Unfortunately, it was not the Duc L’Envers’ letter that brought the news to Odilia first.
Jocaste was concerned, to put it lightly. She had heard from the novice, Silvere, that a letter had arrived for the Second bearing the seal of the Duc L’Envers. The Duc of Namarre had ever been a constant friend to King Gustav and a warm, welcoming presence for Odilia after the monarch and the Dahlia had begun their affair. Sebastien L’Envers had supported them and helped them as he could. Why should a letter from him cause such a change in her Second?
She scolded herself for not paying more attention to Odilia. The business of the House and the managing of the assignation contracts and the preparations for the Longest Night Masque had taken up enough of her time that she had trusted Odilia to do her job as Second and handle everything else.
“The Second has claimed she was too sick to appear in the salon since before the letter arrived,” the novice said as he set down the afternoon tray. It bore the herbed boar sausage that the Dowayne’s Alban lover had sent to her as a gift and token of his continued affection, paired with a sharp cheese and some fresh late summer berries for her afternoon cravings.
Jocaste frowned. That wasn’t like Odilia. Something was wrong.
“What happened before she fell sick? Did she have an assignation?”
“No,” Silvere said, standing tall with his hands clasped behind him in an easy courtier’s rest, “but she had spent a few evenings in the salon with the prospective guests.”
“Who?”
“I wasn’t in the salon those nights, my lady. I do not know.”
Jocaste needed to find out whom Odilia had been speaking with and what they had said to so upset her. Jocaste had her own friends spread throughout the city and the country. She knew what the gossip was; she knew what was happening and what the palace was preparing for; she knew what pressure the world was putting on Gustav’s shoulders. It was too much for one so young, but she had taken heart knowing Odilia was helping him. But there were too many ways for this to go wrong, depending on how her Second had found out that the King would be taking a bride.
No wonder Sebastien L’Envers had written to her.
“Has she been eating?”
“Not the full meals but she hasn’t been starving herself. She’s upset but not self-destructive.”
No, Odilia was many things but self-destructive was not one of them. Jocaste was more concerned that her hurt would result in a bold, dangerous move on that famous chessboard of hers that would destroy what she had worked so hard to build. People were dangerous and unpredictable when they were hurting.
Jocaste rose and said, “I will visit her and see how I can help her.”
Her Second’s behavior was clearly a cry for help, perhaps not how Odilia thought about it, but that was how Jocaste saw it. Odilia was hurting and Jocaste needed to support her, for the good of the House and for the care of her friend.
And it was clear, upon entering the Second’s private chambers, that Odilia needed care. Her bed was unmade, she was but barely dressed in a shift and a robe, her hair unbound. A bottle of wine, mostly empty, dangled from her hand and her slightly puffy eyes were fixed on her chessboard, as though it would have all the answers. She didn’t move when Jocaste entered, the only movement in her was the rise and fall of her breast as she breathed.
Jocaste knew her friend. She knew Odilia was not a woman possessed of a great temper, but judging by the disarray of the decorative cushions strewn about the room, there was evidence that Odilia had certainly felt something very strongly.
“Odilia,” she said, trying to be both firm to get through to her and also gentle so as not to worsen the situation, “this does not become you.”
Odilia barely blinked, taking another swig from the wine bottle.
Jocaste closed the door quietly behind her, watching her Second and considering how she wanted to handle this. This wasn’t a willful novice that needed a talking to. This wasn’t an adept overwhelmed by a patron and needing grounding. This was her friend and Second, the woman closest to Jocaste and the nearest thing she had to a true equal in Dahlia House. And clearly she was hurting.
She crossed the room slowly, giving Odilia plenty of time to see her and prepare for her presence as Jocaste took the seat on the other side of the chessboard, glancing across the pieces.
“You and I have never sat down to play,” she said lightly. “I genuinely don’t know who would win.”
Odilia’s eyes flicked up to look at her.
“Tell me about this game,” Jocaste murmured, folding her hands in her lap and leaning back, quite comfortable. “Who are your pieces here?”
It took a moment for Odilia to swallow and wet her lips, but finally she spoke, “The King is the King.”
“Of course.”
“The Duc de Chalasse is the queen-side bishop. The queen-side knight is Lancelin de Perigeux. King-side rook is Petrea. One of the pawns is Rosanna.”
Jocaste nodded and asked, “And where are you?”
Odilia’s eyes cut to the side and Jocaste followed them to see the King-side bishop tossed to the floor, discarded and unneeded.
Jocaste sighed, “Oh, Odilia, you know that’s not true.”
“I’m not sure.”
“Why do you say that?”
“You don’t fool me, Jocaste. You know as well as I what the city is saying. You know as well as I who is coming to the palace.”
“Yes,” Jocaste nodded, “But none of that means that his heart has changed towards you. None of this means you are cast aside.”
“And why not? Isn’t it clear that I serve at His Majesty’s pleasure? Why should I have expected any better?”
“Why shouldn’t you have?” Jocaste fired back, “Why wouldn’t you have the chance for something more?”
Odilia scoffed.
“Who said these things to you?” Jocaste’s brows pinched in. “This isn’t like you; that doesn’t sound like you. Who has fed these doubts?”
“What does it matter?” Odilia returned her attention to her chessboard, focusing on the exquisitely carved queen piece sitting so placidly next to the king.
“I want to know who has lied to you.”
“Besides the King?”
Jocaste’s head tilted, “Did you see the letter Sebastien L’Envers sent you?”
Odilia shook her head silently.
“Perhaps read that before you think that His Majesty has abandoned you.”
Jocaste handed it to her and sat back, watching, as Odilia broke the seal open and unfolded the parchment to read it. Her dark eyes scanned the lines on the parchment, reading it twice, before she refolded it.
Jocaste’s brows raised. “Well?”
“He asks me not to interfere.” Odilia’s voice was still dull and flat.
“Anything else?”
“And to trust Gustav,” her lip curled slightly, “and the love he has for me.”
Ah. Jocaste had suspected as much. She regarded Odilia carefully before venturing, “Is that the word he used? Love?”
Something flickered behind Odilia’s eyes and she avoided Jocaste’s gaze as she answered, “Yes.”
“Is that the first time that word has been used?”
Odilia hesitated. “No.”
“Have you used it?”
Odilia pressed her lips together. “No.”
“Have you thought it?”
Odilia didn’t answer.
“Oh, Odilia,” Jocaste sighed. “That makes everything so much more complicated.”
“I know.”
Jocaste sat for some time with Odilia, a silent comfort and presence. She would not advise the other woman unless she was asked to but she could be a friend. Friends were all the more valuable for people like them.
When she did rise to leave, she paused before she went too far, taking up one of the soft blankets on Odilia’s bed and coming back to her Second to wrap her in the warmth. Comfort without touch, support without presumption. It was what she would offer without being specifically asked for help. Draping the blanket across her back, Jocaste smoothed her hands down Odilia’s shoulders, imagining that strength and calm was flowing from her and into her friend. And only then did Jocaste lean down to pick up the discarded bishop piece, pressing it into Odilia’s hand.
“Where you place it and what you do with it is up to you,” she said softly, “but do not do yourself the disservice and the discredit to think you are out of this game. It has changed, but I have never known you to give up. Or to lose. Perhaps all you need to do is change your strategy.”
She leaned down to brush a feather-light kiss to Odilia’s cheek, “Think about it.”
And when the door closed behind her, Odilia was alone again, looking down at the piece in her hand. Weighing her options.