6. Traven
It wasn't the scorching midday heat, but the Astar valley in the afternoon was hotter than expected. Known for its ample sunlight and moderate rainfall, this prime wine-producing region grew sweltering and dry from early summer, when the grapes began to ripen, through the height of the season. Near the cliff where the Elsk jumps were scheduled, no rain had fallen for nearly ten days, leaving the ground powdery and kicking up clouds of ochre dust.
Olivier walked toward the viewing spot with Emily, having alighted from their carriage at a safe distance. The Baron and Baroness Belpharos had already bustled ahead to claim prime seats under the large tent, accepting glasses of wine from the Traven count's attendants.
"It's hot. Really hot. I should have worn something lighter. Can't even wear this hat—the sweat's pooling inside."
Olivier muttered as she removed her lace-shaded hat. Emily, who had been holding a parasol to shield her, swiftly took it. Olivier paused, wiping the sweat from her brow with a handkerchief as she scanned the surroundings. Sparse tufts of grass dotted the sun-baked earth, all coated in dust. Far off loomed the sheer cliff face.
"Lady Belpharos?"
A noblewoman approaching from behind called out to Olivier, then kindly inquired after her well-being. She was the middle-aged lady from last night's banquet who had chatted with Olivier about romance novels, clearly taken with her. Emily, seeing the baroness for the first time and holding the parasol curiously, stood by as Olivier smiled and introduced her.
"Baroness Stendel, this is my maid, Emily."
"A pleasure to meet you."
Emily bowed politely to the baroness, who studied her face for a long moment.
"Emily's quite the beauty herself. Not quite on par with you, Miss Olivier, but the two of you together make a lovely pair."
Olivier responded to the praise with a quiet smile. Clang. A heavy metallic clash rang out nearby—the sound of long spears striking thick shields. Along the path where the group had paused, soldiers from the Traven count's household stood in a line, shields and spears at the ready. Baroness Stendel explained that soon, a herd of Elsk pursued by massive hounds would thunder past at breakneck speed.
Olivier's brow furrowed slightly, as if she could already picture the brutal scene. The baroness lingered to chat with her a while longer, then hurried off to the tent when Baron Stendel signaled from his seat below.
Olivier eyed the white tent ahead with a reluctant frown. Having voiced her distaste for such cruelty from the start, she had no desire to watch. Emily tilted the parasol to provide shade and stood silently by her side. At last, Olivier steeled herself and headed under the tent.
Unlike her parents, the baron and baroness, who sat up front, Olivier chose a seat at the very back, farthest from the cliff. She grimaced the moment she sat. The rear was filled with others equally uninterested in the Elsk jumps—including two familiar men in their thirties, boldly ensconced amid a gaggle of giggling ladies.
"Lady Belpharos. What a delight to see you here."
Baron Ritterven called out upon spotting her. Baron Crushross, seated a bit apart, chimed in competitively.
"I wanted to speak with you at last night's banquet, but Baroness Stendel beat me to it. You two seemed to be enjoying yourselves so much, I couldn't intrude. Forgive my rudeness."
"Ah, yes."
Olivier acknowledged their greetings but offered no sociable reply in return. Her face slightly stiff, she sat and fixed her gaze on her knee. She had decided at the banquet the night before to ignore them, and she had no wish to engage now. Surrounded by other ladies as they were, she figured enduring a moment would spare her further bother.
But she was mistaken. When Olivier showed no reaction, Baron Ritterven excused himself from the ladies and slid into the seat right beside her. She rolled her eyes anxiously toward him as he drew perilously close.
"Lady Belpharos, you can't imagine my joy at finding you here. I was quite crestfallen when my invitation was returned. Ever since last winter, I've longed to see you again. At the banquet yesterday, the moment I laid eyes on you, I nearly rushed over—but I couldn't. One of the ladies gave me some advice."
"What...?"
Ritterven gazed at her furrowed brow with soulful eyes. In his early thirties, he was a dapper noble who put effort into his appearance—neat and refined—but his features were merely a shade above average. As Olivier looked at him, awaiting his next words, he met her eyes with fervent intensity.
"She said keeping a proper distance to stoke jealousy would work best. That's what I did yesterday. But seeing you chat with Baroness Stendel today... I couldn't bear it. Her only son, Baron Stendel—he's utterly unworthy of you. From the instant I saw you, my soul was ensnared. Lady Belpharos."
Emily, seated behind her mistress, saw Olivier's shoulders twitch, then stiffen rigidly. A mere exchange of pleasantries with Baroness Stendel had sparked this misunderstanding—and now a sudden confession. Imagining how rattled Olivier must be, given her usual disgust at their letters, Emily gently placed a hand on her shoulder.
Olivier startled at the touch. Flinch. Stunned by Ritterven's abrupt and bewildering declaration, she had frozen—only snapping back when she realized it was Emily's hand behind her. Ritterven sat tense beside her, staring. Sweat beaded on his powdered face from the afternoon heat, a milky trickle mixed with makeup running from his temple to his ear. His murky brown eyes strained, and the fine lines around his trembling mouth betrayed uncontainable emotion.
Olivier scrambled mentally for words of refusal, but they jumbled uselessly.
"Lady Belpharos, I know this isn't the ideal or romantic moment to say it, but..."
Good lord. As Olivier faltered, Ritterven rattled off the rote preamble men spouted during proposals.
At that moment—Buuoo, buuoo! A deep horn blast signaled the start of the drive. The tent buzzed with excitement as spectators turned eagerly toward the left path lined with soldiers.
Ritterven paused, mindful of the growing noise.
"...Just a moment."
Seizing the interruption, Olivier forced the words from her throat. Too flustered and absurd for speech, she had lost her tongue—but Ritterven mistook it for maidenly shyness, smiling at her.
Olivier strained every facial muscle to curve her lips into a smile.
"...It's all so sudden. I need a little time to think."
She glanced back at Emily, who unfurled the folded parasol wide.
"I need to step out for a bit."
"But Lady Belpharos, the Elsk drive has just begun—leaving your seat now could be dangerous."
"It's fine. I'll just go as far as the carriage and come right back."
Ritterven nodded shyly as Olivier rose, eyes downcast.
"I'll be waiting."
Catching his expectant gaze, Olivier spun and hurried from the tent. Emily waited outside, parasol aloft. The two walked in silence along the stifling, dusty path.
"Really. What am I supposed to do now?"
Once they were a good distance from the tent, Olivier muttered, brow furrowed.