His head twitched left, then right. ‘No.’ He paused, maybe trying to conserve some last vestiges of strength within himself before he continued, ‘Aline understood before the rest of us did that Filian was the target, not her. She ran to save him – she was trying to get past one of Ossia’s guards – a huge man, so much stronger than her. He looked more like a tree she was trying to climb than an opponent she could ever hope to defeat. She was screaming for someone to help – and when she turned and looked at me—’ He stopped abruptly, and I was shocked to hear a sob escape his lips.
‘It makes no sense,’ he whispered. His eyes caught mine. ‘It was as if she was looking at someone else inside me. Someone . . . different.’
‘Tommer.’
The slight quiver of his head was acknowledgment enough. ‘I thought . . . if I do what Tommer would do . . . if I run to her, if I save her life, I’ll feel him with me again. If I can be reckless and brave, just as he would be, then when the blade strikes me instead of her, I’ll close my eyes and Tommer will be there, watching me – not smiling; he’ll be too shocked for that – but his eyes will widen and I will see reflected there the pride of a son for his father.’
The music changed again, the notes becoming heavier, each one filled with regret.
Jillard’s bitter laugh came out as a cough. ‘I failed, of course. The blade sliced the palm of my hand before it made its way to Aline. All I accomplished was to give the country a death it needn’t grieve to balance out the one that will bring sorrow for a hundred years.’ He looked up at me. ‘I should have known I wasn’t meant for heroics.’
There was a longing in his eyes, so I said, ‘Oh, I don’t know, your Grace. Maybe you just need more practise.’
He laughed then; though brittle, it was genuine. The effort drained the last of the colour from his face. ‘I have a joke to tell you,’ he said.
‘You have at best a dozen good breaths left to you in this life. Do you really want to waste them on telling me a joke?’
‘The joke isn’t for you,’ he said, and his eyes went to Valiana.
‘Your Grace?’ she asked.
‘Come here.’
She hesitated, and although I had no reason to believe he meant her harm, I felt an urge to stand between them. After all, it’s not as if he’d ever needed a reason before.
Nonetheless, Valiana went to his bedside and she even took his remaining hand in hers, for all that she loathed him.
‘When Patriana first brought you to me, I fancied that you looked more like me than her. Of course, then I learned that Trin was my blood and you were, well, no one.’
Valiana let the insult go by. ‘I’ve come to believe that blood is a poor indicator of virtue, your Grace.’
‘I . . . came to a similar conclusion,’ he conceded, ‘the day I watched you fight in my dungeon to save Tommer’s life. I could owe no greater debt than that.’
‘He was my brother,’ she said, the determination in her voice brooking no dissent. ‘And he saved me in return.’
Jillard appeared not to have heard, and I wondered if he was even aware that we were still there. ‘I hate debts,’ he went on, ‘so I thought I could repay this one. I spent a little time and a great deal of money to find your parents. I thought . . . I thought you might like to know who they were.’
Valiana’s eyes widened. ‘You found my parents?’
‘Your mother.’
‘Who was she—? Is she still alive—?’
‘She is not; she died shortly after you were born. As to her name: she referred to herself as the Viscountess Puchelia, although it was well-known amongst the court that her title was somewhat exaggerated. Her presence was tolerated because of her extreme beauty and her . . . charms.’
‘Her “charms”?’ Valiana’s tone grew harsh. ‘Is this the joke you summoned me here to inflict on me, your Grace? Did you expect me to be ashamed to discover my mother was a prostitute?’
‘Not a prostitute,’ Jillard corrected her, ‘a courtesan. But I can see from your face that you’re not getting the joke.’
‘I don’t understand.’
Jillard looked up at me. ‘For Saints’ sake, Falcio, don’t tell me you don’t get it either?’
I shook my head. ‘I’m afraid your serpentine wit eludes me as always, your Grace.’
By way of answer, Jillard very slowly took his hand, which was trembling badly, from hers, reached up and stroked her cheek. ‘She looks a bit like Trin, does she not? Though somewhat prettier, I think.’
It took me a moment more to work out what he was trying to tell us.
Oh . . . hells.
‘And there it is,’ Jillard said, clearly cheered by my sudden discomfort. ‘Patriana’s plan had always been to hide Trin in plain sight while she secured the support of the Dukes to put her daughter on the throne. So she needed someone who wouldn’t display any of Trin’s darker qualities, but it also had to be someone who looked as much like her as possible.’
Valiana’s eyes narrowed. ‘I don’t understand. What does all this have to do with—?’
‘I believe the reason his Grace knows of your mother’s apparent charms was because he was one of her . . . admirers.’
Jillard nodded feebly. ‘Evidently Patriana made a habit of stealing useful babies.’
Valiana looked at me. ‘But . . . but that would mean . . .’
‘Tommer was indeed your brother,’ Jillard said. ‘Well, your half-brother, I suppose.’ He let out a breath and sagged deeper into the bed as he took her hand again and held it to his lips. He kissed it. ‘I’m afraid you’ll have to drop the “val Mond” surname. You will be known from now on as Valiana, Duchess of Rijou.’
He tried to laugh at his own joke, but by then there was no breath left in him. Leaving chaos in his wake, Jillard, Duke of Rijou, my enemy, my friend, died.
CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN
The Coronation
A guard escorted me back to my cell with Jillard’s little joke still ringing in my ears. Part of me hoped Valiana would follow, that she would grab hold of me and whisper in my ear that, despite this news, I was still her father in some way that mattered. It was a petty, selfish thought. Valiana’s birth – her whole life – had been a toy played with by others. She’d spent her first eighteen years as the daughter of a Duke and a Duchess, the heir to the throne, a convenient fiction to serve Patriana’s purposes, until the day she was no longer needed, and discovered she was nothing more than the daughter of some unknown peasant.
Being Valiana, of course she’d come to see her common birth as a badge of pride: evidence the country badly needed to show that the value of a life was in its living, that nobility was found in courage and dignity, rather than lineage.
Now that too had become a jest. I was certain Jillard hadn’t intended his revelation to be cruel, but it was perhaps the cruellest joke of all. Valiana wasn’t just the first new Greatcoat since the King’s death, but the finest there had ever been. Now the new Duchess of Rijou would instead spend her life dealing with intrigues and conspiracies, struggling to bring some semblance of peace and decency to a violent, hopelessly corrupt Duchy. It was the work of a lifetime – if she was even given enough of a lifetime in which to accomplish it.
That thought alone was enough to make me depsise this country all over again.