The Bell Tolls for Me 40: One House, One Hope, One Hardship

Isabella arrived back from her meeting with Felix alongside Valerio. They were chatting amicably as they passed through the double doors to Valerio’s estate, but the duke stopped in his tracks when he saw Roderick and an older woman standing just beside him. Isabella studied her for a moment. She was tall, and it didn’t take her long to recognize a family resemblance. She had that same stern gaze that seemed intimidating at first.

“Hello, son,” the woman began, walking up to stand in front of him. She looked at Isabella. There wasn’t necessarily friendliness or hostility in her gold-eyed gaze. “Did you ever intend on telling me that you had a fiancée?”

For the first time that Isabella could remember, Valerio stood there without a response immediately at hand.

It took Roderick walking up to break the silence. He introduced the woman, saying, “Princess Isabella. This is Veronica, Valerio’s mother.”

Isabella gave a curtsy. “Very nice to meet you, Veronica.”

“Why are you here?” Valerio stepped forward, clearly distraught.

“It’s nice to meet you as well, Your Highness,” Veronica answered neutrally, then looked back at Valerio. “I wished to meet your fiancée.”

Valerio lowered his voice and said, “It’s not safe for you here.”

“I don’t need your protection, boy.” She looked at Isabella. “I’d like to spend some time with you alone, Your Highness, if your schedule permits it.”

“We’re dealing with a pressing matter,” Valerio said.

“An hour or so should be sufficient,” Isabella said to Valerio.

Frankly, Isabella wanted to talk to his mother without him present. It was clear she was a large shadow over his life, just judging from the way he reacted. Perhaps she could get some information.

“Very good,” Veronica said.

***

Isabella looked upon where Veronica had led her.

“I hunted this in the morning,” Veronica explained.

A deer hung from a stout iron hook. Veronica picked up a knife from a nearby bench, then set to work without hesitation. She slid the blade just beneath the hide, fingers steady, guiding the skin away from the meat in long, practiced strokes.

“Where?” Isabella asked.

Veronica looked back. “The Kingswood.”

Hunting in the Kingswood was quite illegal if one wasn’t the king. Isabella had assumed that Valerio’s lawless side had come from his father, but perhaps that was a mistaken impression. Veronica’s work continued in a steady rhythm—cut, peel, shift, cut again. Blood dripped steadily down into a prepared bucket.

“I’m going to speak formally to you,” Veronica said. “It’s simply more efficient.”

“Very well.” Isabella didn’t see an issue.

“I wasn’t exactly pleased when my son sold his soul into slavery.” She shook her head as she worked. “And all for petty vengeance on the people of Ambrose. Clearly, I raised him wrong. That’s what I thought at first.”

Isabella walked a little closer. “At first?”

Veronica met her gaze. “But I spent a long time with those people that he’s sold his soul to, and it’s become very clear to me that this is a cause worth fighting for.”

“I agree,” Isabella said.

“But the elves, for all their virtues, are not the people without ambition or calculation. They view my son as a tool, and if a tool begins to fail at its task, they wouldn’t hesitate to discard him and find another.” Veronica wiped her face, smearing some blood. “I fear that you’re making him less sharp than he once was.”

Isabella pursed her lips. “We had a small situation recently, but we emerged from that better off than we were before. Moreover, it was resolved relatively quietly.”

“But how do the elves overseas know that?” Veronica looked at her. “How can they know that you’re an element to be trusted? How can I be sure that they won’t suddenly kill my son, just to be sure that any ties to our continent are broken?”

“Would they do that?” Isabella asked, concerned.

Veronica stopped working. “Valerio has been trying to get out of this agreement for some time. In truth, he wishes for greater freedom.” She shook her head. “They’re holding his soul hostage. At this point, I fear that they’ll one day decide that he’s no longer worth the risk, and simply end his life.”

Isabella breathed a little faster at the idea.

“Fortunately, it requires a majority opinion.” Veronica looked at her. “Valerio remains quite popular in the tribe. But… I don’t think that you should give them a reason to sour on him.”

“What are you suggesting?” Isabella asked.

“Nothing at all. Roderick wanted me here, and so I came. I want to keep an eye on things, and then come the tribe all that I see.” She shrugged. “They have a high opinion of my insight.”

Veronica twisted the dagger, and then held out the handle toward Isabella. It was a silent invitation to help. Isabella rolled up the sleeves of her dress, and then took the dagger.

“What do I do?” Isabella asked, clueless.

“Put the knife here,” Veronica directed.

Isabella didn’t quite know what to make of Veronica just yet. She seemed unlike any woman she’d ever met. She saw what it was like to skin a deer for the first time in her life.

***

Isabella walked back into the estate, and when she did, Valerio turned to look at her.

“If I didn’t know… I’d assume it ended badly.” He shook his head. “I apologize for her.”

“It was strange, but fine,” Isabella said. “Were you waiting for me?”

“Received a letter,” Valerio said. “Think you should read it.”

***

Isabella flinched when the gavel of the arbitrator slammed down, bringing order to the assembly of the royal diet. Valerio put his arm on the back of the chair just behind her. It didn’t feel domineering, just quietly supportive.

“This diet is now in session. Considering those born in this season would be born under the stars of the Virelorn, I name this diet the Fifth Diet of Virelorn,” the arbitrator, Duke Brett, declared solemnly.

Duke Brett bore the weathered dignity of a man long accustomed to judgment, with a narrow face lined like parchment and eyes the color of pale steel. His silver hair was swept back in a careful coif, and he wore robes of subdued gray trimmed in dark blue, signifying neither faction nor favor.

Duke Brett had another more common name: the Stone Arbiter. He was utterly unmoved by emotion or special pleading, and instead remained as unmovable as a stone, sticking to the letter of the law above anything. He had even defied Edgar the Great a few times, but he was so well-respected the king couldn’t act against him. He looked old, perhaps sixty. It was difficult to believe that he was 92. He had very nearly outlived Isabella in her last life, passing away at 98.

“The subject of this diet is as follows,” Duke Brett continued. “Firstly, we will be discussing the theology posited by the writer publishing under the pen name of Ismont. Secondly, we will be discussing the rights and legislations to be made customary for the printing houses of the nation. Thirdly, we will be discussing the culpability of those that deliberately spread these pamphlets across the nation in a direct attack on the authority of the church, and by extension, the government.”

What worried Isabella most of all was the fact that the scope of the diet had extended, and some letters that they received earlier this week.

***

Isabella stared at the document that had been placed before her. It was a letter dictating that her attendance at the royal diet was necessary. Across from her, Valerio sat reviewing a letter that said much the same thing.

“This doesn’t change much, does it?” Valerio looked up at her. “We were already planning on attending, after all.”

Isabella swallowed nervously. “No, this is a lot more important than that.” She fixed him with a gaze. “This means that we’re involved in the diet somehow.”

Valerio leaned in. “You think Gaspar talked?”

Isabella’s mind raced. “If it’s just him talking about what he knows, I don’t think it’ll be much trouble. The most that he knows is something that he himself is implicated in, meaning it’s…”

“Inadequate,” Valerio finished. “You were right. Gaspar took care of everything on his own. We didn’t need to implicate ourselves in the slightest.” Valerio crossed his arms, staring at her intently with his dark eyes. “But… if I’m reading you right, you think it might not be that.”

Isabella didn’t respond. “These diets can be incredibly consequential. Rulings made in them have to be abided by, and it could fundamentally change the way in which faith operates throughout the kingdom.” Isabella reviewed the letter that she’d been sent. “The arbitrator of the diet that King Claude assigned is incredibly politically neutral. I’m glad that we’ll be attending, but I don’t like the implications.”

“Duke Brett. Do you know the man?” Valerio asked.

“I do. He’s the best judge that Alistair could have asked for, but given the pressure coming from all sides about this, I think it’s highly doubtful that things go in his favor.” Isabella closed her eyes. “Whatever this is, I can’t think that it’s good.”

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