Chapter 64 - Picking up the Pieces

Wherein Valentina sets things right with her father, and Bosra finds her place.

Valentina was mentally, physically, sore. Again she struggled to rise, to get through the day. She had been judged and had fallen, but the final verdict was pending. She knew there must be another shoe to drop. Whether official exile, or the expectation of self-imposed reclusion,  remained to be seen.

Yet, she hoisted herself out of bed almost every morning and made her way to Bosra’s stables. The loft was almost finished. Proud of her decorating skills, she hoped the Highlander would like it, too. She had forbidden Bosra from going up until she was done.

Dressed modestly, she made her way to the stables and found that there was little to do for her that day. Bosra had found a few new blokes to help her out with menial tasks. Though restless, Valentina didn’t feel like sweeping floors.

Instead of hanging around the stables and being in everyone’s way, she went to Paragon’s Cup early. Bosra and Rose would meet her there later.

In this part of town, taking a tube was faster than hailing a cab. Getting constricted in her skirts, Valentina hoisted herself into the slow-moving vehicle and found a place to lean against the side railing, while fantasising about what she would do once she got to the little café.

Have a milky brew, eat a fat slice of cake, and read some new periodicals.

It was funny, she thought, shifting to make space for another passenger, that it felt so much more natural to jump onto and from tubes. She might never feel completely at ease at riding them, but they no longer scared her. 

She watched houses and people as she passed them by. Watched snippets of dramas as they unfolded. A boy getting kicked out of a front door, his bag flung after him. An urchin–no older than ten–picking pockets. A mother with five children counting heads.

How much longer would she be able to do this?

She walked the last stretch and noticed, to her surprise, the familiar outline of a black-clad man, eyes obscured by dark lenses. Valentina knew they allowed him to discern enchantments on objects and people. She finger waved at him, looking around for the more prominent figure that had to be around.  

He sat in one of the shaded terrace seats, with a cup of joe and an untouched slice of lemon-poppy cake in front of him. He looked as out of place as a wedding band on a monkey.

Fog clouded her mind, like it clouded the streets on most mornings, as she made her way over to his table and sat down next to him. 

"Good morning, father," she ventured tentatively. There could really only be one reason for his presence. Her fingers found a pleat-edge on her skirt to fidget with.  

"Good morning, daughter-dearest." He lowered one of the periodicals she hoped to read later. His eyes were underlined with dark bruises. His otherwise warm features had gained a haunted quality. 

Silence reigned between them. 

"Why?" he asked, after a liveried servant had brought Valentina her preferred drink, accompanied by a huge cinnamon roll.  

She breathed in deeply and held it. "I needed to be free."

He was silent. She pulled a thread from her skirt and wound it tightly around her pinkie. 

"Free to do what?" he asked tersely. 

She had to construct the answer in her mind before speaking it. "Free to choose my own destiny."

The frown that furrowed his brow made him look old. Older than she was used to. She had always thought of him as timeless. Now she noticed the grey creeping into his beard. 

She laid her hand on his, giving a gentle squeeze. "I love you, papa. I love you more than I can say." She swallowed and focussed on her breathing, so she could continue without hick-ups. "And I am ever so grateful..." tears constricted her throat, making speech nearly impossible, "of the chances you gave me."

She allowed herself to feel all she felt in that moment. Even if her sobs were audible. Even if tears streaked her carefully applied make-up. 

"I am not giving up on you." Rhodum growled in a most feral tone of voice. "You are, and always will be, my daughter." He turned his hand to grab hers and squeezed hard. So hard pain shot up her arm all the way to her still healing elbow. She didn't want him to let go. 

She squeezed back with all the power she had. 

"Let me shoulder the blame for my own actions," she pleaded in a whisper. "Do not throw my friends under the tube, just to save my name."

More silence. Another hard squeeze.

"Let me shoulder the blame for my own actions," she pleaded in a whisper. "Do not throw my friends under the tube, just to save my name."

More silence. Another hard squeeze. 

With his free hand, Rhodum picked up his cup at the same time as Valentina moved to pick up hers. 

"I will do what I can." He set his cup down without having drunk a drop of the black liquid inside. She felt the burn as he appraised her. Involuntarily, she felt a smile tug up the corners of her mouth. 

"It is for the best if you disappear from the city for a while. Better still if no one knew where to find you." 

This was the verdict she had awaited. A gentle urge to recluse herself.

"I will," she promised easily. She knew where she wanted to go. 

"When you return, in five to ten years, the dust will have settled," Rhodum continued, looking older still than his hundred-and-fifty years. 

Valentina nodded. It would. Her history lessons had been filled with examples of that. As a half-elf, she had time. She would live at least three centuries, if not more. Hers was a well-bred line, with longevity as one of its finer traits.

"Whatever you desire, it will be yours," Rhodum spoke darkly. 

"Choice is what I desire," Valentina reiterated. She squeezed his hand softly to underline her point. "Freedom."

"Freedom is a nice ideal," Rhodum said bitterly, "but it is far from idyllic. It is harsh, and it is hard work."

"That is what I want to experience. I don't want to be the princess that is deluded into thinking that the people can eat cake if there is no bread." 

Rhodum snorted, amused in spite of the situation. "Right."

"I choose not to be that princess, papa."

"Right," he repeated with a sigh. 

"Besides, Thea is a much more eager player in your games of politics. She has ambition." Ambition being a character trait Valentina sorely lacked. 

Rhodum chuckled softly, affectionately. 

"It was nice speaking to you. Thank you for seeking me out." She let go of his hand. 

He rose, leaving his coffee for what it was, but taking the slice of cake with him. He pressed a kiss to her crown, then signalled the man in black to get the carriage.

The man with the black lenses spoke into the revers of his jacket. Moments later, a single rider cab pulled up, driven by an unliveried stable hand and pulled by a dappled white trotter. 

Valentina watched him climb in, watched his bodyguard and lackey enter a second cab, one they drove themselves, likewise pulled by a lithe white horse.

She watched them go, then rose and moved herself to go inside. Inside the periodical her father had read, she found an embossed envelope with her name on it. Inside was a banker's note worth three years’ allowance. She pressed it to her chest, then tucked it safely into her bodice. 

Money couldn't fix problems like theirs. 

Money was his way of trying, she appreciated that.

Bosra broke Valentina’s ordinance of not going up to the loft until she declared them done. She was curious, and going by the young woman’s taste of décor at the redemption era house, she might not like the end result.

As soon as she poked her head through the door, she had to admit that Tina hadn’t lied. She loved it. Nothing was frilly or finicky. There was nothing so delicate she might break it by pointing at it. 

The kitchen area now held a bigger pot-bellied stove with some copper pots and pans hanging from a rod. There was a coal kit next to it, as well as a stack of firewood for when she would want to enjoy a slower burn. There was a sizable table with two sturdy chairs. A cabinet with baskets on shelves held all the other kitchen necessities. 

She moved from the kitchen area to the living area. She could lounge on the biggest leather armchair and keep watch over her domain through the floor to ceiling window. A handful of decorations, colourful and fancy, livened up this bit of space without getting in the way of moving about.

A grin so wide it hurt her cheeks, split her face.  

She turned to check out the bedroom, a nook off to the side, when a speck of reflected light caught her attention. Turning, she saw a rainbow-crystal hanging between the rafters, tucked away into a nook that would have been perfect as a little kid’s play area. 

She stilled. Breathed with flared nostrils, her body tense. 

Fragments of disembodied laughter drift past. 

She closed her eyes, heard the pitter-patter of tiny feet, just as ethereal as the laughter.

With a big whoosh, she exhaled. She grabbed the bit of bark she wore on a string. 

Home. 

Tears threatened. Big fat tears. A flood of them. 

Bosra snuffed. Must be the dirt. 

She went downstairs, got herself a broom and started sweeping.

~

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