Part Twenty Three – The Tower Conversation
Valia's touch was light but insistent as she drew Jonathan away from the hall of politics and whispers. The music faded behind them, muffled by marble corridors, until they reached the spiral staircase that curled upward into the tower.
The climb was steep, but familiar. Jonathan's hand brushed the cold stone rail, and memory flickered—years ago, he and Valia racing each other up these very steps, laughing breathless, children unburdened by grief and duty.
Now, silence filled the climb.
At the top, the door opened to a small balcony overlooking IronClover. The city glimmered below in a wash of lanternlight and steam, a living tapestry of industry and intrigue. Here, above the noise, the air felt sharper, freer.
Valia turned to face him, her silver gown catching the moonlight, her eyes catching his.
"Why have you been avoiding me, Jonathan?" Her voice trembled, not with anger, but with ache. "After the accident… after your father… you vanished. You wouldn't see me, wouldn't let me visit. Do you have any idea what that felt like?"
Jonathan's chest tightened. Behind her words, he heard genuine care—the kind only she had ever given him freely. But the image of his mother and brother, pale and half-monster in the cellar, rose unbidden. The Roth sickness was his secret curse. No one could know.
He swallowed hard, forcing the weight down. "I… I couldn't. It wasn't about you. I just—" He broke off, shaking his head. "I'm sorry, Valia."
For a moment, the distance between them dissolved. Her features softened, lips curving into the faintest smile. She reached out, brushing his sleeve gently. "You never had to carry it alone, you know. I was worried,"
He wanted to believe her. But the truth was a burden no one should share.
She leaned back slightly, her tone shifting. "Franklin Phelps," she said, almost as though the name tasted bitter.
Jonathan tensed. "Your husband-to-be."
Valia's gaze drifted to the city below. "It isn't what you think. This marriage—it's politics. My mother's design. With Franklin buying out the Vyre distribution chain from Lord Madeiya, he'll be one of the most powerful men in IronClover. She wants the Lulough name secured in that future."
Jonathan studied her face. The faint downturn of her lips, the hesitation in her voice. "Do you love him?"
The question lingered in the cool night air, heavier than any courtly banter below. Valia did not answer. Her eyes flickered, caught somewhere between truth and silence. She turned away instead, her hand tightening on the stone balustrade.
The moment fractured when the door creaked open. Roger entered, tall, immaculate, the pale of his skin betraying what he was. A maid followed him, bowing politely.
"Forgive the interruption," Roger said smoothly, though his piercing blue eyes were not on Valia—they were fixed on Jonathan. A bow, respectful in form, but in his gaze something else lingered: suspicion, challenge, perhaps even recognition.
Valia exhaled softly, forcing a smile. "They've been searching for me. It seems duty always finds us, doesn't it?"
She touched Jonathan's arm once more, a silent thank you, before turning to leave with her attendants. Roger's glance lingered a heartbeat too long as he bowed out, leaving Jonathan in the moonlight, unsettled and alone.
The tower felt colder without her presence.