Astrid made a 'tsch!' sound and huffed at Valerian. "Well, I was only keeping you a bit of company," she replied curtly, getting up from the table. In truth, Astrid felt a bit badly for Valerian. Not because he was crippled per se (though that probably played a role), but because everyone saw him that way, and because he spent so much time out here alone. She was just trying to be friendly. She'd even been obliquely offering to fill him in on what she knew about Constance! "But I can tell where I'm not wanted. You can give your apologies yourself, though. I'm not getting in the middle of any spat you've started."
Astrid brushed a piece of hay off her skirt, then looked back rather professional-like at Valerian. "When your dad gets back, can you let him know I need to talk to him about ordering? We're thinking about getting the horse oats and such from the same supplier as we use for the kitchen, and we need to go over some logistics. Anyway, I'll leave you to it."
And with that, she turned and left, leaving the whiskey he'd offered her more or less untouched in the glass.
Olive spent the next few days trying not to think about Valerian and mostly failing. She hadn't brought herself to ask Grace about just why she hadn't been told Vale was in the Keep, despite having asked her about him before. Two nights later, she sat awake in bed. It was late, hours after most of the household had gone to sleep. Moving to the window, Olive bit her lip, peering out into the night. Then she made a decision.
It was a long shot. But when they were younger, Olive used to signal to Vale by lighting a candle in the window. There was an entrance to an attic space in the closet of Olive's room. An old forgotten thing, that Olive could only just squeeze through. But the attic, though cramped, was a long space, passing over several rooms besides Olive's. And at the far end of it, there was a service entrance that could be entered through a storage loft. When they were younger, she'd light a candle in her window and it would be the signal to meet in the attic that they both had access to. She went to the closet, checking if she could still pry open the attic entrance in the ceiling. She pushed against it, causing a showering of dust. But it opened.
Olive let out a sigh, then returned to the window. She took a single candle and lit it in the window. He probably wouldn't come. It must be two hours past midnight. He probably wouldn't even see it. But all the same, Olive carefully lifted another candle into the attic. And, figuring that she would spend the time up there alone, a book as well. Then she pulled herself up into the attic and walked carefully, silently, to the place halfway through the attic where they used to meet. The place was still set up, with a few blankets and stools and pillows. A dry oil lamp, a few books and sketch books. All covered in a layer of dust. With a sigh, Olive plopped herself down on a pile of blankets, set the candle on a crate that had been fashioned as a make-shift desk, and opened the book in her lap. But she couldn't get her mind to focus on reading it.
