He summoned the Head Maid at once. Before long, a stout, middle-aged woman opened the door and stepped inside.
“You called, Your Grace?”
Varkas silently studied her face, which was taut with obvious tension, while pouring liquor into an empty glass.
“I wish to know what has been happening with Her Grace. In just a few months… she seems far too well.”
As his voice trailed off, unable to settle on the right phrasing, a flicker of something conflicted passed over Aretha’s face.
After a brief, thoughtful pause, the Head Maid chose her words with care.
“I cannot say what prompted the change in her. For a long while after your departure, Her Grace refused her meals and kept to her bed… until one day, she suddenly asked to attend the dawn prayer services at the Cathedral.”
Varkas narrowed his eyes. Given the hostility that had festered between her and the Eastern Diocese, such a move made little sense.
Aretha seemed equally baffled, continuing slowly with a furrowed brow.
“From that day on, she became as calm as another person entirely. She began asking for her meals and taking up quiet pastimes, like tending flowers or embroidering.”
Varkas’s hand stopped midair, halfway to his glass.
“She embroiders?”
“Recently, she has even begun learning to weave at the textile workshop. Though her hands are still clumsy, her eye is so remarkable that she produces quite novel and lovely patterns. It has been received very well,” Aretha said calmly.
A hollow laugh slipped from Varkas’s lips as he stared blankly.
Embroidery was an ordinary diversion for highborn ladies, yet she had never once spared a glance for such things. And weaving was grueling labor, fit only for servant girls.
Perhaps reading his displeasure, the Head Maid offered a defensive explanation.
“I knew full well it was not labor suited to a Grand Duchess… yet I could not bring myself to forbid it. I believed having an occupation would do Her Grace more good.”
“Her constitution is frailer than most. What if such heavy labor ruins her health?”
“Pardon me, Your Grace, but I do not believe you need worry on that account. Everyone takes great care to see she does not exceed her strength, and the physician advised that physical activity would help restore her vitality.”
The Head Maid’s voice carried a stubborn edge. She seemed wary that he might bar the Grand Duchess from the textile workshop.
She pressed on, weighing every word.
“In truth, Her Grace is steadily finding her footing. Her relations with the inner castle maids are far gentler than before. So…”
“I have no desire to interfere with her pursuits. Cease this pointless pleading.”
Varkas cut her off coldly. A strange prickle of irritation rose in him at the Head Maid’s tone, as though he were an intruder threatening the woman’s peace.
Draining the rest of the wine from his glass, Varkas gave a brisk nod.
“You may go.”
The Head Maid bowed respectfully and departed with measured steps.
Varkas leaned back into his seat and turned toward the window. Across the twilight sky, dark clouds gathered heavy and low.
All at once, a sharp bitterness spread over his tongue.
Perhaps my return is nothing more than a storm cloud hanging over her.
With that thought lingering, he raised the glass to his lips again.
The fiery spirits burned down his throat and settled heavy in his gut. Yet no matter how much he drank, not an ounce of numbness reached him.
He rested his head against the high back of the chair and let out a long sigh.
Just as the Head Maid had said, Talia was living out an ordinary, tranquil routine.
The retainers still regarded her with cool distaste, but the open malice among the maids who attended her had softened noticeably.
The servants moved around her with far more ease than before, and Talia herself seemed to have shed her need to bristle at every turn.
From time to time, Varkas caught sight of her conversing with the maids in the garden. She looked so mild and unburdened that it was hard to believe she was the same woman who had kept her quills raised against the world.
What on earth had brought about such a change?
His mind drifted toward Edric Luvon.
The man had a gift for slipping into any company without friction. Despite hailing from an obscure line, had he not found his place among the Imperial Guard, where cliquish cruelty ran rampant? He had likely used that easy charm to disarm her.
A bitter gaze settled on the glass.
As she did every afternoon, Talia had stepped into the garden, walking the path with her retinue. Edric Luvon was at her side as a matter of course.
He was chattering away without pause.
He must have offered something amusing, for the maids covered their mouths, their shoulders shaking with muffled laughter. Even on Talia’s blank face, the faintest ghost of a smile took shape.
Varkas watched for a long moment before turning his eyes back to his desk.
Piled across the wood were official documents and dispatches waiting for his seal. They had spared him the bulk of it out of deference to his wounds, yet the stack remained formidable.
He scrutinized the proposed regional edicts one by one, set his seal to them, and handed them off to the waiting clerk. But as he turned to the list of nobles invited to the upcoming betrothal, a sharp knock rattled the wood, followed by hasty footsteps.
He did not bother looking up.
“What is it?”
“I have something to ask you, Brother.”
A shrill voice, thick with held-back rage, pierced the door.
Varkas gave the clerk a brief nod, permitting him to open it.
Raina stormed inside at once, her face twisted and her boots striking the floor hard.
“Is it true that you’re granting an estate to Allen?”
His brow creased. Having granted lands to several men lately, the name did not immediately register.
A moment later, remembering the young man who was to be his brother-in-law, he gave a nod.
“Yes. There is a fortress in the southeast well-suited for your household. The surrounding territory holds a wealthy market town and a vast stud farm. You will lack for nothing there.”
“I told you plainly that I wanted the manor east of Kalmor!”
She raised her voice shrilly, closing the distance to the desk.
“Father built that manor for me! He promised I could live there when I wed…!”
“I am granting you an estate worth more than twice that value.”
Varkas set his papers aside, cutting her off in a flat, cold tone.
“What cause have you to complain?”
“Stop pretending this is for my sake! You just want to drive me out of Kalmor!”
Raina glared at him, choking back her tears.
“You took Father from me, you took Lucas, and now you want to strip away the only home I’ve ever known! How can I not feel wronged?”
“Raina.”
At the quiet, low edge in his voice, her shoulders twitched and froze.
Varkas spoke on, his tone measured and mercilessly cold.
“Had I the mind for it, I could have married you off penniless to some aged lord on the frontier. Given the insolence you have shown toward me and my wife, it would have been entirely deserved.”
The color drained from Raina’s face in an instant.
Varkas looked down again, unmoved.
“You are spared being cast out empty-handed solely because you bear the blood of Shearkan and are my kin. Take what generosity is offered while it lasts.”
END