Chapter 52 – Something’s Gotta Give

Wherein Rose breaks and Valentina has a melt down.

The next day, Rose presented herself at Bardic College for the day’s lessons. She was there early, intending to show her face and commune with her classmates for a bit. She was welcomed into their circle as if nothing earth shattering had happened.

Maybe it hadn’t; she wasn’t certain anymore.

"There’s going to be a big party next week. Hearthday night. The unofficial end of year party," one of the young men said, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. "You should come."

Rose chewed on her lip. Attending this party would probably fulfil Mr Bosch’s expectations of social interaction. "I’ll think about it," she heard herself saying.

She really didn’t want to. She had heard stories. Parties at the dorm building were wild; over the top, no holds barred, wild. Going would not be safe, not unless she took backup with her. There was nobody else at the parties who cared enough about her to interfere should something go terribly wrong. She lived too far away to get home safely should she somehow get drugged.

 The dorms were a wretched hive of scum and villainy on party nights, which meant she would have to convince her friends to come with her.

Doodling in her notebook during practicum, to distract herself from the pure agony of listening to someone strangle a lute, she thought of how she would go about convincing her friends to go with her and do something stupid. Bosra would probably tag along, simply because Rose asked. Even if she was always tired lately, from working her ass off. Reginald wasn’t able to do the heavy work anymore and there was a short supply of physical labourers with war still raging in the East.

As for Valentina, Nightsoul knew if she was up for a party. The woman had her own struggles.

She wondered if she should invite Marissa and concluded that she didn't want to share her with the Bardic College crew. She didn't want the sweet librarian to be slandered or put on the spot. Marissa could probably hold her own. She might even be popular if she would stoop to cast the Festive Turtle Lights spell, a spell that was considered extremely tacky in wizarding circles.

Rose managed to survive the practicum with her eardrums intact.

The practical magic course was up next. Taking a seat in the front row, Rose managed to avoid Brittany’s jests for two whole hours. However, she was tardy on leaving and the wolves descended.

Rose stood up in an attempt to make it out of the classroom before them, but failed when one of the guys pulled her back by the strap of her messenger bag.

"I thought you'd be on your way out now," Brittany smirked. "Out of Splendor, that is. You don't belong here, Rosie Pig."

Through gritted teeth, she retorted: "I don't know what you have with me. I don't care. Just leave me be." Her hands balled into fists, nails biting into flesh. This time, the physical pain only added agony to her already bleeding heart.

"What's the matter, Rosie the Pig?" Brittany chimed in mockingly sweet singsong voice. "Don't you like the sound of your real name?"

A pair of brawny guys grunted in imitation of a pig. Her posse laughed.

Rose breathed in deeply through her nose. Never feed the troll; he won't be your friend, he will just eat you next time.

"My name is Rosa, short for Rosalinda, Cerdos," she bit out. "I. Am not. A pig!"

"Cerdos means Pig, doesn't it? At least it fits. You smell like one. Doesn't she smell like one?" Brittany cajoled her crew, beaming a nasty smirk at Rose. They all started grunting and oinking.

As the grunting choir gained more voices, Rose felt heat rise to her cheeks and ears. Where was Hank the Hunk when you needed him? Tersely she bit out: "Leave. Me. Be."

The grunting turned to laughter.

Rose yanked herself free, glad to see the guy who had been holding her bag-strap nurse a sore hand. Without looking back, she walked out.

"Bye bye Rosie the Pig. See you at Cicada Park, playing for the paupers!" Brittany's voice haunted her all the way to the thrice-damned fire escape.

Valentina didn’t know what day it was. Presumably a work/college day because neither Rose nor Bosra were at home. A loud bang pulled her from her listless slumber. Another sounded shortly after, putting her nerves on end, as if she had been holding onto a device leaking thaumic energy.

It took another bang for her to realise there must be someone at the door. Hurriedly she pulled on her housecoat and skidded down the stairs. Her death grip on the guide rail prevented a tumble.

A liveried servant stood on the step, ready to knock again. He eyed her up and down, not expecting to see the lady in her comfortable attire. "Her Grace, the Arch-Duchess Effyne, requests your presence at home." He spoke stiffly.

Valentina looked down at her woollen socks, borrowed from Bosra, at her bare legs and the velour housecoat that had several stains upon it. "Did we have an appointment?"

"She sent an invitation last week."

Valentina couldn’t remember seeing a note of any kind. She certainly hadn’t replied to one. A bone deep revulsion obstructed speech.

The lackey waited for her, showing subtle signs of impatience; a shuffling of feet, a fidgeting with buttons on his coat, a scraping of the throat.

She blinked slowly several times. "Tell her I am ill."

He looked her up and down again, appraising her state, before nodding. Whether or not he believed her, was not her concern. "Very well, milady." He bowed his head politely before turning on his heels and returning to the carriage from whence he came.

Valentina closed the door behind him with a soft click. She pressed her forehead against the warm expanse of polished mahogany. A spasm wrenched its way up her body, resulting in a sob.

She slid down, ending on her knees. The tiles provided frigid solace as she wrapped her arms around herself. More spasms rocked her core. It wasn’t until gal spilled forth from her mouth that she considered herself to be ill.

Slowly, through the heavy fog that blanketed her brain, she came to realise that she couldn’t continue with her life the way it was. But what could she do when everything was already settled?

Lord Elvendale was to return soon, if he hadn’t already. Maybe that was why her mother had invited her over for tea.

Valentina shivered remembering those cold, calculating eyes. She retched again before deciding to crawl to the kitchen to clean up.

An hour later, she was back in her upstairs room, reading an adventure novel, when again someone knocked. This time, as she hurried down the stairs, she was dressed.

She opened the door, expecting a liveried servant making another attempt to collect her. She could not have been more wrong.

Instead, Venlica darkened up her door, accompanied by Lord Elvendale, and a small army of servants.

Valentina swallowed, all blood drained from her face. Locking her knees was the only way she could prevent herself from collapsing like a house of cards.

"Invite us in, daughter," Venlica hissed, hoping Lord Elvendale would be so polite as to ignore this prodding.

"Come in," Valentina heard herself saying. She stepped aside to allow the procession entry. "The salon is this way."

She blinked and must have lost a few moments time. When she opened her eyes, Lady Effyne was seated on the Queen Vesper sofa and Lord Elvendale stood by the window, silently judging everything within sight. "Sit," Venlica ordered her daughter. "When I was told you were not feeling well, I knew we had to come here to cheer you up."

Valentina marvelled at how the witch could actually sound both concerned and enthusiastic at the same time, whilst also judging heavily.

"I wasn’t lying," she couldn’t help defend herself.

Venlica shot her a look that telegraphed that she doubted her daughter’s honesty. "I never said you were. I just know how you missed your betrothed and would love to show him this quaint little cottage you insisted on living in."

Valentina heard the telltale clanking of the stove lids and the opening and closing of the scullery door. There was nothing she could say that would make this situation any better.

"You will not have to worry about your wife spending your fortune on silly baubles and the latest fashion," Venlica said to Lord Elvendale. It sounded like praise, yet Valentina took it for the stab that it was. After months of being impervious to these barbs, she found that she could bleed.

"There is no way that she could, in any case," he replied, with a dark look to his betrothed. "Though I would have expected my prospective wife to be better dressed."

"I was unwell," Valentina replied, back straightening. "I apologise if in my sickness I do not look the part of perfect princess."

His silent derision slashed at her heart.

Her mother’s silence spoke volumes as well.

A maid in Effyne livery entered the room with a small tray and started setting the low table with cups and saucers, with a sugar bowl and a cream bottle. Fat slices of orange flavoured Bundt cake sat elegantly on a little plate. "Enjoy," she said with an obliging smile, before leaving.

The silence continued.

"Show us you have some manners. Pour tea." Venlica had degraded to giving out right orders.

Valentina obliged, afraid of what might happen if she didn’t.

Lord Elvendale sat. He accepted his cup with a nod. "Your mother tells me your dress is ready and all preparations are in place."

"Then I suppose they are." Valentina herself had trouble believing it was the end of Spring. In her mind, it was still just after the Winter holidays.

Polite conversation carried on with minimal influence from Valentina.

Shortly after the cake had been eaten and the cups drained of their contents, Lady Effyne and Lord Elvendale left. The servants stayed to clean up.

Valentina moved to the library, so as not to be in their way. She curled up in Bosra’s chair and slept.

~

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May this new year bring you fortune, love and success.

Much love,
Zanna Bear