Treacherous Witch

42. Secret Meeting with the Prince

"Congratulations on your glorious victory! And don't be too smug about it, if it pleases you. Everything is obvious in hindsight."
Letter from Lord Isaac Dryden to the Chancellor of Maskamere, Lord James Avon

There was to be a victory ball, Lord Avon announced, in celebration of General Leamsbrand's triumphant return and the beginnings of peace in Maskamere. Tonight the lords and ladies of the court would dance and feast. Tomorrow the returning soldiers would march through Jairah to be welcomed as heroes.

She couldn't bear it. The atmosphere in the palace was horribly jolly, the guards breaking out into spontaneous cheers, the lords clapping each other on the back. Only the servants were subdued.

Finally, after enduring what felt like an hour of Lady Ophelia excitedly speculating about touring the north with one of her suitors, Valerie had snapped at her to shut up. The other ladies had been shocked, Ophelia red-faced and teary-eyed.

She escaped instead to the gardens, making her way towards the greenhouse for a long overdue visit. The sun blazed down. Master Anwen pottered around as usual shielded by his wide-brimmed hat. The old scholar had set up a rickety table by the vegetable patch, where he peered through a magnifying glass at a soil sample.

She cleared her throat.

Anwen looked up, his face breaking into a beaming smile. "Lady Valerie! How does this day find you, my dear? How was your trip with Lord Avon?"

She smiled back. "Fine." Anwen was one of the few people she felt bad about lying to. She took a breath, fiddling with a loose thread on her sleeve. "Actually, I have some news."

She told him about the third silvertree, how she'd received the blessing in Bolebund. Naturally, Anwen wanted to fetch his notebook at once, but she had another piece of news to break to him first.

"No," she said gently. "No, Anwen... The Chancellor has decided that our lessons need not continue. I know how to break the seal now. You've done everything you can, and I wanted to thank you for your help."

"Oh," said Anwen. He picked up his magnifying glass then put it down again, seeming to lose his train of thought. "Oh—of course. But we must capture the results, must we not? The key to breaking the seal, the answer to what awaits below the temple—it will form the centrepiece of my book."

"I know. I'm sorry, Anwen, and I'll tell you all about it when it's done, but for now I can't say anything more."

"No," he muttered, "no, sensitive political information, of course." He chewed his lip, then looked up at her. "Bolebund, did you say? My dear, you weren't caught up in the war?"

"No..."

Anwen removed his hat, pressing it to his heart. "My condolences, my lady, for your loss."

It was the first time anyone in the palace had offered sympathy for losing the war, and the first time Anwen had acknowledged it. Valerie blinked, her eyes filling with tears.

"Thank you."

"Is there anything I can do?"

The old man's eyes were bright. She shook her head and gulped. Her chest felt tight.

"I..."

"There's no shame in grieving," said Anwen. "Nor in taking your time."

She wasn't sure if it was his words or his gentle tone that did it. But he'd opened the floodgates, and Valerie rushed forward and sobbed into his shoulder. Anwen patted her head with a bewildered but sympathetic air.