The Taste of Knowledge

Chapter 208: The Gates of Valerius

The carriage wheels crunched a steady, rhythmic pattern on the gravel road, a soothing sound that did little to calm Anne’s restless energy. She bounced slightly on the plush velvet seat, her hazel eyes scanning the passing scenery with an avid, almost rapacious curiosity. Beside her, Jane sat with a quiet composure, a book resting unread in her lap, her own gaze thoughtful as she watched the ancient, sprawling trees that were beginning to close in around them, their branches weaving a dense canopy overhead.

“I simply cannot wait another moment, Jane! How much further can it possibly be?” Anne exclaimed, turning from the window. “Freya’s descriptions were so… dramatic. All ancient shadows and mournful quiet. Do you think it will truly be so grand? She’s so terribly blessed, isn’t she? To come from a family with such history. The Valerius name is practically legend.”

“Their wealth is certainly substantial,” Jane agreed, her voice soft and measured. “The family has held those lands for generations uncounted. Their influence, even in the capital, is felt more than it is seen. But Anne, we are not here to appraise the estate. We are here to see Freya.”

“Of course, we are! I miss her dreadfully,” Anne said with a dismissive wave of her hand, though her sincerity was real. “Honestly, our literature lessons have become dreadfully dull without her witty observations. And her laughter! Don’t you miss her laughter? It could brighten the gloomiest room.”

Jane’s gentle smile was genuine. “I do. Very much. She always excelled so effortlessly. To think she graduated early and now we have one more winter of studies to endure without her company… it certainly feels longer.”

“And you’ve been pining to see her more than anyone,” Anne teased, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed you re-reading her last letter a dozen times. ‘So bad,’ as you put it.”

A faint blush touched Jane’s cheeks. “She is a dear friend, and she has been through a great deal. It is only natural to be concerned for her well-being.” She smoothed a non-existent wrinkle in her dress, shifting the topic. “Speaking of which, I am rather proud of what we accomplished at the shelter this week. That new shipment of blankets we secured will make a world of difference as the nights grow cooler.”

“It was wonderful!” Anne agreed, her expression softening with the memory. “We ladled soup until our arms ached, and you were brilliant, Jane, utterly brilliant, in convincing old Mr. Hawthorn from the bakery to donate an extra two dozen loaves of his day-old bread. His face when you explained the nutritional benefits of hearty grains for the poor children… he was utterly charmed! I do believe the old miser is half in love with you.”

“I merely pointed out the practicalities and the ethical duty of it all,” Jane demurred, her expression sobering as she looked pleased. “Even so, there are more people at the shelter each week. With the high taxes affecting everyone, even our small efforts don't seem to be enough. I fear our two dozen loaves are but a drop in an ever-growing ocean of need.”

Their conversation was cut short by a sudden, violent jolt. Anne was thrown forward, tumbling from her seat onto the floor of the carriage with a startled yelp. The carriage rattled to an abrupt, shuddering halt, accompanied by the panicked, high-pitched whinnying of the horses.

“Good heavens!” Jane cried, grabbing the side of the carriage to steady herself. She leaned towards the window. “Coachman! Are you alright? What has happened?”

The coachman’s voice was strained, laced with a confusion that bordered on fear. “The horses, miss! They’ve just… stopped! Planted their hooves and won’t go an inch further. Never seen anything like it.”

Anne scrambled back onto the seat, rubbing her elbow. “Stubborn beasts! Are we still far?”

“No, miss,” the coachman called back, his voice uneasy. “We’ve just passed the old stone marker. We’re entering Valerius territory now. We should be at the main house shortly, if I can persuade these creatures to move their feet.”

They could hear the man’s sharp commands, the crack of his whip in the air—not striking the animals, but trying to urge them forward. The horses stamped and snorted, their fright a palpable thing. Finally, with a great, groaning creak of leather and wood, the carriage lurched forward again, though at a far slower, more hesitant pace.

Anne peered out her window, her earlier excitement replaced by a frown of concern. “How strange. The air feels… thicker, doesn’t it? Almost like a fine mist is settling.” She shivered, though the day was mild. “And look at the sky. I do hope it isn’t going to rain. The weather was so lovely this morning in the city.”

Jane looked out her own window, her attention captured by the trees. They were impossibly ancient, their bark thick with moss, their branches twisted into grotesque, grasping shapes. A profound silence seemed to have fallen over the woods; there was no birdsong, no rustle of unseen animals, only the crunch of their own wheels and the strained breathing of the horses. The carriage passed between two towering stone pillars, a half-crumbled gate of wrought iron hanging open between them, and Jane knew they had truly arrived.

It was Anne who saw them first. “Oh, look! The roses! Just as Freya said!”

Jane’s gaze followed Anne’s pointing finger. On either side of the winding drive, in meticulously tended beds, grew a profusion of roses. But they were only one color, a red so deep and uniform it was startling. Everywhere. Great, velvety blooms, heavy on their stems, their petals the color of freshly spilled blood.

“They’re… very red,” Anne murmured, her voice losing some of its earlier bravado. “So red it’s almost… unsettling. It’s like a battlefield where only flowers died.”

“Anne, don’t say such things,” Jane chided softly, though she too felt a strange chill at the sight. “They are just roses. They’re quite beautiful, really. I can almost smell them from here.” She looked ahead, catching a glimpse of a dark stone turret through the trees. “We should be there very soon.”

The carriage finally rounded a final bend, and the full expanse of the Valerius estate came into view. It had the appearance not of a gentleman's residence, but of a garrison against the world. It was a sprawling edifice of dark grey stone that seemed to have grown from the earth itself, its many towers and gables piercing the pewter-grey sky. The carriage drew to a complete stop before a set of wide, shallow steps leading up to the main entrance of a wing that seemed slightly less imposing than the rest of the colossal structure.

And there, waiting at the top of the steps, was Freya. She was flanked by a tall, unnervingly still butler and two maids in crisp black and white uniforms. A vision of serene elegance, her dark hair a stark cascade against a gown of simple, pale blue.

The carriage door opened. Anne, her earlier unease forgotten in a rush of affection, practically launched herself out and up the steps. “Freya! We’re here! At last!” she cried, enveloping Freya in a hug so enthusiastic it made Freya laugh.

Jane followed at a more sedate pace, a warm, genuine smile gracing her lips. “Freya,” she said, her voice soft with pleasure. “It is so very good to see you.”

“And you, Jane. And you, Anne,” Freya said, her crimson eyes shining as she returned Anne’s embrace. “Welcome to my home. I am so glad you have finally come.”

“You must forgive our dreadful timing!” Anne chattered, pulling back but still clutching Freya’s hands. “We should have been here ages ago, but our horses decided to be outrageously stubborn. They simply refused to move for the longest time, just after we entered your lands. It was the strangest thing!”

A flicker of something unreadable passed through Freya’s eyes before she smoothed it away with a smile. “It is of no matter at all. The roads can be trying. The important thing is that you are here, and you are safe. We are honored to have you as our guests.”

“The honor is all ours, Freya,” Jane said, her gaze sweeping over the imposing façade of the house with a quiet awe.

“Please, come inside,” Freya said, gesturing them forward. “You must be tired from your journey. I’ve had tea and refreshments prepared for us in the greenhouse. It’s one of the brighter spots in the house.”

She led them through a grand but somber entrance hall. Anne’s eyes were wide as she took in the vaulted ceilings, the dark, polished wood, and the ancestral portraits whose painted eyes seemed to follow their progress.

“Freya, this is… this is different from other noble houses,” Anne whispered, her voice echoing slightly. “This is like a castle! I cannot believe you grew up here! I wish I could stay here forever!”

Jane followed behind, her own expression a mixture of fascination and a subtle, encroaching sense of the house’s oppressive weight. It was magnificent, yes, but it felt… silent. A deep, listening silence that seemed to swallow sound.

The greenhouse, however, was a world apart. A great glass and iron structure built onto the side of the wing, it was filled with a riot of life. The humid air was thick with the scent of loam and blooming jasmine, and the sound of a small, trickling fountain provided a soothing counterpoint to the house’s profound quiet. Freya led them to a white wrought-iron table set for tea.

“Oh, this is much better!” Anne declared, sinking into a chair. “It’s like a secret jungle in the middle of your gloomy palace.”

Jane shot her a gentle but chiding look. “Anne, you mustn’t call our dear friend’s home a ‘gloomy palace.’ It is a magnificent and historic estate.”

“Oh, pooh,” Anne retorted, though with a good-natured grin. “It can be both! Magnificent, historic, and wonderfully gloomy! It’s all terribly romantic.”

Freya’s laughter, the bright, clear sound they had both missed so much, filled the warm, humid air. “Anne is not entirely wrong, Jane,” she said, her crimson eyes sparkling with amusement. “It often feels precisely like that. Please, sit. Let’s have some tea before the gloom reclaims us.”

They sat, and for a while, the conversation was a happy, easy flow of news from the capital. Freya laughed as Anne recounted a particularly dreadful poetry reading, and listened with rapt attention as Jane described her progress in translating a difficult Latin text. It felt, for a blissful hour, as if they were back in the Countess’s sunlit garden.

Their cheerful talk was interrupted by the soft clearing of a throat. Lord and Lady Valerius stood in the doorway, their expressions warm and welcoming.

“Jane, Anne,” Freya said, rising with a smile. “May I present my parents, Lord and Lady Valerius.”

Anne and Jane curtsied deeply. “My Lord, My Lady,” they chorused.

“Please, rise,” Lord Alaric said, his voice gentle, though Freya could see the deep-seated weariness that never quite left his eyes. “We are so very pleased to welcome you to our home. And to thank you, in person, for the kindness and friendship you showed our daughter during her time in the capital.”

“Your friendship was a light for her, and for that, we are eternally grateful,” Lady Iris added, her smile genuine, though it couldn’t quite erase the faint, sorrowful lines around her eyes.

“It was our pleasure, My Lady,” Jane said sincerely. “Freya is a cherished friend.”

“If you will excuse us,” Lord Alaric said after a few more minutes of pleasantries, his tone regaining a measure of formal distance. "I have some pressing estate matters to attend to."

Lady Iris offered a warm, if slightly strained, smile. "It was a pleasure to meet you both. Please, enjoy the rest of your visit."

The moment the greenhouse door closed behind them, plunging them back into the somber quiet of the main corridor, Lady Iris’s composure wavered. She clutched her husband's arm, her voice a fearful whisper. “Is this wise, Alaric? Having them here? In this house?”

Lord Alaric patted her hand, his own face grim. “Amelia herself sanctioned the visit, my love. And they will be gone before nightfall. There is no immediate cause for alarm.”

A small, genuine, but wistful smile touched Lady Iris’s lips. “They are lovely girls. It does my heart good to know our Freya has such wonderful, bright friends.”

The moment they were gone, Anne leaned forward, her eyes sparkling with renewed curiosity.

“My goodness, Freya, what prominent parents! They carry the Valerius name with such authority. But… what about your sister? Amelia. Is she here? Oh, I am so very curious to meet her. I simply cannot imagine what she must look like, if she is even half as beautiful as you are.”

The warmth seemed to drain from Freya’s face, leaving it a mask of careful neutrality. The light in her crimson eyes flickered and dimmed. “Amelia… keeps to her own affairs,” she said, her voice a little too quiet. “Perhaps it is time for that tour I promised you? The main house has some rather… interesting features.”

Anne, catching the sudden shift in mood, quickly agreed. “Oh, yes! The grand tour! Lead on!”

They walked through vast, echoing halls, Freya pointing out tapestries and suits of armor. Finally, they reached a pair of enormous, carved oak doors.

“And this,” Freya announced, “is the library.”

Jane gasped as they entered. It was a cavernous, two-story room, lined from floor to ceiling with books, their leather spines glinting in the dim light. The air smelled of old paper, leather, and time itself.

“Freya… this is… magnificent,” Jane breathed, walking slowly towards a shelf. She ran a reverent finger over a massive, iron-bound tome. “The books here, the knowledge… I have new seen their like outside of the Royal Archives. Some of these editions… they must be centuries old.” She turned to Freya, her face alight with pure, intellectual joy. “What a treasure trove.”

“We are here not to read, Jane!” Anne groaned, though she looked impressed in spite of herself. “I am quite tired of reading, thank you. Let us see the rest of the castle!”

Freya felt a constant, low thrum of anxiety beneath her hostess’s smile. With every turn, every corridor, she half-expected to see a figure of emerald or obsidian silk, to hear a soft, melodious voice that would freeze her parents’ blood. But the house remained silent.

As the afternoon wore on, the sky outside began to darken, the earlier grey turning to a bruised purple. Just as Freya was leading them back towards the East Wing, a single, heavy drop of rain hit the tall window beside them. Then another, and another, until a sudden deluge was lashing against the glass. A low rumble of thunder shook the ancient stones of the estate.

“Oh, dear,” Jane said, looking out at the now storm-swept grounds. “We should have left sooner.”

By the time they reached the entrance hall, the storm had broken in its full fury. Rain hammered down, and lightning bleached the sky white, followed by a crack of thunder so loud it rattled the windowpanes. The coachman stood just inside the door, his hat dripping, his face grim.

“It is not safe to leave now, miss,” he said, addressing Freya but looking at her friends. “The forest road will be a river of mud, and with the lightning… it would be madness to attempt it before the storm passes.”

Anne and Jane exchanged worried glances. The storm showed no signs of abating. They were trapped.

Night fell, and the storm raged on. Anne, who had been pacing restlessly, finally stopped. “Freya,” she declared, “I am absolutely famished.”

Freya started, a flush of embarrassment on her cheeks. “Oh! Goodness, forgive me. I have been such a poor host. You are my first true guests here, and I have neglected to even offer you a proper meal.”

“Thank you, Freya! We wouldn’t wish to be a bother,” Anne said quickly, though she couldn’t suppress a grin. “But I confess, my stomach has been making the most unladylike noises for the past hour.”

“You must forgive us for staying so long, Freya,” Jane added, blushing slightly. “The storm simply caught us unawares.”

Freya gave them a warm, reassuring smile, though her heart hammered at the thought of what a shared dinner might entail. “Nonsense. You are not imposing at all. It is my failing as a hostess, and a pleasure to correct. Please, allow me to make it up to you. Come, dinner will be served shortly.”

She led them to the smaller, private dining room in their wing. The table was set with gleaming silver and fine china, candles casting a warm, inviting glow. Maids brought in course after course of delicious food, and soon, the sound of the girls’ chatter and laughter filled the room, a cheerful defiance against the storm outside.

It was Anne who noticed it. “Freya, everything is perfect, but you've set a place for four. Are we expecting another?”

Freya’s breath caught. She had instructed the staff to set the table for three, but someone, on some older, ingrained instruction, had set it for four. “That,” she said, her voice a little too tight, “is for my sister, Amelia.”

As if summoned by her name, the dining room door swung open.

A woman stood there, and for a heart-stopping moment, Freya didn’t recognize her. Her movement was devoid of its usual ethereal quality; her steps were measured, human. She wore a gown of simple, deep blue silk that softened the usual sharp, regal lines of her figure. Her golden hair was gathered not in an intricate crown, but in a loose, simple knot at the nape of her neck, with soft tendrils framing her face. She looked… younger. Softer. More human than Freya had ever seen her. And her smile… her smile was radiant, genuine, and utterly disarming.

Her clear blue eyes, filled with a warm, welcoming light, settled on Anne and Jane. “Oh, you must be Freya’s friends from the capital!” Her voice was a light, melodic delight, devoid of all its usual chilling undertones. “How utterly wonderful to finally meet you.” She walked forward, her movements imbued with a gentle, worldly grace. “I’m Amelia.”