to be doing any approaching at all. That was for their parents to arrange.
Never mind. What was the worst that would happen? He would laugh at this, or regard it with disgust, and throw it in the fire. She had nothing to lose.
Forgive my audacity, my wretched boldness, but I know no other way in which I may tell you what is in my heart. I know I may deserve your reproach and your scorn for daring to write to you in this way. For you do not know me, as I do not know you; I only saw you a little while ago, and yet, in the moment that I first saw you, I was transfixed, I was rendered mute, as my heart leapt and said, “He is the one! He, and no other!” I do not know if you are an angel who will take pity on me, or a devil come to tempt me. I am torn with doubt, filled with agony that only you can resolve. Is this mere infatuation, or the recognition of a true lifebond? I do not know! In one moment, I rejoice that I came here this night and saw you! In the next, I sigh with bitter suffering that ever I came and ever I saw your face. I am young, too young perhaps, and I have never known anything like this in all my short life. This fever, this inexperience, torments me! And yet I know, there is no other than you, not one on earth, to whom I would give my heart. I feel that this is ordained, that the gods themselves decreed that I must love you, or why else would I be so tossed by the waves of these emotions? It is my fate; all my life until now was merely waiting for the moment when first I saw you. I did not know you, and yet I have loved you all my life.
Her throat closed, and a wretched knot formed there, making it impossible to swallow. Her eyes burned, then spilled. She began to cry, tears streaking her face as her pen raced across the paper. At least her flawless penmanship remained the same, no matter how her vision blurred with falling tears.
Whatever my destiny is to be, I consign it to your hands, and to your honor. I beg your protection and understanding of this impulse. And I feel, I know, you will not betray me. I feel in my heart that you and you alone could fathom what is in mine. No one else understands me; they hear my words, but they never listen. I shall wither alone and misunderstood, unless you save me. Oh, give me r
eason to hope! I know that such boldness deserves reproach and scorn rather than reward, but let the love that I offer you unconditionally and with both hands be my excuse!
I dare not read this through; my heart sinks, leaden with the fear that you will think me a little fool and my love worthy only of ridicule. And yet, I know in my heart that you are good and honorable. Give me but a whisper of hope, a drop of sympathy, for I am yours, forever, past death itself. Violetta, youngest daughter of Lord Leverance, House Chendlar.
It was done. She sanded it and dried it quickly. There was sealing-wax in a small drawer of the desk; she folded the letter small, melted the wax at the shielded candle on the desk, and sealed it, using her pendant instead of a sealing ring.
Then, she waited. She used the hem of her chemise to dry her eyes, and went to a window and put her fevered head against the glass to cool it and her eyes. I don’t think anyone will notice that I have been crying. If my eyes are red, I will say it is from the perfumes, or the smoke from the candles. She hid the letter in her sleeve, and, trembling at her own audacity, went to the door.
The same Guard was there and he smiled at her as she emerged. “Feeling better, young milady?” he asked.
Unable to speak at the moment, she nodded, dropping her gaze as if she was shy. It wasn’t a ruse, actually, she felt shy and terribly vulnerable, and afraid. He closed the door behind her and resumed his position, as she made her way back across the bottom of the Throne Room to the Great Hall. Since she was alone, she was able to dart between people much more easily than when she and Lady Dia had been coming along arm-in-arm.
The Great Hall was just as crowded as before. Instead of going directly to her mother, she edged her way along the side of the room nearest the door, watching for the beautiful young man, hoping he would be near where she last saw him. At last she spotted him, in conversation with an older woman. From his posture, she didn’t think they were related. A moment later, the old lady laughed and hit him lightly with a fan that she carried; she must be someone of higher rank than he who was flirting harmlessly with him. She had seen Mother flirt with Cousin Talbot in this way, many times. He seemed to be amused; at least, he was smiling at her, and leaning low to murmur things to her that made her laugh again. Violetta swallowed hard, and fought down a terrible wave of jealousy, but oh, she would have given anything to have had him smile at her like that.
She looked about and found a page, leaning against the wall near another table, this one laden with empty goblets discarded by those who had gone too far from the water table. This was a little boy of about eight or nine, in a blue and silver uniform that was a miniature version of the Guard uniform; he was perfect, much too young to dare to question her or refuse to do her bidding. And, fortunately, she had a little purse on her chatelaine that had a few coins in it, which would ensure he did what she asked quickly. She took a silver piece out of the purse, and tapped the page’s shoulder. He turned, and before he could say anything, she pointed at the beautiful young man.
“Do you see that dark-haired man, speaking with the old lady in green velvet?” she asked. “The one with the green fan?”
“Aye, milady,” the little boy replied, with a bit of a bow. “Is there—”
She pressed the letter and the coin into his hand. “Take this letter to him please,” she said, shaking in her shoes at her own audacity.
The page looked at the letter and the coin, pocketed the latter, and immediately began making his way across the room to where the young man was.
Now completely terrified at what she had just done, she withdrew into the crowd a little, watching him from behind a portly old woman’s broad skirts. She could barely see him, and she knew where he was and what he looked like. It wasn’t very likely that he would be able to spot her.
The page reached him at last, got his attention, and handed him the letter.
The young man looked at it with a quizzical expression and asked the page something. The boy turned to look where she had been, but she was no longer in sight. He replied, and shrugged, and made his way back to the spot where she had found him, taking up his station again. Clearly, now that his task was completed, the page had no interest in trying to find her. The young man gazed after him for a moment, then shrugged himself, and put the letter in his sleeve, unopened.
He didn’t cast it aside! She thought that her heart was going to pound its way out of her chest, it was beating so quickly.
Faint and lightheaded with emotion, Violetta went back to the Library. “I am not as well as I thought,” she said to the sympathetic Guard, who readily let her back in.
“I’ll find a page, and you can send a note to Lady Dia,” he said, and he was as good as his word. As she sat down to write out a note to her mother the door opened again and another little page, a girl this time, entered.
I think I have had too much excitement, she wrote. But this Library is quiet and I am as comfortable as I would be at the manor, so please do not cut anything short. I will be here when you are ready to leave. She simply folded it in half, no messing about with sealing wax this time, and gave it to the little girl.
And there she remained, almost afraid to come out, until Lady Dia and her mother and her two very satisfied sisters came for her, and collected Father from the Throne Room, and they all made their way back home together. If this really had been home, they would, of course, have walked. It wasn’t all that far from the Palace to their town-manor, not by country standards. But things weren’t done that way here. They had arrived by carriage, and they returned by carriage. Brigette and Aleniel more than made up for her silence with their chatter. No one seemed to think they needed to find out if she was all right or not . . . which perfectly suited her. Because what could she say? I saw the boy I will love forever . . . that would hardly go over well. Or she could lie, and say that the crowd had overwhelmed her.
But she didn’t have to say anything. They all entered the manor; the cousins were, for the most part, not back from the parties they had been invited to, so the manor was blessedly quiet. Leaving Mother, Father, Lady Dia, Brigette and Aleniel to discuss all the potential suitors her sisters had danced with, she said she was tired and went up to her room.
Once there, she let the maid undress her, but she tossed restlessly, aching with hope and weeping with fear, until morning, with the only comfort she could find being in the warmth and love of her little dog.
—
“And how was yer night, m’love?” Mags asked, as Amily came in, very late indeed. He had actually expected her much earlier; evidently the Princess’ duties had kept her in attendance at the fete for much longer than he had thought they would.
Then again . . . I never went to any Royal functions. I reckon the Royals don’t get to leave till the last guest gets carted out.
“Without incident,” she said, throwing herself down in a chair. “Too warm. Very loud. Many, many, boring people. You didn’t miss anything.”
“Kinda thought as much. Such things don’t seem like my sort of do. Unless ye got me in a servant’s tabard, keepin’ my ears open.” He was tired, so he wasn’t making any attempt to clean up his speech to Amily’s level. He had been at the predictably raucous drinking-party held at Lord Kaltar’s manor, in the absence of his Lordship and his wife and son. “Gotta say, ’tis a good thing I reckon bein’ drunk’s a waste of m’time, or I’d be sore right now, havin’ t’stay sober while the lads around me drink like fish.”
Amily laughed a little. “I hope your evening was also without incident, but I expect it was the exact opposite.” She pulled off her boots, and wiggled her toes in front of the fire. Mags was already in his oldest and most comfortable trews and a knitted tunic; in a few moments, he had made some cheese-toast at the fire, and passed it to her. She took it with a sigh of gratitude, and accepted the mug of cider he handed her with a smile.
“Well, the hijinks star
ted with the lads decidin’ to see if the chimney in the Hall could be climbed.” He sighed. “I got t’it just in time t’get the stuff off th’ mantle an’ inta the hands of the servants.” The servants, of course, had not dared to rebuke the cousins, nor even dash up to the hearth in an attempt to save anything breakable. “Why no one broke his fool neck, I got no ideer. So then they got the bright ideer to climb atop each others’ shoulders an’ whack at each other with cushions. That wasn’ so bad. You know, like fightin’ on horseback, on’y with pillows an’ usin’ each other as horses. On’y one cushion bust, so that wasn’t too bad, an’ it weren’t stuffed with feathers but with hay, so it weren’t so bad t’clean up. That was when I reckoned I could start on a buncha stories an’ get ’em boastin’. I got th’ cook t’make salty eats; pickles an’ salted cheese-toast, stuff that’d make ’em thirsty. An’ I doctored their hard cider wi’ brandy. I reckoned the faster I got ’em too drunk t’move, the better it’d be. That pretty much solved the problem; by the time his Lordship an’ all got home, half of ’em had stumbled up t’bed an’ the rest was sprawled all over the Hall, snorin’.”
Amily choked on a laugh, as he passed the image on to Rolan, and Rolan passed it to her. It really had been funny. The cousins were laid out in the boneless contortions that only the very drunk could manage, and Mags imagined that between the heavy hangovers and the cramped muscles they would have in the morning, they were going to get punishment enough for their mischief.
“Her Ladyship weren’t too pleased, but his Lordship laughed, and said he reckoned that there was gonna be green faces in th’ mornin’.” He paused. “But then . . . well, I got back here an’ stayed awake t’talk with ye, ’cause I don’t rightly know what t’do about this. Me an’ Brand stayed down by th’ fire, him t’ get some food an’ drink afore he went to bed, an’ he remembered somethin’ and pulled a letter outa his sleeve. I asked him what ’twas, and he allowed that he didn’t know. Some page said a lady said t’give it to ’im.”
Closer to Home: Book One of Herald Spy Page 17
