To my Dear Addie,
I wandered past the library the other morning and happened upon a small publisher’s shop across the way; quaint, well-outfitted and thoroughly clean, though empty and without the least bit of product on its shelves. I was reminded of our conversation when you first returned to Lithmore, and I have thought of you often since. It looked so much like something you would have created I could scarcely believe you hadn’t. I wondered also after your Vandagan acquaintance. Are things well on that front? Better, at least, than they were when last we discussed it?
There is remarkably little changed with me. For a time I stepped out of the spotlight and buried myself in father’s study. I tried to satisfy myself as I once did – with books and drawing, stepping out on occasion to tend to the atelier. Doing nothing was relentlessly tiring. I found myself back at my desk in little more than a fortnight. I know I should avoid putting such thoughts down on paper, but there are times I fear I was given this opportunity too young; that my position has made me, rather than the opposite. I would have been satisfied to serve my predecessor indefinitely; holding the reins has its uses, but I often fail to meet the bar she set.
In the meantime, Lithmore has become unnaturally vicious. The number of rumors circulating is both astronomically high and wholly ill-meaning. You recall I spent some time staying with the Earl Marshall, after that Farin fellow went a little bit berserk? A more upstanding, warmer-hearted man I could not have designed, yet his reputation is drug through the streets like common refuse and expanded upon each passing day. Some folk are even claiming he is violent with Shaylei. Can you even imagine, with the way he dotes upon her? It’s disheartening to see the way the people regard him. The Regent, too, has seen a share of nonsense cropping up out of the woodwork. Apparently he is in league with the Brotherhood of Common Goods. Fancy that.
I have not escaped entirely without focus. Though I’ve every confidence I know the identity of the source, I have heard it whispered that I am an actual harlot. Comparing me to a Vavardi. Consider me thoroughly surprised.
I know what you will say, and I will establish now that I do not want my sister walloping even the most abusive of rumor-mongers, but I can own to feeling damaged by his opinion. It’s arguably worse to know the name and face of the individual behind it; being able to picture it said in a familiar voice is more hurtful than I would like to admit. I should have taken your advice; I should have taken the advice of everyone who told me to step away before it was too late to cleanly withdraw his claim. I misunderstood his reasons, clearly, but had I asked for guidance before agreeing in the first place I could have avoided injuring him from the start.
I suppose I never knew he had such venom in him. We had been friends for so long, and his temperament never struck me as particularly vicious. To fabricate claims that could get me genuinely harmed… I don’t know, Addie. I just never thought he was that sort of man. For the first time in my life I felt a spark of hatred. I have worked to contain it, of course, and spoken to the Archbishop for guidance to that end, but that I experienced it at all has left me disappointed. That disappointment is solely with myself.
The former Poet Laudate is back from Vavard. Mister op Vilar, as you recall, has been a long-time friend and confidante, and I am much-relieved by his return. I managed to secure a bid (a very hefty bid, I should clarify, though all for a wonderful cause) on Lord Ariel le Orban’s rare book of multicultural love songs at the Physician’s Auction. Rumor has it that it has been a point of some contention with the new Poet Laudate, though Lord knows, I am the last person who should be taking rumors without a grain of salt.
I will avoid delving into Lando’s present condition for the sake of my tentative sanity. Suffice to say that I never know where he stands. It has become difficult to communicate with him, and I so badly want to help him through his present ails. Finding any modicum of peace with the inarguable fact that I cannot is an impossible task. Will you keep him in your prayers? Perhaps if we both focus upon his well-being the Lord will take notice and grant him relief?
For having so little of substance to discuss I have managed to clear the page; I will stop before I get any further lost in the minutiae. I hope you are well, and that you have made amends with father by the Yule. We must get together at first opportunity and arrange for everyone to come home to visit.
Yours Affectionately,
P.S. I had the opportunity to have our copy of A Great and Terrible Flood autographed by its author, who as you are no doubt aware is none other than the perplexing, mysterious, and infinitely dashing Lord le Orban. Between us, I think he is more humble than anyone has ever given him credit for. Remind me to tell you about the Three Cups at Yule… I know how you love an invigorating tale of social woe, and of all the experiences in my life that one was the most embarrassing.