Chapter Text
Chapter 1 - The Mysterious Letter
“Sir Remus, Lady Corbeau requests your presence.”
“Why thank you, Skortia. I hope she didn’t send you down here simply to fetch me.” Remy got up from the couch where he was reclining, and marked his place in the book with a silk ribbon before placing it on a red oak side table.
“Oh, no, m’lord,” chuckled the dwarf. “I need to tidy up the drawing room and it will be much easier when you’re not in it. Now scoot scoot! Do not keep Lady Olivia waiting!”
Remy smiled and nodded, chuckling a bit himself as he smoothed out his shirt and vest and headed upstairs to his mother’s study. The housekeeper’s casual manner was the typically blunt yet practical tone of Alivast’s dwarves. When he first arrived in the city, he was mildly annoyed at how casually he was treated by so many but soon learned that such familiarity was often backed by a fierce loyalty and Skortia was no exception. She took pride in her work and her dedication was displayed in the high polish of the furniture, the bright colors of clean carpets, and nary a cobweb or speck of dust to be found even in the darkest corners of the mansion.
He knocked on the black walnut paneled door of his mother’s study and waited for her reply. Even after she called out, he hesitated briefly as he noticed the brass door handle had been polished to a golden-yellow mirror finish, and that his fingerprints would be the first to mar Skortia’s new work.
“You wished to see me, mother?” Remy asked as he stepped into the room after resolving himself to besmirch the door handle. His mother looked up from what she was writing, and motioned at one of the chairs in front of her oak desk. Remy gladly took the familiar seat. His mother, being an academic, preferred her conversations in the realm of her study as opposed to the more formal setting of the parlor or sitting room. These seats were frequently occupied by students. Remy himself had sat in them while receiving lessons in the arcane, as did his friend Willow, and many others.
The difference for him was that the study with its shelves of books, workbench of alchemical paraphernalia and filled with a mixture of ink, parchment, and acrid chemical scents was not necessarily a place of academic anxiety, but comfort and familiarity. Even in Alivast, this was his mother’s little kingdom where she held court and spoke to others in confidence.
“A letter arrived this morning,” she stated simply. Looking up over her spectacles, gauging his response. A common Corbeau trait. She wanted to see if he knew about it before continuing. He appreciated the consideration, but while he often had news of important events due to his connections and odd associations, he was at a loss in this instance. In a seat before his mother’s desk he was taught not only matters of the arcane, but also lessons on communication. Body language, facial expressions, tone of voice, and even the slightest tilt of the head could all convey an unspoken message. In most other circumstances, he would carefully mask his inner thoughts from his outer expressions, but with his mother, he let his face and body communicate his answer as he leaned forward slightly and raised an inquisitive eyebrow.
“What was it about?” He finally replied with his own question. His mother had asked a simple question and over the years he learned this meant it was no simple matter. His mother typically asked three types of questions: a question of instruction to make a student consider a matter, a question of clarification to enhance her own understanding of a matter, and lastly a question of inquiry, where she wanted to discover how much someone actually knew about a matter. She wanted to know what he knew and in this case, there was nothing to tell.
“Do you remember when you were a boy, how we traveled to the countryside and stayed at a villa overlooking vineyards?” A question answered with a question was answered with a question. Such was the verbal chess of his mother.
Remy searched his memory. It felt like it was a lifetime ago and in many respects it was. The days when Valithea was proud and unconquered, when the family was together and his father’s time not dominated with matters of desperate diplomacy or even more desperate defense.
He dimly remembered a stately villa on a hill, simultaneously rustic yet regal. Much different from the urban estates of the capital. Memories of the warm summer breeze carrying the scent of grapes ripening in the sun as they stepped inside a great hall illuminated by a massive crystal chandelier, lit not with lamps or candles, but with magical motes of light. He remembered how amazed he was at the sight. He had never seen such a combination of skill in craftsmanship and application of magic in any of the grand residences of Valithean nobility in the capital other than the King’s own palace. For his adolescent self, it was the first thing that informed him that he was not in the house of a country yeoman, but the household of the respectable and genteel.
“Yes,” he replied slowly, sifting through his recollections for information that might be relevant. “It was the… Silver Hills?” The name bobbed to the surface of the recently stirred pot of memories.
“Close, if you use the vulgate that would be the literal name.” Remy felt the mild sting of his mother’s scholarly disapproval. He had received only partial credit for his answer.
“The Villa delle Colline d'Argento is the ancestral home of the Conte of that region. They are an old family, very respectable. They were not very active in the court of the king, but didn’t need to be. Their reputation, and more importantly, their wine were both impeccable.”
Remy nodded. His mother speaking so highly of this family without couched phrases or qualifiers provided him with a volume of information, and helped him put some context to the memories that continued to bubble up from years ago. A dinner party with all manner of delicacies, a gracious host resplendent with silver rings on his fingers, and a hostess carrying a baby as she greeted the guests. That last part stood out to Remy. He remembered the baby.
As a child, he frequently traveled with his parents to dinners, parties, and other social events, as the nobility of Valithea did their business as they always had. He remembered other children, dressed in the same silks, velvets, and cloth-of-gold as their elders, displayed, shown off, bragged about. He remembered being told to show off his fencing forms to onlookers on more than one occasion when his father’s hosts or guests made the request and his father proudly acquiesced to their demands. After all, the eldest son of the Raven Knights’ captain should be nothing less than a martial prodigy. Remy may not have always liked being put on display, but he knew that his performance would reflect on his own status, as well as his father’s honor. Fortunately, he never failed in that regard.
But a baby… A formal dinner, reception, and dancing, and the Lady of the house greeted them with that baby. While for many, a child of the age where they would mess themselves, cry, babble, and otherwise all the other normal functions would be acceptable, in the culture of Valithean nobility, a babe of that age would be resigned to a nursery with a governess to allow the gentlewoman to attend to her guests rather than a dirty diaper or colicky squawling.
“At least you remember,” Olivia continued and Remy could tell he had allowed his recollection to draw his full attention away from the present. “I hadn’t heard from them in several years, not since the war. In fact, I was a bit surprised. I knew that the Conte had fallen in the war like so many others. He may have been a vintner, but he did his duty when Valithea needed him. Not surprising, the villa and its demesnes are closer to Eltmur than the capital. He had much to protect… as did your father.” She paused. The words and recollection still stung Remy, and he knew that while his grief had been great, it still paled in comparison to his mother’s.
“We have received a letter from them. A very formal letter, sealed with their crest,” she continued. “They have asked for us to honor an old obligation.”
Remy leaned forwards on his chair.
“What sort of obligation?” He asked slowly as he felt a tension arise, largely spurred on by a slight hesitation he sensed in his mother’s words. She was choosing them carefully, even when speaking privately to her own son.
Olivia sighed. Not a sigh of boredom or anger, but rather an exhalation signifying a weariness of mind rather than body.
“Pandion’s father was a good friend with the previous Conte - Mercurio. They had apparently attended the same fencing school and had several ‘adventures’ together. Not the kind of adventures that you and your friends had here in Alivast, more the kind that many noblemen get up to when they have too much time on their hands and too much wine in their cups. Nothing scandalous, more matters of petty disagreements ending with sharp steel when sharp words would suffice.”
“I almost refused to allow your father to enroll you in a fencing school; you may not have known that,” her eyes sparkled with the joy of a memory that had only grown more amusing with age. “Partly out of a mother’s concern for her child’s safety but I was more afraid you’d end up perforating some mouthy brat and start a feud with another house.”
“You think so little of my self control?” Remy chuckled.
“No, you have that in abundance. Your grandfather was much more hot-blooded. Nevertheless, he and Mercurio, probably after a night of drinking the Conte’s wine, formed an agreement. They agreed that Pandion, who was just a child at the time, would marry the Conte’s daughter.”
“Wait, what?” Remy’s eyebrow raised, “This is the first I’ve heard of this.”
“Well, that makes sense, because if the Conte Mercurio had any daughters I wouldn’t have married your father, and you wouldn’t be here. You see, the Conte was optimistic that he would produce one, but he had only a single son. Thus, the agreement was void.”
“So what is the matter at hand?” Remy asked. He felt a flutter in his guts, an uncomfortable tickle of apprehension. Clearly, this family was close to his own, so close they even considered an alliance by marriage. While his mother obviously appreciated the agreement not being fulfilled, Remy knew that even though no party was at fault, sometimes unfulfilled agreements led to trouble and feuds had started over less.
“While your grandfather appreciated what I brought to the Corbeau household, he was a very proud man, and leaving an obligation unfulfilled with a friend ate at him. So, he and Conte Mercurio corresponded and decided to amend the agreement.” Olivia paused.
“How so?” Remy felt that little flutter of apprehension tighten into an uncomfortable anticipation as an understanding arose, like the first rays of the morning sun lighting the horizon.
“They decided to postpone the agreement for a generation. Pandion’s eldest son,” she gestured to Remy, “would marry the eldest daughter of Anolo, the Conte’s only son.”
And there it was. Remy knew what was coming. He knew it was only a matter of time. He had spent his adult life resigning himself to accepting this moment.
“Calm down, Remus,” his mother chided, “You’ll grind down your beak.”
“Mother, I am not grinding my…” Remy gave up, he knew she was right. He took a breath, unclenched his jaw, and tried to sit back in his chair and relax.
“When Pandion and I were married, we knew it was a possibility, and for many years, we thought it was again a moot point as the now Conte Anolo was as poor at producing daughters as his father, partly due to him getting a late start building his own family. He had two fine sons, a bit younger than you and thought he would have no more children. But as fate would have it, his third try was the charm. Do you remember when we visited Villa delle Colline d'Argento? Do you remember a little girl?”
And like that, the realization came down to Remy. The baby.
“This letter is the Contessa’s request that we honor the old agreement for you to take her daughter’s hand in marriage.”
Remy sat silently for several moments before he realised he needed to acknowledge this and nodded slowly.
“I will do what is best for the family.”
“Remus… Remy,” his mother’s tone softened. She was not Lady Olivia, head of House Corbeau, not Professor Olivia, but a mother seeing her son’s conflicted emotions. “They are a good family, despite my opinions on how this agreement was made. They are well-off with a great deal of land. Their wine is highly prized not just in Valithea, but throughout Alton and beyond. They may not be as wealthy or as powerful as they once were, but they were no peasants.”
“Why have you never brought this to my attention before?” Remy replied, struggling to keep the edge out of his voice.
“Myself? Because as you can sense, I was a bit biased against an agreement that originally would have cost me the chance to marry the most magnificent gentleman in Valithea and give birth to three of the most beautiful and brilliant children ever.” Remy couldn’t help but feel his heart swell a bit as his mother’s glowing words honored his father, himself, and his siblings. “Secondly, when we escaped from Valithea, we had to leave many things behind. Some records did not make the trip to Alivast, chiefly most of your grandfather’s papers. The correspondence and documents detailing this agreement were lost."
“What I’m trying to say is that other than my own memory, there is no proof in the Corbeau family that this agreement was ever made. It is shameful for me to admit, but since we had not heard from Villa delle Colline d'Argento for so long, I had assumed that the family had been destroyed by Eltmur. I had heard that Conte Anolo had perished in the early days of the invasion, and while Villa delle Colline d'Argento was not in the direct path of the invasion, the region was overrun by Eltmur and they were not kind to those who resisted them.
“Needless to say, this letter came as a bit of a shock”
“What are the next steps, mother?” Remy’s mind was racing. Matters of combat, dueling otherworldly beasts, holding steadfast against a bloodthirsty horde, these were simple matters. Straightforward. Familiar. But this request to arrange a marriage was some beast he had no experience grappling.
“Well, the request asks that you travel to Villa delle Colline d'Argento and meet the daughter of the family. It is a bit vague on details, merely a request for you to journey there and meet this daughter so the Contessa can judge if you are suitable.”
“That seems to be an appropriate request,” Remy was at a loss for what else to say. It was clear that this was all a matter of formality. A done deal.
“Remy…” Olivia got up from her desk and moved to her son’s side. Normally if his mother stood, he would stand as well, but in his emotion of the moment, his reflexes were dulled, and by the time he realized his gaffe, she had already come around her desk. She seemed not to mind and pulled the other student’s chair close beside him, sat down, and took his hands in her own. She was close. Much closer than an audience would require. Again, the mask of Lady Olivia Corbeau was deliberately cast aside as a mother spoke candidly to her son.
“I want you to scout out this… opportunity. It is not a done deal. Like I mentioned before, the Corbeau family has no records of this agreement. I want you to inspect the ones at Villa della Colline d'Argento. Make sure they are in order. Investigate this family. Much has changed since the war. Do not go blindly into this because there may be a way out if you look hard enough.
Remy jolted upright.
“Mother, I do not need an Avan lawyer to inform me to perform my duty and uphold my honor!”
“Remy, please. Your honor is impeccable, just like your father’s,” Olivia still held his hand in a motherly grip. “Just make sure that we are not trading Corbeau family honor for naught. You will inherit your father’s house and titles. Think first of how to best serve the family, best serve Valithea, and most importantly..." she paused before speaking again in a slow, deliberate tone. "Make sure it best serves your own heart. If this union serves none, then it may be best to find another.”
Remy’s jaw tightened. He was aware his mother spoke the truth. A friendly agreement was well and good, but if this union would weaken House Corbeau, then perhaps finding other avenues would be necessary.
“Remus… Remy,” she squeezed his hands and looked at him warmly. “I do not expect you to sacrifice your happiness for anything. Please remember, I released you from any obligation to marry for the family. Your father and I married for obligation, but we were lucky and ended up madly in love. Don’t gamble your happiness against obligation.”
“Also, I have some other concerns,” Olivia continued, her eyes sharpening from a mother’s concern back to the steel of her noble self. “While I have used magic to verify that the seal on the letter is genuine, there are some things that seem a bit… suspect.”
“Oh? What do you mean, mother?” Remy’s mind quickly refocused upon hearing his mother’s reservation.
Olivia released Remy’s hands, walked around her desk, and removed a parchment from a drawer. With a wave, she motioned him to come look with her. Laid out on the oak desk was a formal letter. No mere correspondence, but something approaching a work of art. The lettering was an intricate, formal calligraphy starting with the initial capital letter of each paragraph, a miniature illustration with embellishments of vinework also reflected in borders likewise complimented with grape clusters, all embellished with silver leaf.
“You see, Remus, the form is excellent, the parchment, wax seal, even the inks are appropriate. The only difference is the silver leaf.”
“Why is that a matter of concern?”
“Remus,” his mother looked at Remy over her spectacles with scholarly disapproval once again. “You said it yourself. Colline d'Argento - Silver Hills. Why do you think the demesne has that name?”
“I imagine they have some mining there?” Remy put his mind to work, taking a magnifying lens and peering at the silver leaf decorating the borders of the parchment. “Is this not real silver?”
“It’s real, all right, only it is the wrong silver.”
“What do you mean?”
“The mines of le Colline d'Argento were played out several generations back. They made the past Comtes very wealthy, and allowed them the luxury of becoming vintners. While no more silver was coming from the earth, they still had a vast fortune of it, and took great pride in displaying it in their table settings, decor, and letters. Their silver was notable for having a bit of naturally occurring copper in it, which gave it a slightly red luster as opposed to most silver which contains traces of lead. This silver has no copper in it at all. It is not Colline d'Argento silver.”
“You think this might be some kind of trick?” Remy’s mind was racing again. He was back in familiar territory, though not comfortable territory.
“Remus, you have accomplished great things, and you have only grown in stature and with them. House Corbeau benefits from your deeds. There is no noble house without someone who wishes it harm. While Valithea is a wonderful country it is by no means perfect, especially now. While old grudges were shelved during the war, as things turn back to normal, some seek to use the situation to their advantage. Many are repositioning themselves for advancement since so many noble families were lost, driven out, or impoverished during the war. All I’m saying is when you go on your visit, be alert to any threat to yourself, House Corbeau, and the Kingdom.”