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The Bell Tolls for Me 17: Trading in Lives
🕑 Added 2025-02-18 01:08:47 +0000 UTCDuke Albert and Duke Valerio sat across from each other, their faces dimly lit by the chandelier above. Duke Valerio’s estate, perched right by the ocean, had a fantastic view of the ocean. All of the windows were open, allowing the salty sea air to flow into the dining room.
“What do I need to give you to make you end this engagement?” Albert asked.
Valerio spun his knife through his fingers without saying anything.
“Land? Coin? Art? Favors at court?” Albert leaned into the table, and it shifted from his weight. “Name your price.”
“Why are you so fixated on this?” Valerio asked, his voice cold. “What’s so important that you can’t simply find someone else, or give up this foolish pursuit? You have children twice Princess Isabella’s age.”
“I can give you pieces of art worth far more than this estate,” Albert continued. “I’m willing to surrender some of the most fertile lands in Dovhain. If it’s about access to the royal court, there are other princesses within the royal court that you can marry.”
Valerio’s fingers moved quicker, but he didn’t speak. He seemed liable to do something foolhardy, but the door opened. Roderick walked in, carrying a silver platter. He set it on the table between them. It was a roasted pig with an apple in its mouth, supported by a heap of vegetables and fruit.
Valerio caught his dagger and jammed it into the roasted pig.
“When I heard you were coming, I knew that I’d be having roast pig tonight,” Valerio said. “You can see the resemblance, can’t you? The pig has better skin than you do, but beyond that, it’s a near perfect match.”
Despite the astronomical insult against him, Duke Albert stayed sitting. Both Roderick and Valerio glared at him coldly. Albert’s guards stepped forward, perhaps sensing conflict, but he held his hand back and they stopped.
“If you have me as a friend, we can do tremendous things together,” Albert said. “You can become the heart of the royal court, as I am. The king will do as many favors for you as he presently does for me. He’ll funnel unimaginable amounts of gold to your coffers. My friendship is more than equal value to what you lose.”
Valerio stared disinterestedly. “You could give me everything that you own, and it wouldn’t be enough.”
Albert stood and straightened his coat. “Have a nice evening, Duke Valerio.”
Albert made to leave, walking for the door. As he did, Valerio shifted, withdrawing something from his shirt. He threw his arm out. Albert’s guards—well-trained, and famous—reacted, bringing their shields up. Valerio’s weapon bounced off the solid steel shield, though still stabbed into the doorframe right beside Albert. It was a curved dagger with a ring-shaped handle.
“By the way…” Valerio said casually, as though he hadn’t done anything out of the norm. “I think a friend of yours left that here. He wore black, carried a lot of poison.”
Albert looked back and said calmly, “I’m not sure what you’re talking about.”
“Well, hang onto it,” Valerio prompted. “Who knows? What goes around tends to come around.”
Albert turned and left without another word. Roderick walked up and closed the door behind him, then pulled the dagger out of the wall. His aged servant looked at him.
“Why didn’t you take his deal?” Roderick asked, stepping into the light.
“Why wouldn’t I trade a person’s life away without their knowledge?” Valerio asked. “Good question.”
Roderick looked back. “That man is going to begin prying into your life to an extreme degree. He’ll look for any weakness, and vulnerability. We can’t afford that kind of scrutiny. He gave you the key to avoid it, and profit significantly. I held my tongue because this is what I thought this had been leading to.”
“I’ve never asked you to hold your tongue,” Valerio countered harshly.
“You don’t have a plan, do you?” Roderick stepped closer. “That was an emotional decision.”
Valerio leaned back in his chair, looking into Roderick’s eyes unfalteringly.
“And if it was?” Valerio asked, standing his ground.
“Damn it, Valerio.” Roderick rubbed the bridge of his nose, and then stepped forward to rebuke sternly, “There’s much more than me and you at stake in this. Why? All of this for a pretty face?”
“It’s more than that.” Valerio shook his head, then looked out to sea.
“How many days have you known her, even? This is absurd.”
Valerio looked back. “You saved my life without question all those years ago.” He stood up. “You’d known me for days. We couldn’t even speak the same language, and yet you prevented your people from killing me even when you knew it could jeopardize everything.”
“This is different,” Roderick insisted.
“Is it?” Valerio looked back. “I was shipwrecked, betrayed, and utterly alone. Lost my way, lost my ship, lost my dignity, and lost my life. I’d lost everything, damn it. And when I look at Isabella, it’s like looking at a mirror to my past.”
He put his hands on Roderick’s shoulders. “Do you have any idea what it’s like to have a helping hand extended to you in your hour of need? When you’re adrift, nearly dead, asking why you even bother going onward… and someone does you a kindness without expecting anything in return?” Valerio closed his eyes, perhaps reminiscing in that sensation. “I’ve never forgotten that feeling, Roderick. And look what it’s done for us. Look how far we’ve come.”
Roderick’s anger finally died as understanding dawned in his face. He eventually gave a steady nod, and Valerio stepped away.
“So… you’re blaming me,” Roderick managed to joke.
The tension between them dissipated as Valerio laughed. He walked over to the roast pig and pulled the knife out.
“I learned from you,” Valerio said. “Your stubbornness is a part of that.”
“She remains a princess,” Roderick said, stepping forward. “One step removed from the king himself. If Dovhain were to discover what you found… if they could sail the routes you pioneered…”
“I know. They’d arrive at your shores, steal your land, enslave your people… it’d be hell. I promised to be your bulwark until such a time where your people could stand up against the armies of Dovhain alone.” Valerio gave him a steady nod. “And I will be. My eyes are a mark of that vow.”
“And where does Isabella fit into this?” Roderick questioned.
Valerio walked to the balcony, where the sea washed gently against the shore. “I’m not sure,” he admitted. “Hopefully… wherever she wants.”
***
Isabella looked upon the artwork of the mammoth that Abigail had brought. The creature seemed fearsomely large, with tremendous white tusks and thundering feet that seemed liable to split the ground. It held its trunk up, seemingly bellowing something. It was a far different style than the majority of the artwork here, in central Dovhain.
She looked over at Abigail, who held a leather-bound book in her hand.
“I couldn’t find any paintings of walruses,” Abigail explained. “But I think there might be some in my sketchbook… if that interests you.”
Isabella smiled at her. “I’d love to see it.”
Abigail hesitantly gave her the sketchbook. “It was all done in silverpoint, so it’s only black and white,” Abigail explained. “We have many mines in the north, but paint is harder to find, so most of the art we do is silverpoint. Art here… is much prettier.”
Isabella opened the booklet. The first page depicted a seal. As Abigail had said, it was in black and white, but it was delightfully intricate. The seal lounged on a rock, a contented look on its face.
“It’s very good,” Isabella said sincerely.
“Thank you, Your Highness,” Isabella said without much expression.
Isabella flipped to the next page after she had her fill. It was another seal. This one was fatter, and seemed to be sleeping. Its whiskers were particularly detailed. Isabella smiled as she looked at it, and then flipped to the next page. It was another seal—a baby one, it looked like, with big eyes.
“You must’ve been doing this for years,” Isabella remarked.
Abigail said nothing, and Isabella continued to turn the pages. A seal… another seal… another one…
Eventually, Abigail said quietly, “I think it might be… just seals.”
Isabella couldn’t help but laugh, but conceded, “They are quite adorable.”
Abigail said nothing at all, looking at the painting of the mammoth without responding. Isabella thought that she might’ve been opening up, but the young woman remained as closed-off as ever. Perhaps that was simply her nature, and it wasn’t something that could be changed. But… Isabella didn’t want to give up too easily.
“What does your father think about your art?” Isabella asked, deciding to steer the conversation toward the pertinent subject.
“He’s always liked art,” Abigail said easily. “He helps me whenever I need, but… I don’t think I want my art to be for anyone more than me.”
“The painting of the mammoth is very different from the art down here,” Isabella noted.
“In Dovhain, there are plenty of artists, and supplies are plentiful. Ever since we swore fealty, supplies have been easier to access, but… the only truly able to paint regularly are the elite among us.” Abigail looked at the painting ponderously. “It was only upon coming here that I realized how far we’ve fallen behind the artists of the capital.”
Isabella nodded, then handed back the sketchbook to Abigail. She took it back, then fell silent.
“Could you let your father know that I’d like to speak to him?” Isabella decided to say outright. “I think that I see a path for him, but I’d like to discuss it with him. It would require his cooperation.”
Abigail nodded. “I’ll tell him.”
Isabella took one final look at the painting of the mammoth. In many ways, the paradigm shift in the art world had been a fusion of northern traditions and Dovhain artistry. Felix had been a very large benefactor in her prior life… but she intended to make him the very nexus of the reform, crushing Albert’s business along the path.
“I have to go, I’m afraid,” Isabella said. “I’ve an appointment with the Duke of the Isles. Can I trust that I’ll see you tomorrow as well?”
Abigail nodded.
***
Isabella and Valerio rode aboard his carriage, departing from the palace with little scrutiny. She stared at him thoughtfully.
“Have you thought of anything I can do for you?” Isabella asked.
“Hm?” He seemed drawn from his thoughts. “No, not particularly.”
Isabella only grew more and more perplexed as he continued to act like this. She had to admit that he was a large source of anxiety. It was like a single object that she couldn’t quite find the place for in her plans. A knub, sticking out of an otherwise flat surface.
“Would you like to eat somewhere when you’re done?” Valerio proposed. “There’s a pâtissier you might enjoy. I’ve seen that you enjoy fruits, and desserts aren’t so different.”
“Who told you I like fruits?” Isabella squinted suspiciously.
Valerio met her gaze. “You did.”
“No I didn’t,” Isabella insisted.
“Not with words, granted. But you stole an apple from my blade. And the only thing I saw you enjoy at the ambassadorial reception was the fruit platter. The sugared raspberries, in particular.” Valerio crossed his arms. “Am I wrong?”
Isabella hesitated. The only reason that someone learned someone’s food preference in the royal courts was to make it far easier to poison them. She did quite enjoy sweets. But…
“I’m told they make a pear fruit tart. It has a buttery, crisp pastry crust filled with poached pears spiced with cinnamon and nutmeg, arranged in a spiral over a rich custard.” He crossed one leg over another. “After so long at sea, you come to appreciate finer things like fruits.”
It did sound very nice. But… could she? Things were spiraling out of control all around. She’d already heard about King Edgar burning numerous complaint letters sent to him from the nobles associated with Count Faust. Perhaps it might give her a chance to sound out what this man really wanted from her.
“I’ll pay for my own meal,” Isabella insisted.
“Wonderful,” Valerio said, looking back out the window. “I can see your guard. He looks quite distressed.”
***
Randolph watched Valerio’s carriage leave, his typical unease on full display whenever the duke came around. When it turned a bend, he looked at her.
“You, madam, are a recipient of providence’s most generous whims,” Randolph said in way of greeting.
“I am?” Isabella asked.
“A living testament to cosmic fortuity. The favored darling of Lady Luck herself.” He crossed his arms. “And quite stingy for a bloody princess.”
Isabella said nothing as she looked up at Randolph, but she was somewhat uneased.
“I talked to your canvas-touchers. Most of them, anyway. Found out where they live, et cetera. It might’ve been harder if these people weren’t trying to get their names out actively.” His hard eyes narrowed. “But someone’s been sniffing around you already. Archbishop Pius. Does the name mean anything to you?”
Isabella narrowed her eyes. “Of course it does. But what…?”
“He sent the forbidden blossom of his sacred office sniffing around, asking about you,” Randolph said. “His bastard. Cesare.”
Isabella’s eyes widened despite herself.
Cesare was the illegitimate son of Archbishop Pius. He had served as a mercenary before eventually founding his own company. His mercenaries became a pivotal force in the kingdom, becoming a peer with many of the lords in the kingdom in terms of military strength.
“You’re certain?” Isabella asked.
“No, I like to indulge in fantastical delusions,” Randolph retorted. “I simply love inspiring paranoia amongst my employers. Of course I’m bloody certain.”
Isabella took a deep breath to calm herself. This could be troublesome… but as she thought of it more… perhaps it could also be a tremendous opportunity.
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Comments
Stephen Phillips
> “It’s very good,” Isabella said sincerely. > “Thank you, Your Highness,” Isabella said without much expression. Did you mean Abigail in the second line?
John Anastacio
Tremendous opportunity perhaps, but having to associate with Pius would nauseate me.
WarStrider72
The chess pieces have been assembled, now let's see how we play this Queen's gambit.
WarStrider72
Thanks for the chapter boss!
