Fic: Letters (Swordspoint, PG-13)
Jan. 1st, 2007 01:06 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
brigdhTitle: Letters
Author: Brigdh
Ratings/Warnings: PG-13
Summary: A collection of letters. Rose, Katherine, Alec.
Notes: Spoilers for The Privilege of the Sword. Written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
yuletide 2006.
Disclaimer: All characters and places belong to Ellen Kushner.
My lord,
I have taken advantage of your hospitality to remain at Highcombe for a few days more. I do not think the servants will mind, since I am sending the person here back to you. I am sure you will not miss me either, and for the same reason.
As much as I do hate to disturb what is surely a joyful reunion, I am not staying here for just the fresh air. I need some time to think, and to decide. It has come to my attention, my dear, that you have left me with a parting gift rather larger than any ring. Or it will be one day, at least; at the moment I am given to understand that it is still quite small.
I will be back in the city soon; I have no intentions of missing any more of the Season than I have to. I've had enough annoyances to overcome this year without testing my audience's patience through a disappearance. There: now you know all the plans I have made thus far, and you can see why I need some time to think. What, I wonder, will you do?
Rose
PS. If you take it into your head to propose, do be assured that I will refuse.
***
I wish I didn't have to start this letter with an apology, because I've never written to you before and I would have liked the first time to be something more pleasant. I never normally read anyone else's letters, but everything has been so confused here for the last few days, and anyway, most of my uncle's mail wasn't personal, so his secretary and I have been responding to it. I swear that I wouldn't have read your letter if I'd known what it said! But we don't even have an address for him yet, so I couldn't have forwarded it.
Wait, I'm confusing everything dreadfully. You won't have heard any of the news at Highcombe. Lord Ferris, the Crescent Chancellor, was killed in his home earlier this week. My uncle the Duke was accused of having done it, and so he left before they could arrest him, leaving pretty much everything behind him except my Master the swordsman. He even left me his title, though I suppose he couldn't get much use of it out in a foreign country somewhere. Marcus stayed with me, which I am very glad of, because he knows much more about running a noble house than I do. My uncle didn't read your letter before he left, and I only opened it today.
I know you were writing to him and not to me, but I don't know what I'm going to do. I've never known anyone who had a baby, except for my friends' parents, and that is not the same thing at all. If there is anything I can do to help, I promise I will do it. All of Tremontaine's resources are yours.
Forever your humble servant,
Lady Katherine Tremontaine
***
My dear child, I do not think your uncle ever quite grasped your worth. But don't fret about that; he was not known for his good judgment. As these events clearly prove.
As to myself, I will be fine. Don't worry if it all sounds like an over-emotional play right now- the poor woman, abandoned to her fate as the man flees from a wrongful justice- I am certain that I can turn this role to something suitably dramatic. I am returning to the city tomorrow; perhaps I could visit you for chocolate and we will discuss what is to be done with your uncle.
Yours,
The Black Rose
***
My dearest Duchess Tremontaine,
Have you grown used to being addressed so yet? I expect not. I certainly still found it awkward after a mere two months, and you managed to inherit that weighty title in a way even more abrupt than my own.
Perhaps I will be able to provide the first of what will become a very common experience for you. (Perhaps not, though; letters that were always addressed simply to Tremontaine will have continued to be addressed to Tremontaine, regardless of which members of the family currently have any authority and which have fled the country in disgrace. Besides, Arthur would never be able to abide allowing my mail to go unanswered for so long.) This letter is, for all that I intend it to be rather long because it is just as boring on Kyros as I expected it would be, nothing more than a request for money. Terribly disappointing, isn't it? I predict that you will find requests for money grow tedious much more quickly than being called the Duchess does. Richard says to remind you that you do not need to do anything I demand, but I am confident that I know you at least as well as he does, and I think you will send it. Besides, he's spent nearly as much of it as I have, so if you have no fond feelings for your uncle, consider it a repayment for all he taught you. Have the lawyers arrange something; I don't really care how you choose to manage things.
Send me some books also; there must have been something worthwhile written since I left. Let Marcus pick them. He has much better taste in poetry than you do, and he knows who to ask for recommendations in the more obscure subjects.
We made it to the coast and onto a ship without seeing so much as the dust cloud of a single member of the Watch behind us. That is the convenience of money, my dear: I can afford to arrange things to my best advantage, while the average member of our city's illustrious Watch is riding a horse that lacks for food and health and therefore speed, and has himself no great desire to catch up. It would only be more work for him, after all. But perhaps I flatter myself, and there was no pursuit. I can't imagine anyone was particularly upset over Ferris's death. Everyone would have made the appropriate show of grief and anger, of course, but the only people who actually liked Ferris were idiots, and they would hardly be capable of doing much to bother me. I am sure some new scandal quickly surpassed us. You will have to tell me all about it; there are no scandals here, other than whose goat has eaten whose garden.
There is nothing much here, except for the thyme and the bees and the beaches. I go for long walks, or talk to the people in the village, or watch Richard practice, which he still does daily, though I have no idea who he expects to fight here. He is very happy. We're staying in the island's only inn for now and probably won't leave for some time, so you can send the money and books to this address. I think that I would like to build a house, and that will take a while. Besides, there is a marvelous view of the ocean at the bottom of a cliff from our window, and when it storms you'd think the whole world would crash itself to pieces on the rocks. The noise it makes is like nothing else. The inn makes some sort of honey-beer too; it's so good that I've even managed to get Richard drunk once or twice.
Write me something long, when you write back. I like it here better than I expected to, but I do not intend that you should forget me so soon.
Your most humble, etc.
***
Dear Uncle,
I cannot believe you waited so long to finally send a letter! There has been so much happening, and we didn't know where to send word of any of it to you, and you might as well have been dead, and how would we have known? But the most important piece of news I'm not even supposed to tell you. You can read all about it in the Black Rose's note, which I'm including with this letter, and then you can see why you should have written sooner.
I am fine, though you didn't ask. Marcus is fine too. I think he misses you, but when I told him I was writing, he only said to tell you that he hopes you are enjoying yourself and that there is someone to keep you from jumping off of ruins, or whatever there is there. I don't expect he wanted me to tell you that last bit, but I've done it anyway. I am very glad that he stayed here with me, no matter how nice your island is.
People are still talking about you, though they try not to do it where they think I might hear them. I don't know why you'd think they would lose interest; it's not often that the Crescent Chancellor is murdered in his own home! Did you really kill him? Master St Vier said you did, and Marcus and the Black Rose seem to assume that what everyone is saying is true, but I can't imagine it. People say such terrible things about how he was found, you know, and all of them can't be true. Was he the one who had Lucius Perry attacked, and is that why you killed him? Was it all my fault, because I challenged him for Artemisia? Lord Ferris was a disgusting, abominable old man, but I didn't want him to die.
Artemisia is still my friend, by the way, and she and Marcus are both helping me with all there is to do. There is a lot to learn; I hadn't realized that you did so much. I have had several very nice dresses made, and it is wonderful to wear them again after so long in only trousers. Not that trousers aren't very useful as well, but they are not as lovely as a dress.
Marcus picked you out a great many books, but there is one from me as well, and it's not for you. Please read 'Famous Battles from History' to Master St Vier; I think he will like it.
Your niece,
Katherine
***
Alec, let me be brief. I am carrying a child, and it is yours; I'm certain of that, so don't waste our time asking about other possible fathers. I imagine that you won't manage to be back in time for the birth, and I am traveling nowhere until the end of the Season, and by then I expect that I will not be in the condition to go very far. So you will miss it, then.
I think the child will be a girl. I have been thinking about names, but I've made no decisions yet. Let me know if there is any you like in particular; even so far away, you are still her father.
Rose
***
My dear, what are thinking? I am sure that it is very romantic to endure a pregnancy so stoically, but do you really intend to raise this child? That is no insult to your mothering skills, and don't you take it as one, because you know me better than that. I've seen how you take the younger actresses under your wing, for all your pretenses to lofty disregard, and I've benefited from your help and advice myself.
So let me offer you some advice, now. A child takes a great deal of time. I know, you know this already, but have you really considered it? I think if anyone could be both a mother and an actress, it would be you. But not even you could be a mother and a great actress. You know the effort it takes to keep the audience returning through weeks of shows, the parties that must be attended to keep you in the right people's circles, the scandals that must be avoided and the politics that must be followed. How would you add a child to that? An infant! Surely you don't expect the father to help. I know he still hasn't answered your letter, so don't lie to me, my dear. You can't count on him.
A child is expensive. And don't think about your own career, but the future of the child. What will he or she do, once they're grown? You must be intending to raise the child as an actor to follow you, because there's no other trade or support you have to leave behind you. At least in the theater there's no stigma to being the child of an unwed actress.
When you read this, remember that I love you, and be angry with me if you need to. I only write because I worry for you, Rose. Who will be able to share the stage with me, if not you?
Forever yours (even if I intend to spend a few days in hiding so you have the chance to calm down from reading this),
Viola
***
You're quite right. I won't be back to the city in time.
By the way, tell my niece that of course I killed Ferris. Who else would it have been? But I didn't do it for her; tell her one of the bloodier stories from when Richard and I were young, as she seems to be under the mistaken impression that we are good people.
Alexander Campion
***
Are you done? Your sulks are much more endearing in person, my prince. This waiting for letters makes me impatient, and for as long as it takes for word to reach from me to you, we shouldn't waste time on one of your fits. I'd think you'd be calmer, with your swordsman with you.
Don't tell me you haven't told him; that's too foolish, even for you. If you have- and Alec, you know you should- you can assure him that he has nothing to fear from me. Carrying your child has not made me miss you. You are lucky that you are far enough away that I can't throttle you every time my back aches or I waste a morning being sick. I do not know how wives endure their husbands.
If you have no desire to be a father, neither did I expect to be a mother, at least not under circumstances such as these. How productive of us then, to fight with one another. That will surely raise this child to be healthy and happy, and with hardly any effort from us. Let us consider how things stand. I am an actress. I am very fond of this child already, but the truth is that I love the stage more. As for you, well. You are still wanted for murder in your homeland. I do not feel that it would be fair to the child for either of us to raise him or her.
I propose we let Katherine take charge. I will visit as much as I can, and perhaps someday, when she has grown, you will send for her. But as a ward of the Tremontaine House, the child will have nurses and tutors and governesses; more attention and care than I could ever give and more patience than you, I think, are capable of.
Write to your niece, by the way. You've left her all your messes to clean up and I would think that you could spare a few words for her. She is a very sweet child, but she is still young. She and her darling boy have had more trouble with my being pregnant than I have; it seems that he is much more fond of children than she is, and that worries her, though she pretends it doesn't. I suppose she had to take after you in something. They are coping very well, all things considered. Did you expect them to, when you left her the duchy, or did you not care about what you'd left?
I think I'd rather you didn't answer, dear. You are one of the most unpredictable men I've ever known, and in this case, I might prefer my illusions.
I am trying to do what is best for the child. When I imagine it, it seems very sweet to have a child by my side, waiting for me in the dressing room, perhaps, playing with paste jewels and collapsing swords, learning to read from scripts. But that is only a fantasy, with nothing rational in it. What servants do I have to watch a child, or carry it when the troupe must visit the countryside's theaters? Who is it, in this daydream, that teaches her to read? Because it will surely not be me. And she will never be anything more than another actress's brat, and you know how much such children can expect from life. Katherine can give her more than either of us.
Do answer me with a bit more consideration this time.
Still yours, no matter how impatient you make me,
Rose
***
Give the child to Katherine, then. I do hope you never sincerely considered sending it to me, at least not until it is old enough that I am unlikely to damage it accidently. I cannot raise it, and if you will not either, than it can be yet another of the messes I leave to my dear capable niece. At least it is, I suppose, a better path than some parents take with their offspring. You aren't proposing to leave it in a gutter, after all.
And do not tell me what to tell Richard. I don't like orders. He would be a much better father, but unfortunately he has not spent the last several years sleeping with a wide swath of the city's population, so I suppose we will never get the chance to compare our experiences. Do you think it ironic that I had a part in creating a new life just before I killed for the first time? Perhaps you can have someone add that to the next play you're in; it would be just the detail for that extra pathos in an orphan's history.
Hopefully this letter is long enough for you. I can't imagine what you expect from me. I am not capable of raising a child, a fact that is, evidently, abundantly clear even to you. I have abandoned the mother and am leaving the child to my teenaged niece. I could dwell on the situation and exactly how it exposes all of my inadequacies, but letter-writing bores me.
If you need anything which I can actually do, do be sure to write.
***
Dear uncle,
The Black Rose has had her baby! It is so much more exciting that I had thought it would be. She was right, and it is a girl; we've named her Jessica. She is very pretty, even if her face is always red, and she has quite a lot of hair already, dark and curling. Both Jessica and the Black Rose are perfectly healthy, and the midwife says it was an easy labor, though it seemed very long to me.
I've never been around a baby so much before. All of my brothers are older than me, of course. I think Marcus likes Jessica more than anyone else does; he spends all of his time with her, though she barely opens her eyes yet. I think he's jealous of you. All he talks about are the children he wants to have, and I don't know how he can even think about such things until we're much older.
I will try to take good care of Jessica, though. I never expected to be in charge of a baby, at least not until I was married and an old woman. It seems like a much bigger responsibility than any of the other things you've given me, even though babies are much more common than duchesses or mansions. Were you afraid of it too, and is that why you didn't come back? I suppose you won't answer that. You didn't answer any of the things I wrote you in my last letter.
The Black Rose doesn't talk about you much, but she did say that Jessica has your cheekbones. I don't know how she can tell. I think Jessica looks like every other baby, but maybe once she's grown she will look like you. Aren't you even curious if she will be like you? I would be, if I had a child.
You could write me back even if you don't want to answer any of my questions, you know. Marcus misses you, and I guess I do, too. It seems like a very long time since I first came to the city, but it's only because so much has happened. It's funny how change makes time seem to pass by much quicker. Maybe it seems that way to you too; I would think Kryos is very different from this city. Are there really so many bees that you hear their hum all the time? I read that in a book, but Master St Vier said it was only poetry, and that you shouldn't trust poetry. But you like poetry, so maybe even if you wrote to say it was true, I couldn't trust you. Letters are funny that way. It's much easier to know what someone is really thinking if you can see them.
I think I must have changed a lot too, because I wouldn't have thought about these things when I was still living on my family's farm. Do you ever think it's a little scary, how much things change? I'm glad of it, though. Well. Most of it.
Your niece,
Lady Katherine Tremontaine
Author: Brigdh
Ratings/Warnings: PG-13
Summary: A collection of letters. Rose, Katherine, Alec.
Notes: Spoilers for The Privilege of the Sword. Written for
yuletide 2006.Disclaimer: All characters and places belong to Ellen Kushner.
My lord,
I have taken advantage of your hospitality to remain at Highcombe for a few days more. I do not think the servants will mind, since I am sending the person here back to you. I am sure you will not miss me either, and for the same reason.
As much as I do hate to disturb what is surely a joyful reunion, I am not staying here for just the fresh air. I need some time to think, and to decide. It has come to my attention, my dear, that you have left me with a parting gift rather larger than any ring. Or it will be one day, at least; at the moment I am given to understand that it is still quite small.
I will be back in the city soon; I have no intentions of missing any more of the Season than I have to. I've had enough annoyances to overcome this year without testing my audience's patience through a disappearance. There: now you know all the plans I have made thus far, and you can see why I need some time to think. What, I wonder, will you do?
Rose
PS. If you take it into your head to propose, do be assured that I will refuse.
I wish I didn't have to start this letter with an apology, because I've never written to you before and I would have liked the first time to be something more pleasant. I never normally read anyone else's letters, but everything has been so confused here for the last few days, and anyway, most of my uncle's mail wasn't personal, so his secretary and I have been responding to it. I swear that I wouldn't have read your letter if I'd known what it said! But we don't even have an address for him yet, so I couldn't have forwarded it.
Wait, I'm confusing everything dreadfully. You won't have heard any of the news at Highcombe. Lord Ferris, the Crescent Chancellor, was killed in his home earlier this week. My uncle the Duke was accused of having done it, and so he left before they could arrest him, leaving pretty much everything behind him except my Master the swordsman. He even left me his title, though I suppose he couldn't get much use of it out in a foreign country somewhere. Marcus stayed with me, which I am very glad of, because he knows much more about running a noble house than I do. My uncle didn't read your letter before he left, and I only opened it today.
I know you were writing to him and not to me, but I don't know what I'm going to do. I've never known anyone who had a baby, except for my friends' parents, and that is not the same thing at all. If there is anything I can do to help, I promise I will do it. All of Tremontaine's resources are yours.
Forever your humble servant,
Lady Katherine Tremontaine
My dear child, I do not think your uncle ever quite grasped your worth. But don't fret about that; he was not known for his good judgment. As these events clearly prove.
As to myself, I will be fine. Don't worry if it all sounds like an over-emotional play right now- the poor woman, abandoned to her fate as the man flees from a wrongful justice- I am certain that I can turn this role to something suitably dramatic. I am returning to the city tomorrow; perhaps I could visit you for chocolate and we will discuss what is to be done with your uncle.
Yours,
The Black Rose
My dearest Duchess Tremontaine,
Have you grown used to being addressed so yet? I expect not. I certainly still found it awkward after a mere two months, and you managed to inherit that weighty title in a way even more abrupt than my own.
Perhaps I will be able to provide the first of what will become a very common experience for you. (Perhaps not, though; letters that were always addressed simply to Tremontaine will have continued to be addressed to Tremontaine, regardless of which members of the family currently have any authority and which have fled the country in disgrace. Besides, Arthur would never be able to abide allowing my mail to go unanswered for so long.) This letter is, for all that I intend it to be rather long because it is just as boring on Kyros as I expected it would be, nothing more than a request for money. Terribly disappointing, isn't it? I predict that you will find requests for money grow tedious much more quickly than being called the Duchess does. Richard says to remind you that you do not need to do anything I demand, but I am confident that I know you at least as well as he does, and I think you will send it. Besides, he's spent nearly as much of it as I have, so if you have no fond feelings for your uncle, consider it a repayment for all he taught you. Have the lawyers arrange something; I don't really care how you choose to manage things.
Send me some books also; there must have been something worthwhile written since I left. Let Marcus pick them. He has much better taste in poetry than you do, and he knows who to ask for recommendations in the more obscure subjects.
We made it to the coast and onto a ship without seeing so much as the dust cloud of a single member of the Watch behind us. That is the convenience of money, my dear: I can afford to arrange things to my best advantage, while the average member of our city's illustrious Watch is riding a horse that lacks for food and health and therefore speed, and has himself no great desire to catch up. It would only be more work for him, after all. But perhaps I flatter myself, and there was no pursuit. I can't imagine anyone was particularly upset over Ferris's death. Everyone would have made the appropriate show of grief and anger, of course, but the only people who actually liked Ferris were idiots, and they would hardly be capable of doing much to bother me. I am sure some new scandal quickly surpassed us. You will have to tell me all about it; there are no scandals here, other than whose goat has eaten whose garden.
There is nothing much here, except for the thyme and the bees and the beaches. I go for long walks, or talk to the people in the village, or watch Richard practice, which he still does daily, though I have no idea who he expects to fight here. He is very happy. We're staying in the island's only inn for now and probably won't leave for some time, so you can send the money and books to this address. I think that I would like to build a house, and that will take a while. Besides, there is a marvelous view of the ocean at the bottom of a cliff from our window, and when it storms you'd think the whole world would crash itself to pieces on the rocks. The noise it makes is like nothing else. The inn makes some sort of honey-beer too; it's so good that I've even managed to get Richard drunk once or twice.
Write me something long, when you write back. I like it here better than I expected to, but I do not intend that you should forget me so soon.
Your most humble, etc.
Dear Uncle,
I cannot believe you waited so long to finally send a letter! There has been so much happening, and we didn't know where to send word of any of it to you, and you might as well have been dead, and how would we have known? But the most important piece of news I'm not even supposed to tell you. You can read all about it in the Black Rose's note, which I'm including with this letter, and then you can see why you should have written sooner.
I am fine, though you didn't ask. Marcus is fine too. I think he misses you, but when I told him I was writing, he only said to tell you that he hopes you are enjoying yourself and that there is someone to keep you from jumping off of ruins, or whatever there is there. I don't expect he wanted me to tell you that last bit, but I've done it anyway. I am very glad that he stayed here with me, no matter how nice your island is.
People are still talking about you, though they try not to do it where they think I might hear them. I don't know why you'd think they would lose interest; it's not often that the Crescent Chancellor is murdered in his own home! Did you really kill him? Master St Vier said you did, and Marcus and the Black Rose seem to assume that what everyone is saying is true, but I can't imagine it. People say such terrible things about how he was found, you know, and all of them can't be true. Was he the one who had Lucius Perry attacked, and is that why you killed him? Was it all my fault, because I challenged him for Artemisia? Lord Ferris was a disgusting, abominable old man, but I didn't want him to die.
Artemisia is still my friend, by the way, and she and Marcus are both helping me with all there is to do. There is a lot to learn; I hadn't realized that you did so much. I have had several very nice dresses made, and it is wonderful to wear them again after so long in only trousers. Not that trousers aren't very useful as well, but they are not as lovely as a dress.
Marcus picked you out a great many books, but there is one from me as well, and it's not for you. Please read 'Famous Battles from History' to Master St Vier; I think he will like it.
Your niece,
Katherine
Alec, let me be brief. I am carrying a child, and it is yours; I'm certain of that, so don't waste our time asking about other possible fathers. I imagine that you won't manage to be back in time for the birth, and I am traveling nowhere until the end of the Season, and by then I expect that I will not be in the condition to go very far. So you will miss it, then.
I think the child will be a girl. I have been thinking about names, but I've made no decisions yet. Let me know if there is any you like in particular; even so far away, you are still her father.
Rose
My dear, what are thinking? I am sure that it is very romantic to endure a pregnancy so stoically, but do you really intend to raise this child? That is no insult to your mothering skills, and don't you take it as one, because you know me better than that. I've seen how you take the younger actresses under your wing, for all your pretenses to lofty disregard, and I've benefited from your help and advice myself.
So let me offer you some advice, now. A child takes a great deal of time. I know, you know this already, but have you really considered it? I think if anyone could be both a mother and an actress, it would be you. But not even you could be a mother and a great actress. You know the effort it takes to keep the audience returning through weeks of shows, the parties that must be attended to keep you in the right people's circles, the scandals that must be avoided and the politics that must be followed. How would you add a child to that? An infant! Surely you don't expect the father to help. I know he still hasn't answered your letter, so don't lie to me, my dear. You can't count on him.
A child is expensive. And don't think about your own career, but the future of the child. What will he or she do, once they're grown? You must be intending to raise the child as an actor to follow you, because there's no other trade or support you have to leave behind you. At least in the theater there's no stigma to being the child of an unwed actress.
When you read this, remember that I love you, and be angry with me if you need to. I only write because I worry for you, Rose. Who will be able to share the stage with me, if not you?
Forever yours (even if I intend to spend a few days in hiding so you have the chance to calm down from reading this),
Viola
You're quite right. I won't be back to the city in time.
By the way, tell my niece that of course I killed Ferris. Who else would it have been? But I didn't do it for her; tell her one of the bloodier stories from when Richard and I were young, as she seems to be under the mistaken impression that we are good people.
Alexander Campion
Are you done? Your sulks are much more endearing in person, my prince. This waiting for letters makes me impatient, and for as long as it takes for word to reach from me to you, we shouldn't waste time on one of your fits. I'd think you'd be calmer, with your swordsman with you.
Don't tell me you haven't told him; that's too foolish, even for you. If you have- and Alec, you know you should- you can assure him that he has nothing to fear from me. Carrying your child has not made me miss you. You are lucky that you are far enough away that I can't throttle you every time my back aches or I waste a morning being sick. I do not know how wives endure their husbands.
If you have no desire to be a father, neither did I expect to be a mother, at least not under circumstances such as these. How productive of us then, to fight with one another. That will surely raise this child to be healthy and happy, and with hardly any effort from us. Let us consider how things stand. I am an actress. I am very fond of this child already, but the truth is that I love the stage more. As for you, well. You are still wanted for murder in your homeland. I do not feel that it would be fair to the child for either of us to raise him or her.
I propose we let Katherine take charge. I will visit as much as I can, and perhaps someday, when she has grown, you will send for her. But as a ward of the Tremontaine House, the child will have nurses and tutors and governesses; more attention and care than I could ever give and more patience than you, I think, are capable of.
Write to your niece, by the way. You've left her all your messes to clean up and I would think that you could spare a few words for her. She is a very sweet child, but she is still young. She and her darling boy have had more trouble with my being pregnant than I have; it seems that he is much more fond of children than she is, and that worries her, though she pretends it doesn't. I suppose she had to take after you in something. They are coping very well, all things considered. Did you expect them to, when you left her the duchy, or did you not care about what you'd left?
I think I'd rather you didn't answer, dear. You are one of the most unpredictable men I've ever known, and in this case, I might prefer my illusions.
I am trying to do what is best for the child. When I imagine it, it seems very sweet to have a child by my side, waiting for me in the dressing room, perhaps, playing with paste jewels and collapsing swords, learning to read from scripts. But that is only a fantasy, with nothing rational in it. What servants do I have to watch a child, or carry it when the troupe must visit the countryside's theaters? Who is it, in this daydream, that teaches her to read? Because it will surely not be me. And she will never be anything more than another actress's brat, and you know how much such children can expect from life. Katherine can give her more than either of us.
Do answer me with a bit more consideration this time.
Still yours, no matter how impatient you make me,
Rose
Give the child to Katherine, then. I do hope you never sincerely considered sending it to me, at least not until it is old enough that I am unlikely to damage it accidently. I cannot raise it, and if you will not either, than it can be yet another of the messes I leave to my dear capable niece. At least it is, I suppose, a better path than some parents take with their offspring. You aren't proposing to leave it in a gutter, after all.
And do not tell me what to tell Richard. I don't like orders. He would be a much better father, but unfortunately he has not spent the last several years sleeping with a wide swath of the city's population, so I suppose we will never get the chance to compare our experiences. Do you think it ironic that I had a part in creating a new life just before I killed for the first time? Perhaps you can have someone add that to the next play you're in; it would be just the detail for that extra pathos in an orphan's history.
Hopefully this letter is long enough for you. I can't imagine what you expect from me. I am not capable of raising a child, a fact that is, evidently, abundantly clear even to you. I have abandoned the mother and am leaving the child to my teenaged niece. I could dwell on the situation and exactly how it exposes all of my inadequacies, but letter-writing bores me.
If you need anything which I can actually do, do be sure to write.
Dear uncle,
The Black Rose has had her baby! It is so much more exciting that I had thought it would be. She was right, and it is a girl; we've named her Jessica. She is very pretty, even if her face is always red, and she has quite a lot of hair already, dark and curling. Both Jessica and the Black Rose are perfectly healthy, and the midwife says it was an easy labor, though it seemed very long to me.
I've never been around a baby so much before. All of my brothers are older than me, of course. I think Marcus likes Jessica more than anyone else does; he spends all of his time with her, though she barely opens her eyes yet. I think he's jealous of you. All he talks about are the children he wants to have, and I don't know how he can even think about such things until we're much older.
I will try to take good care of Jessica, though. I never expected to be in charge of a baby, at least not until I was married and an old woman. It seems like a much bigger responsibility than any of the other things you've given me, even though babies are much more common than duchesses or mansions. Were you afraid of it too, and is that why you didn't come back? I suppose you won't answer that. You didn't answer any of the things I wrote you in my last letter.
The Black Rose doesn't talk about you much, but she did say that Jessica has your cheekbones. I don't know how she can tell. I think Jessica looks like every other baby, but maybe once she's grown she will look like you. Aren't you even curious if she will be like you? I would be, if I had a child.
You could write me back even if you don't want to answer any of my questions, you know. Marcus misses you, and I guess I do, too. It seems like a very long time since I first came to the city, but it's only because so much has happened. It's funny how change makes time seem to pass by much quicker. Maybe it seems that way to you too; I would think Kryos is very different from this city. Are there really so many bees that you hear their hum all the time? I read that in a book, but Master St Vier said it was only poetry, and that you shouldn't trust poetry. But you like poetry, so maybe even if you wrote to say it was true, I couldn't trust you. Letters are funny that way. It's much easier to know what someone is really thinking if you can see them.
I think I must have changed a lot too, because I wouldn't have thought about these things when I was still living on my family's farm. Do you ever think it's a little scary, how much things change? I'm glad of it, though. Well. Most of it.
Your niece,
Lady Katherine Tremontaine
