Tabitha heard the soft, scrambling tread of Baron Louard’s house-shoes. Her father was not even giving him back his over-boots and cloak. She heard the door to the green receiving room open, and a dog beyond it barked, causing the dog beside Tabitha to bark, and her father’s two dogs in the study started barking too.
The guardsman behind Beatris spoke a harsh command, and the dog settled. The dogs in the council chamber and the study fell silent at almost the same time. Tabitha gestured to Beatris that they should go, but before she could get past the dog, the door in front of her opened.
It was her father. She could not see his face, with the candle behind her in the corridor and the candles behind him in the council room, but after what she had just heard, it was hard to not be frightened.
But all he said was, “You should go to bed now. We will talk in the morning.”
“Yes, Father.”
He closed the door.
Mistress Sabine did not greet them at breakfast the next morning. Instead, Mistress Evonne joined them at the table in the sitting room with a stack of books and announced that they would have a few short lessons, and then the duke wanted to talk to all of them. It was obvious to Tabitha that Mistress Sabine had lost her position because of what had happened, but she did not say so. None of them said so.
They picked at their food, then leafed through the books, unable to ignore the empty seat next to Jenevive. Tabitha found herself looking for Marjorie so often, and getting angrier and angrier that she was missing, that she could not sit still. She tapped her foot on the floor, scratched the tabletop with her thumbnail, and fidgeted with her skirts, all to keep herself from screaming. When Mistress Evonne told her to try to concentrate, Tabitha stood up so quickly her chair tipped over. She stalked to her bedchamber and slammed the door. Mistress Evonne was not stupid enough to insist that she return.
He said he would not execute Marjorie. He promised he would not execute Marjorie.
Tabitha did not even know what she wanted to happen now. She knew that she should be hoping that her father found Marjorie innocent. But if he did, he would keep looking for the real killer, and Tabitha would have to face Marjorie every single day with guilt eating her inside. If her father decided that Marjorie was guilty, he would send her to a cloister and she would never be allowed to leave. Tabitha knew she should not hope for that. But it did keep Marjorie away from Baron Louard. And it closed the book on Alain’s murder.
Murder. I am a murderer.
No! It was an accident! He hit his head!
She remembered Nan’s voice. God can see you even when I can’t.
Calm and still. Calm and still.
Eventually Mistress Evonne opened Tabitha’s door, her face solemn, and said it was time. Tabitha picked up her cap and veil from the floor, shook them out and put them on, and pushed Mistress Evonne away when she tried to help. The cap and veil were grey, and her gown was grey with white and black embroidery. It was grim. It was fitting.
As Tabitha led Jenevive, Pamela, and Beatris into her father’s council room, she saw that all the lamps had been lit and a fire was blazing on the hearth, making the room much brighter and warmer than usual. Her father stood at his place at the head of the massive oval table, and he greeted each of the girls by name and held out her chair for her, Tabitha and Jenevive on one side and Pamela and Beatris on the other. On the mantel above the fire, Tabitha saw the sword that had hung lengthwise there for as long as she could remember. It was a one-handed steel blade in a plain sheath that had belonged to her grandfather. It had to be the sword that the duke had drawn on the baron last night.
Her father seated himself at the head of the council table, where several sheets of paper lay. Instead of black, he was wearing the dark blue color of their house, with the swan emblem woven into the pattern of his doublet. Tabitha saw circles under his eyes and wondered if he had slept, but when he spoke, he did not sound weary. “Ladies, yesterday was one of the darkest days ever under this roof. I pray we never have another like it.”
“I, too, pray,” Tabitha murmured, making the sign of the Godcircle along with the others. No speeches, Father, please! Just tell us what’s going to happen to Marjorie!
“I have just rendered judgment in closed court regarding Lady Marjorie.” He picked up one of the sheets of paper, sealed with the swan, and looked at Beatris. “My lady, though I respect your opinion, and I thank you for bringing what you learned to me, I could not find Lady Marjorie innocent. The weight of the evidence against her was too heavy.”
Beatris closed her eyes for a moment. Tabitha did not think even Beatris, even under these circumstances, would start arguing again, and thankfully she was right. “I understand, your Grace,” Beatris said quietly. Beside her, Pamela ducked her head to wipe her eyes with a kerchief, but she did not make a sound.
I can fix this. I can fix this right now. I can tell them all the truth.
But she could not. She physically could not make herself open her mouth. Who would believe her anyway? Sister Raula had declared her a virgin.
“She will not be executed,” her father went on. “I will grant mercy because of what she endured. She will be imprisoned at Saint Roudelle’s in Cuan Searla. It is not the most comfortable cloister, but she will not be put to work. The island location will allow me to control who visits her. All of you, of course, may do so.”
But her father, of course, may not.
“Sir Alain’s family is due the wrongful death price. I will sell certain of Lady Marjorie’s possessions toward this obligation. I would like your assistance in sorting out which to sell and which to allow her to keep.”
“Your Grace, we would be glad to assist,” Beatris said instantly. “She has some fine jewelry and clothing given to her by her father that I am sure she will not want to keep.”
“Your Grace,” Pamela said, “may we give her some of our own things?” She was twisting her hands together on the tabletop. “I—I want to be sure she stays warm, at least.”
“That is kind, Lady Pamela,” the duke nodded. “I will allow it.”
“Is it enough, your Grace?” Beatris asked anxiously. “The blood price must be high.”
“It’s high,” the duke nodded again. “As Lady Marjorie was, and still is, my ward, I bear responsibility for it.”
Tabitha knew what she had to do. It was the very least she could do, and it seemed like the only thing she would be allowed to do. “Father, my jewelry can help pay the blood price.”
Her father approved. “You are generous, Tabitha. I ask only that you be sure to keep the jewelry that your mother left for you.”
“Of course, Father.” And the pearl necklace. The Telgard ambassador had given it to her, and she would not give that up.
“I want all of you to know,” her father lifted his voice slightly to address them all again, “that your loyalty to Lady Marjorie is commendable. She is lucky to have such friends. I have decided that you will be allowed to see her and speak with her before she leaves for the cloister.”
“When must she go, your Grace?” Beatris asked.
“Tomorrow.” The word was flat and final. No one protested. It would not have swayed him.
Her father laid the first sheet of paper aside. “I am sure you all realize that Mistress Sabine is no longer residing here. She has been dismissed from service.”
“Your Grace,” Beatris said immediately, “please consider—”
“Lady Beatris, I am sorry. I know you are all fond of her. Nevertheless, this happened on her watch, and I will not continue to employ her.”
Beatris hesitated, obviously still ready to argue the governess’ case, so Tabitha said, “Yes, Father. We understand.”
“I intend to hire another governess quickly. Mistress Evonne has agreed to serve in that capacity for the present.”
“Yes, Father.”
He looked at the next sheet of paper for a moment before raising his eyes. “Lady Jenevive.”
She start
led when he spoke her name, and just looked at him without even trying to speak. The duke let her lapse pass. “Your cousin has informed me that he is taking you home immediately.”
Pamela gasped. Tabitha could only stare. Jenevive held her mouth closed and looked down at her hands.
“He put his reasons in writing. I will let you read it.” He slid the paper past Tabitha, and Jenevive took it and read it. Tabitha did not have to ask her what it said. None of the lords of Maisenblere would want Jenevive to continue to be fostered in any house where something so scandalous had happened.
“I am truly sorry, my lady,” Tabitha’s father said, and Tabitha knew that he meant it. “You have been an excellent companion to my daughter. Be assured that everyone in my household will miss you.”
“Thank you, your Grace.” The corner of the paper crumpled in Jenevive’s hand as she handed it back. She looked at Tabitha, who did not know what to say. Unnaturally pale, Jenevive then looked across the table at Beatris and Pamela, who both wore anguished faces but did not speak. What did she expect? There was nothing to be done about it.
“Lady Beatris,” the duke said then, and Tabitha felt a stab of panic. Marjorie and Jenevive both gone, and now Beatris? Pamela too? Have they all been called home because of this?
“Your Grace?”
“I am sure you remember both Sir Prosper and Count Sebastene from the gathering that night.”
“Yes, your Grace.” Beatris instantly looked wary.
“I realize that this is not a good time to discuss this. However, both of them have asked permission to court you, and I thought it best to inform you. I want to know what you think before I make any recommendations to your father.”
Beatris went white. Tabitha and the other girls gaped at her. Two suitors? Sir Prosper, Tabitha could understand. He was young and ambitious, and arrogant about both. But Count Sebastene? That hairless, pudgy bore wants to court Beatris?
“I am sorry, your Grace,” Beatris recovered herself to say shakily. Pamela had seized hold of her hand. “You surprised me. Did either of them … explain?”
“Explain why they want to court you?” At Beatris’s nod, he said, “When I asked, Sir Prosper said that he found you pleasant and biddable. Count Sebastene, though, was impressed by your intelligence and your kind heart. He also talked about your eyes.”
Beatris stared at him, then blurted, “About my eyes?” She was right. It was ridiculous. There was nothing special about Beatris’s eyes. There was nothing special about Beatris’s whole face except how homely it was.
“The count spoke to me about returning here soon for a visit,” the duke said. “May I invite him?”
It was obvious which of the two men the duke would choose for Beatris, and Tabitha knew that it was completely within her father’s rights to simply arrange the match. Beatris’s father was his vassal, and he obviously trusted the duke’s judgment or Beatris would not be fostered here. The fact that the duke was asking Beatris what she thought spoke volumes about his regard for her.
Tabitha had never realized that her father liked Beatris so much. Was she the sort of daughter he truly wanted? Or was it because—
She almost cringed. No. Her father was not like that. He would never even consider marrying one of her friends. It was disgusting. It was only because of Baron Louard’s abuse of Marjorie that the horrible thought had crossed Tabitha’s mind.
“I think you should let him visit,” he was saying to Beatris, who had not answered him. “Get to know him better. He is well known for being thoughtful and generous, and he is not nearly as old as he might seem to you.”
“I know,” Beatris said faintly. “He just turned thirty-seven.” Tabitha did not know what was more shocking, that the count was so much younger than she had thought, or that Beatris knew his exact age.
“I assure you, my lady, that such a visit would carry no obligation.”
Beatris swallowed. “I understand, your Grace.”
“In any event, you will always have a place in my house as my daughter’s companion until you choose otherwise.”
“Thank you, your Grace.”
“Very well.” He now turned his attention to Pamela, and Tabitha tensed again. “Lady Pamela, I am sure that all these changes are distressing to you. I want to assure you that you, too, have a place in my house until your wedding to Lord Daniel next year.”
Pamela nodded as Tabitha let out a silent breath of relief. “Thank you, your Grace.” Then she interrupted him as he started to pick up another sheet of paper. “Your Grace?”
“Yes?”
“Lord Daniel.” Pamela blushed. “He has not asked me to marry him.”
Tabitha’s father raised his eyebrows.
“Your Grace, I—I know the arrangements are being made. I know that you and my father approve. But I …” Pamela’s courage failed her, and she dropped her eyes.
“Forgive me, my lady. I had no idea you were opposed to it.”
“I am not opposed to it,” she said hastily, looking up at him. “I just …”
“You would like him to ask you.”
She looked down again. “Yes, your Grace.”
“I will speak to him.”
“Thank you, your Grace.”
Now her father turned back to the paper he had picked up. Tabitha was surprised to see at the top an illumination outlining the reindeer crest of the royal house. “Finally, I received this less than an hour ago. The news is grave. Our king has suffered a seizure. He lives, but he is almost completely incapacitated.”
The other girls expressed concern and dismay, even making the sign of the Godcircle, but Tabitha immediately saw the real problem. Crown Prince Motthias was opposed to a marriage alliance with Telgardia, since he favored stronger ties with Adelard instead. If the king died, or if he was too sick to rule, then even if the Telgards finally agreed to the match, Prince Motthias would withhold his approval.
Her father saw that she understood, and he nodded grimly. But all he said aloud was, “We must pray for our king.”
“Yes, your Grace,” Tabitha’s friends all murmured. But Tabitha did not dare let her voice free, for fear that she would actually scream. She was losing so much. Marjorie and Jenevive. Probably Beatris, eventually Pamela. The Telgard prince. Alain.
And if I am pregnant, she suddenly thought, I lose everything else.
Ice closed over Tabitha’s heart. She held her hands together in her lap and prayed.
Chapter 3
“Beatris is probably already there,” Pamela said.
Tabitha did not answer. She studied the six cards laid in spokes around the glassed-in candle, then took another glance at her hole card. Next to Pamela, Lise was slumped in the corner of the carriage, where she had been sleeping ever since their last stop. Was it just something that everyone of the lower classes could do, and did? Sleep anywhere, anytime, like a child? Cook did it, napping by the fire while waiting for something to boil. Nan had done it too.
“But they might have taken a boat upriver,” Pamela went on, “so maybe not.”
Why could Pamela not go to sleep as well? She had to be tired, since she had been sick the entire time they had been at sea. But when they had started north by land, she had recovered, and now she would not stop her brainless chatter.
“But if they took a boat,” Pamela said, “they would not have been caught in that landslide like we did, so maybe they are already there.”
We got caught there after the landslide, not in it, Tabitha corrected Pamela in her head. The landslide had been small, according to the townsfolk, but the duke’s group had still waited forever for the rocks to be cleared from the road. It had prevented them from reaching the capital before dark, and now every carriage and wagon had a pole lamp lit. An artist visiting Betaul once had shown Tabitha a scene he had painted while approaching the grand city of Tiaulon on this very road, and she had been looking forward to seeing the real thing, but no. They were arriving in the middle of the stupid ni
ght when it was dark.
“I am glad they decided to come, though,” Pamela said.
“Quiet,” Tabitha snapped, jogging her hole card against the little foldaway shelf that they were using as a game table. “I am trying to think.” Specifically, she was trying not to think about Beatris and the ridiculous fact that she had gotten married.
Pamela stayed quiet for maybe twenty heartbeats before she made a little noise of dismay, staring at the card in Tabitha’s hand. Tabitha realized that fidgeting with her hole card had creased it lengthwise, and she felt a sharp stab of guilt. Jenevive had drawn the designs for these cards, and they all tried to be careful with them.
Beatris had suggested that Tabitha give the cards to Marjorie. But Tabitha had not wanted to give them up, not when she had lost Jenevive too. The cards were all she had left of her friend and likely all she would ever have, since Jenevive’s cousin had forced her to marry some common merchant as soon as she had gotten back home. And now even Beatris was married and only Pamela was left.
It felt wrong. All five of them should be going to the coronation together.
Tabitha tossed the card on top of the others on the rickety shelf. It had not collapsed yet, but it kept rattling and threatening to spill over the candle. The seat on this carriage was hardly better than a bare bench, and it was numbing her rear end. And while the warmth outside was all right, the humidity was awful, making her skirts bunch against her legs and her hair frizz out of its braid. Betaul could get warm in the late spring, but since there were always breezes from the sea, it never felt this bad. And it was night now. How much worse would it be during the day?
At least her moon blood had come and gone while they were at sea. Wearing those wool rags on board the ship had been bad enough, and wearing them now would have made this humidity even more unbearable. The galleon had seemed so grand when they had begun the voyage, which was the very first sea voyage she or Pamela had ever taken, but all kinds of inconveniences had quickly revealed themselves, discomforts that she could not believe her father willingly tolerated during his spring and summer patrols. Tabitha had not actually gotten sick like Pamela, but she had had cramps, and she had barely been able to sleep. The inn last night had been only slightly more comfortable. Tabitha simply had to conclude that she did not like traveling.
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