16. Valentinas Confession
16
Valentina's Confession
Valentina brought a steaming cup of coffee to her lips, pausing to inhale the tantalizing aroma of chocolate and bergamot before taking a sip. Coffee wasn’t her typical choice for morning libations, but Quinn had informed her, somewhat regretfully, that the tavern didn’t have tea on hand. To her pleasant surprise, the coffee tasted delightful—much better than anything she had tried back home.
It was much too early for her to be awake, but here she was wrapped up in an itchy blanket, bearing the morning chill. She peered out the dusty tavern window to the bench across the way. How did they do this every day?
The sound of slow and steady footsteps echoed in the space behind her. Valentina didn’t have to look back to guess who the assured footfalls belonged to. “Keeper Saintgarden.”
“Lady Valentina.”
“Valentina, please,” she implored as the Keeper came to rest beside her. “The honorific does me no favors here.”
The other woman made no attempt to confirm or deny the sentiment; for a long moment, neither spoke.
“Do you make it a habit of spying on your acquaintances?”
Valentina huffed a laugh. “If the opportunity arises.”
She looked to where Jonathan sat facing Rosalind, his arm outstretched toward her. They were looking at one another as if transfixed, lost to the rest of the world. Were she to tap on the window, she doubted they would notice .
“They think me oblivious, you know.”
And what a ridiculous notion that was; to think that she—a sister to one and dearest friend to the other—wouldn’t be privy to their poorly disguised affections for one another. Utter fools, the pair of them.
“Does that bother you?”
“Only my pride, really; that they think me daft enough not to catch on. And perhaps I was a smidge hurt at first, to know that Ros wasn’t confiding in me. But she has her reasons. The fact that I’m divulging as much to you now probably has something to do with it.”
“And why are you telling me this?”
Out of the corner of her eye, Valentina could see that the Keeper was observing her. She shrugged.
“I suppose it’s because I’ve kept my mouth shut for this long—a feat in and of itself, honestly—and I relish the chance to tell somebody. Anybody. I like to think that this”—Valentina gestured to the scene playing out beyond the window—“wouldn’t be possible without my machinations.” Something she was rather proud of.
Her scheming began the very day Jonathan returned from the capital, inspired by the way the pair reacted to seeing each other after so many years apart. Her brother was hardly subtle in his appraisal of Rosalind. And unfortunately for poor, sweet Rosalind, her attempts to keep her wits about her were in vain.
From then on, Valentina took every opportunity she could to get them alone. Whatever happened when she was away, she couldn’t know, but the progress was palpable. It was evident in Jonathan’s lingering glances and Rosalind’s betraying blushes. And then there was the evening of Rosalind’s birthday. She hadn’t witnessed it with her own eyes, but she could have sworn she’d heard two pairs of footsteps venture toward Jonathan’s room down the hall that night .
Perhaps the most heavy-handed of her efforts was to insist she and Rosalind accompany Jonathan on his trip to Ashwind. It took quite a bit of convincing, but here she was standing beside the Keeper of the town, and there they were in their own little world.
“And to think,” she mused, not bothering to temper the smug expression on her face, “up until a couple of weeks ago she hadn’t felt the touch of a man. Now look at her—not a flinch in sight, though I endeavor not to think of how she came to be so comfortable with my brother...”
“Pardon?”
“Well, the thought of Jonathan being intimate in any way, shape, or form makes me physically ill—”
“No, not that,” Keeper Saintgarden cut in. “It’s your comment about Miss Carver that has me intrigued. You mentioned something about her not having touched a man before. Did you mean that figuratively or…”
“Ah.” Shit . She’d said that aloud, hadn’t she? Now what? It wasn’t her place to tell Rosalind’s truth, in the least, not any more than she already had. “You know,” she began somewhat sheepishly, “I think perhaps I’ve run my mouth for long enough.”
Keeper Saintgarden narrowed her eyes. “How old is Miss Carver?”
If the Keeper were asking such a question, it was likely because she had already inferred her meaning. Valentina blew out a defeated breath. “Two and twenty.”
“So she’s a border born,” Keeper Saintgarden murmured. “That’s why she—” She quieted, her lips forming a tight line.
“That’s why what ?”
Keeper Saintgarden met Valentina’s gaze and studied her for a moment. She must have found whatever it was she was looking for because she answered. “I knew there was something about her, but I couldn’t quite place it. ”
“Is that why your Mr. Raynor barraged her with questions last evening? That man is impertinent and lacks all manner of tact…”
The Keeper let out a dry laugh. “Yes, I’ll admit Sylvan isn’t known for his subtlety.”
“Jonathan is right, isn’t he? You, Mr. Raynor, perhaps the entire village. You know about magic. How it works, possibly even how to wield it.”
Keeper Saintgarden didn’t respond.
“Keeper,” Valentina persisted, “I ask you once more. Hear him out, please. That man you see out there, that’s my brother. That’s who he truly is when no one else is around; when he can relax and drop the facade. He isn’t like my father or the council members who think only of themselves. That’s not to say he isn’t a prick sometimes, but he’s a good man. I wouldn’t let him pursue Ros if he weren’t. And while he isn’t like them, he does know how to play their game. Humor him and you’ll see for yourself. Who knows, you may even find an ally in him.” Satisfied she had said everything she wanted, Valentina turned to leave.
“Serena.”
Valentina looked back, head tilting in question.
“My name is Serena,” the Keeper continued. “You’ve granted me the use of your name, free of honorifics. I’d like to do the same. Good day to you, Valentina.”