VI. Entremet: Sorbet fleur de Pêcher
The palate cleanser came, as all such courses should, as a welcome relief. Peach blossom sorbet in its little slender-necked dish, strewn with petals and topped with a whole blossom, was a delight for the eyes as well as the answer to a craving for sugar that had come over Josiah suddenly. He sailed in appreciatively.
“My sister Ateva once made quite a scene over some peach blossoms,” he remarked. This story had lain dormant in some filing cabinet of his mind for years, but now it came spilling out practically of its own accord. “She—” He tasted the contents of his glass. “What do you call this one?”
“Riesling,” said the Duchess. “And yes, you innocent child, it is another sort of hock.”
“Oh, I should have known.” He tried it again. “Excellent, beautiful—and—and—where was I?”
“Ateva. Peach blossoms.” The Duchess contemplated the flower balanced on the rim of her spoon.
“Right. Well, Ateva was getting married to that first-rate idiot Viorel and they sent flowers for the wedding—supposed to be lemon or orange blossoms or something, but they were peach. Ateva sent them back. She was insulted about what they meant in the language of flowers. I can’t remember what, though.”
“Not a poet, are you? I’ve made a particular study of this. I believe it’s…” The Duchess refreshed herself with a spoonful of sorbet, as if its flavor could spark something in her memory. “Oh, yes. ‘Your qualities, like your charms, are unequaled.’ Although I can’t see what your sister would find offensive about that.”
“Perhaps not.” Josiah took a thoughtful sip. “Doesn’t sound right, though.”
“I recall hearing about Ateva’s wedding. It was all over the papers. I got quite sick of it, because—” She hesitated, leaning forward. “Did your father ever mention me to you? Did he tell you that we met?”
“He came to Corege when I was a little younger than you. And he was—every girl I knew was in love with him. I suppose I almost was, too. He was so tall and good-looking—a sort of fair-haired version of you, darling. Voice like an angel. I told him once that he had missed his calling in opera. And all the adventures he had had and the stories he could tell… He had so many grand plans, and you really believed he could accomplish them, because he believed. He was going to take on the world—”
Josiah’s eyes drifted to the pattern on the china.
The Duchess cleared her throat. “That is—he was charming and clever, and one day he proposed to me.”
Only Josiah’s immense dignity prevented him from spluttering riesling across the table. “He didn’t! No, actually, that’s rather reasonable, because you were…”
“The Princess of Arclis, yes…and Lienne’s young, promising new king. A match made in council chambers. He took my hand and looked into my eyes and—he said he believed he was falling in love with me. And I wanted to believe him—but I could see on his face… You see, believe it or not, I was a scrawny little creature in those days, and plain, and mousy, and he was looking past all that and proposing anyway…”
A twinge of new respect for Odren startled Josiah. “Rather…romantic of him?”
The Duchess dropped her spoon and had to ring for another. “Not romantic at all. He was holding his nose and looking past me to my throne. I couldn’t. So I told him no. He did not expect that answer, and he—well, I’ll spare you the rest of that story. And what my father had to say about it for the rest of his life. You dodged a bullet, didn’t you, darling? I could have been—but no! Surely I’m not that old.”
He didn’t know what to say. More sorbet.
She laughed. “Say it! ‘So that’s why she’s such a bitter spinster, because my father broke her poor little girlish heart.’ Entirely false, by the way, but no one ever believes that. And I’m not a spinster, but that’s another story.”
“I wasn’t thinking that,” said Josiah. “It’s just—” He gazed at her, trying to imagine what she must have been nearly forty years ago. “You should know that my father always had very poor eyesight. Not much of a judge of that sort of thing.”
“And it’s clearly hereditary,” she said, but she sat up a little straighter in her chair and pushed back a loose strand of hair. “I daresay you think me very foolish to turn down such a chance. You’re Odren’s son, after all. Pragmatic to the core.”
The Duchess had never seen the look King Odren reserved for Josiah’s mother when he thought no one could see.
“Well, if you must know,” said Josiah, “I was once in love with a…” Even in this moment of unwonted boldness, he could not bring himself to say it out loud. “...a violinist. A Noriberian violinist.”
“You don’t say! So you do have a heart. However did you meet her? I wouldn’t have suspected you were the backstage-at-the-concert-hall sort.”
“Her brother was my companion. She played for us at Königshaus, once, and I’d never heard anything like it, she was better than me, she…”
“Just pretty. Like an ordinary girl. And I was dying to know how she could play like that, so I wrote her a letter, and she wrote back, and…after a while I stopped writing.”
“A quarrel? I know how these musicians are. You fall out over the oddest trifles. Correct pizzicato technique? Differences over which key to play the national anthem in?”
Josiah spooned up the last of the sorbet, and the tragedy of it all struck him like an express train. An urge to cry engulfed him. He remembered to lift his chin and blink that threat away. What was wrong with him? He had learned to control such humiliating displays long ago.
“Nothing like that,” he said firmly. “I ended it. It would never have worked. A violinist and the Hope of Lienne? Some subject for an opera, perhaps. But not in real life.”
A tragedy, still. He could not shake the thought. He reached for his glass.
The Duchess smiled a little smile. “I weep for you, I do. But you do realize that that obstacle is gone? That you two are now no more than fellow musicians? Or could be. I entertain talent from all over the world. Including Noriber. Your paths might cross again. Perhaps she’s still wondering why you’ve never written her back. Perhaps she’s still hoping you’ll have the courage to achieve what she has.”
As plainly as it were real, Josiah could see Emenor, as grown-up as he and the last word in elegance, with her face lit up at the sight of him the way it had the last time they had met. He saw himself take his place beside her in an orchestra, heard their violins converse like two halves of one instrument. He saw…
“She’ll have forgotten all about me,” he said.
The sorbet had run out. All he had left was the riesling. He’d settle for that—
“The peach blossoms!” he cried.
“I just remembered. They mean ‘I am your captive.’”
He stared blankly at the Duchess, who stared blankly back.
And then they burst into laughter. Long and hard and achingly.
“Your sister,” said the Duchess when she could breathe again, “had every right to be furious.”
