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. He merely gaped, looking between her and Isabella.

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

  Isabella absorbed the name, then gave a polite curtsy. “Very nice to meet you, Veronica.”

  She had been very curious about Valerio’s family ever since she met him. She hadn’t expected to ever meet any for a very long time.

  “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’m here because I wished to meet your fiancée.”

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

  “Even if that were true, boy, I have never sought safety.” She looked at Isabella. “If I may be so bold, I would suggest that if Your Highness should ever wish to speak with me, you need only seek me out.”

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

  Isabella looked at him. “We have time. I’d like to speak with your mother,” she said sincerely.

  Valerio shifted on his feet, clearly overwhelmed by all of this. “Very well.”

  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.

  “Good,” Veronica said. “Perhaps you’d like to join me right now? Only… how are you with blood?”

  ***

  Isabella looked upon where Veronica had led her—a secluded garden in Valerio’s estate.

  “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 skinning it without hesitation. She slid the blade just beneath the hide, fingers steady. She guided skin away from meat in long, practiced strokes. Isabella thought she seemed quite adept at this, but she wouldn’t know.

  “Where did you hunt it?” Isabella asked.

  Veronica looked back as she worked. “The Kingswood,” she declared boldly.

  Isabella raised a brow in surprise. 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.

  “Might I speak formally with 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.” Veronica stopped, staring into Isabella’s eyes. “My son is a tool to them. A tool that they own. And I fear that you’re dulling his edge, making him less sharp. And if a tool might cease to function… it needs maintenance, or replacement. Thus, you might see why I’m not exactly pleased with your presence in his life.”

  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.”

  Veronica said nothing, continuing to work. Isabella kept her silence, staring. It felt wrong to watch while she worked so hard.

  “Some larger clans in the Ithilian are displeased,” Veronica eventually continued. “They hoped to marry their daughters to Valerio. Like us, they are a monogamous people—indeed, the bonds of marriage are considered far more significant in their custom. In Roderick’s report to the clans, he informed them of your existence. It caused quite a stir.”

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  “Did they send you because of that?” Isabella asked. “To assess, to report?”

  “Why would they trust my assessment? I’m his mother—I will lie, kill, steal, do anything to keep my son alive. No—Roderick alone is enough.” Veronica shook her head. “But considering these people could break my son’s soul, rendering him a vegetable, I do wish to ensure his well-being.”

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

  “No. Valerio is immensely popular—to oppose him is to oppose the man that ended famine, and brought many wonders to their shores.” Veronica stopped working, and stabbed the knife into a bit of hide to leave it hanging. “Even still, Valerio has been trying to get out of this agreement for some time. He wishes for freedom—Roderick could easily continue his work, but he doesn’t.

  “They’re holding my son’s soul hostage. They seemed likely to accede to his request to relinquish control over his soul. They were beginning to trust him. I fear welcoming you into his life will keep him forever a Thalvass?—a slave to the people.” Veronica looked at her plainly. “To be with you, he may be forced to forever sacrifice his freedom. His soul may forever remain theirs.”

  Isabella breathed a little faster at the idea.

  “You seem distressed at that,” Veronica said. “I see he never discussed it with you. My son does not like to be tethered… I thought he might never marry. You are pretty, clever, and as highborn as you possibly could be—as someone born here, I know there could be no better match for him. Still… as when my son gave away his soul, I cannot help but be displeased.”

  Veronica twisted the dagger, and then held out the handle toward Isabella. It was a silent invitation to help.

  “Yet I came around,” Veronica said.

  “What should I do?” Isabella studied the dagger, clueless.

  “Put the knife here,” Veronica directed.

  Isabella rolled up the sleeves of her dress, and then took the dagger. She didn’t quite know what to make of Veronica just yet. She seemed unlike any woman she’d ever met.

  ***

  Isabella walked back into the estate, her dressed stained with blood more than a little bit. Valerio had obviously been waiting for her return.

  Valerio’s eyes scanned her in alarm. “If I didn’t know… I’d assume it ended badly.”

  “It was self-defense,” Isabella said dryly. “She attacked me.”

  Valerio laughed. “If that’s true, then you wouldn’t need Randolph to guard you.” He walked up to her. “My mother taught me how to use my knives.”

  Isabella raised a brow. “Truly?”

  “Didn’t you see her hands?” Valerio asked, then raised his own up. “Scarred worse than mine. She’s done it far longer, and far more dangerously.”

  “Her hands were rather too red to notice scars,” Isabella pointed out.

  He sighed. “I apologize for her. Her family are minor nobles with strange traditions. They were nomads who were paid to settle in a land, and thus their custom is an odd blend.”

  “She was strange, but I had a fine time,” Isabella said. “I dislike seeing death, but that deer was dead, and I… I’ve certainly done worse things,” she said with a shrug.

  “I’ve stalled enough. I received a letter,” Valerio said. “And I 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 Alistair of Veymont, who was the bishop of Veymont. 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. The subjects of this diet may change as new evidence and circumstances arise.”

  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.”