“Write to her, Tabitha,” the duke said. “Tell her she can ask a favor of you. So many other people will be asking favors of you, and she at least has some right to it.”
“Your Grace,” Beatris said quickly, “Jenevive never received the letters we sent to her all spring. She did not know we had written to her.”
“I will deliver it personally,” the duke said. “And since I need to visit Cuan Searla, I will deliver Lady Marjorie’s letter personally as well.”
“Thank you, your Grace.”
The duke did not speak for a while, leaning against the back of his chair and frowning at nothing. Lord Daniel coughed, and the duke nodded his head toward the door. “Tabitha, you have some letters to write,” he said, not looking at her. “I think you had better get started.”
Please don’t hate me. It’s not my fault!
Upstairs in the sitting room, Mistress Florain set up the writing desk for her with paper, pen, ink, and sand, and brought her some tea. “Dandelion,” she murmured as she set the cup and saucer by Tabitha’s elbow. “Lady Sorceress.”
She was the first one to call Tabitha that, and Tabitha felt it like a jab in the stomach. She sat at the desk for a long time without writing anything. Her life was changing forever and she did not even know exactly how. What was Lord Natayl truly like? What was Maze Island like? She did not even know her cousin Isabelle. What was she like? What would the days be like? The nights? The other sorcerers, the magi, the enormous city in the middle of the world?
Would she have friends there? Would men court her there? Or did a sorceress have no friends, no suitors? No family?
Eventually, she started writing the letter to Jenevive, because it was the shortest and easiest. She pretended that Jenevive was not married, that their last conversation had never happened, and that she simply wanted to share her good fortune with her friend. That led into the letter to Marjorie, which was more difficult. But it, too, became easier once Tabitha started to pretend that Marjorie was not imprisoned in a cloister. She wrote that she intended to use her new powers to help everyone she could and that she also intended to visit Marjorie soon. Marjorie would understand, just as Jenevive would understand. They had all been like sisters once.
That thought led to another. She opened the desk drawer and took out the box of playing cards that Jenevive had designed. Jenevive had always insisted that she had not drawn the characters on the cards to look like any of them, but Pamela had always insisted in turn that the Sorceress card looked like Beatris. Tabitha found the card and studied it, as she had before, and while she decided that it did not look like Beatris, it also did not look like her. She had never wanted the Sorceress card to look like her. The Queen. The Princess. Never the Sorceress.
She struggled with the letter to the Patrisses, and she ended up crumpling the first sheet entirely and starting again. They needed to understand from this letter that the new sorceress was not asking for their cooperation, but required it. But it would not be good to be too heavy-handed. And of course there could not be a single error in grammar or punctuation, or with the mode of address or any other point of etiquette. She ended up asking Mistress Florain’s opinion several times before she finished.
She held the metal stamp with which she had always sealed her letters, a stylized swan ringed with daffodils. She was not simply the Duke of Betaul’s daughter anymore. What would her new seal look like?
Such a tiny detail. Such a huge change.
The letters sealed, Tabitha gave them to Mistress Florain. Only a few moments after she left, Lise arrived in the sitting room, carrying a silver tray covered with letters. “What are these?” Tabitha asked.
Lise dipped a curtsey, and sunlight from the window gleamed on her forehead. “These are for you, m’lady.”
Tabitha gaped for a moment. “All of them?”
“Yes, m’lady. These all came in since you got back from the palace.” Lise set the tray on the table, then drew two more letters from her apron pocket. “I wanted to be sure these weren’t lost in the shuffle, m’lady. This is from his Majesty the king.” She held one letter out to Tabitha.
Tabitha did not want to take it. “Put it with the others.”
Lise hesitated, then did so. “And this one, m’lady.” She extended the other. “This is from her Majesty the queen.”
The queen? Curious, Tabitha accepted the second letter and turned it over to break the seal. But then she saw that the seal was not the reindeer of Pravelle, but the polar bear of Jasinthe.
They want to talk to me. She knew that the Jasinthe magi did not get along with Lord Natayl. This might be an overture from them to her, the new sorceress, because of course they would not want to continue their feud with her. Tabitha could not help smiling at the thought of the plump queen swallowing her pride to write this letter.
Tabitha handed the letter back to Lise. “Put it with the others as well.”
Lise did, but said, “M’lady, the two messengers are still downstairs. The king’s and the queen’s. They got here at almost the same time. They both said they’re supposed to wait for your answer. Your answers.”
“Then why did you not bring their letters to me before now?”
Lise dipped a curtsey. “So sorry, m’lady. Your father the duke said I shouldn’t disturb you.”
Father made them wait. I will make them wait longer. Make them wait all day! They deserve it, after how they have treated us. “I will answer them later.” Perhaps after supper. Or after breakfast tomorrow.
“Yes, m’lady. M’lady, your father the duke also told me to say that he requires your presence in the garden.”
He wants to talk to me. He was just upset before. It’s all right now. “Where are the messengers waiting?”
“In the main foyer, m’lady.”
“I will use the back stairs and the side door, then.”
The route brought her out the servants’ door at one end of the garden. When she saw the hedge, she jerked to a stop.
This was where Nicolas had fallen last night.
She could not move. She had attacked Nicolas with her magic, and she had killed him. Just like she had attacked Alain with her magic, and she had killed him. Sorcerers were supposed to heal, not kill. Had Lord Natayl ever killed anyone with his magic? The stories about Sorceress Iseult, at least, repeated that she never had, but Tabitha already had.
And why did her father want to join him here? Did he know? But what would he know? She had told him what had happened, just not all that had happened, but she had told him Nicolas had fallen here. He knew that Nicolas had been lying dead right here. Why send her here except because he was angry at her? He was blaming her for everything going wrong. He did hate her. He hated what she was, everything she was.
Tabitha did not want to walk past that hedge.
“Tabitha?”
Her head snapped up at her father’s voice. He was coming around the bend in the garden path, frowning. He started to speak again, then looked where she had been looking. “My God, forgive me. I was not thinking.” He strode forward and gently guided her hand to his arm, then hurried her past the hedge and further into the garden. He did not slow his steps until they had reached a point near the center, at a paved area with a bench and a birdbath where Tabitha and Pamela sometimes spent afternoons. “Sit, sit. Forgive me. Are you all right?”
Tabitha shook her head and sat down on the bench. Her father watched her anxiously for a while before saying, “You have had some shocks over the last few hours.”
“But I did it,” she whispered, shivering, hugging her arms to her chest. If he wanted her to admit it, then she would admit it. “He fell because of me.”
“You were defending yourself. It was not your fault. None of this is your fault.”
She lifted her head to meet his eyes and saw that he meant it. The worry and helplessness creasing his face were so strange, so raw. He really did not blame her.
He could never hate me. It had been absurd for h
er to ever doubt him.
She took a deep, settling breath, and then sat straighter, more properly, with her hands in her lap. “Lise told me about the royal messengers.”
Her father nodded, his face relaxing a little, then glanced toward the main entrance to the mansion. “I have not seen them leave yet.”
“I thought we should make them wait longer.” A reflexive stab of nerves overcame her, and she blurted, “Should we? Should I?” They were the king and queen, after all, and insulting them was never wise.
“Make them wait as long as you like,” her father said with grim pleasure. “You are beyond them now.”
“But you are not.”
“They will not do anything to me. Othot will inherit, so the king has most of what he wants.” He looked at her, and his expression softened. “And, of course, if they did do anything to me, I expect you would exact retribution.”
The idea that she would be protecting him now was as strange as anything else that had happened to her over the last day. But he was right. She would exact retribution. She had killed two men with her power already, without even knowing what she was doing …
What was she thinking? Was she already planning more murders? What was wrong with her? Was she as callous as the king?
God can see you even when I can’t, young lady. Nan had said that. But was it true? Tabitha had whored herself to two men and murdered them, but instead of being punished, she was being rewarded with magic power, long life, and unlimited riches. What did that mean?
“Did Lise give you all the other messages?”
“Yes. Lord Natayl must have told everyone as soon as we left the palace.”
“I think the king did.” Her father made a noise of disgust. “I think he suspected something that night at the Renauds’. That would explain why he acted so strangely.”
Tabitha had not thought of that. After she had pretended to faint, the king had dropped her hand like it had burned him. Like her power had burned him.
“Right now,” her father said in a growl, “I am trying to decide if Lord Natayl means to insult us by not making a formal announcement and instead letting the gossips carry the news.”
Why would Lord Natayl want to insult her? “Either way, all of Tiaulon must know by now.”
“Indeed.” He held up yet another folded paper, very similar to all the others that Lise had put on the tray. “This is the only one I opened. Look at the seal.”
Tabitha took the letter and inspected the red wax, which had been carefully lifted from the paper instead of broken. The imprint was difficult for her to recognize. Was it two crossed staves? Two crossed pikes? “What is this symbol?”
“Two crossed shovels.” Grim amusement shaded his voice again. “I expect the fancy paper and the seal was meant to camouflage the message with all the others coming across our doorstep today. I doubt the shovel-men seal all their messages this way.”
“The shovel-men? The heretics?”
“Read it.”
To Lady Sorceress Tabitha de Betaul,
We wish to congratulate you on your recent ascension. You are now as powerful as you are beautiful.
We ask for a meeting with you so that we may speak of our cause. We fear you may not have a favorable impression of us, and our leaders wish to correct any misconceptions. We hope you are amenable to this, and, in anticipation, we plan to make contact again when you have arrived at your new home on Maze Island.
Your father made us certain assurances the night you arrived in Tiaulon. We entreat you to remind him of these and to encourage him to do right by us.
May Lord Abban bless you.
With all respect from our leaders.
Tabitha looked at her father. “You really did make them ‘assurances’?” She did not remember what her father had told the heretics blocking their way in the Candle Ward. She had not really been listening. All her attention had been focused on her prayer that the heretics would let them pass.
Her prayer? No, her spell.
He shook his head. “I assured them of nothing. I said what I thought I needed to say to get us out of there, but I made no promises and I told no lies.”
“Do you want me to meet with them? When they send me another message?” The idea made her nervous. She knew she would be meeting with many, many people in the near future, all of whom would want something from her. But this was different. These were heretics, violent, untrustworthy men, and they wanted her on their side.
“I would very much like to know what they think I promised them. If you can get that out of them, I would appreciate it.”
That sounded like a short meeting. “I will, Father.” She tried to hand the letter back to him, but he waved at her to keep it. She folded it up and held it in both hands, peering at the seal. Now that she looked closely, she could make out the squared-off shape of the shovel blade on each of the two crossed sticks. The red wax seemed ordinary enough. It was the same color as that used by the Pravelles, but many of the noble houses used that color.
“You are one of the most important people in the world now,” her father said, with a sad smile. “Then again, you always were.”
Tabitha nodded. The heretics wanted to talk to her. Maybe she could get them to stop what they were doing. Stop the fighting near the White Sea. Stop challenging the Theocracy.
“Tabitha, there is something else I need to discuss with you.”
She looked up. His arms were folded across his chest, and he was turning in a slow circle, surveying the gardens and the front of the mansion. Within the hedges screening them from the street, there was privacy from the city, and no one could be in the gardens without everyone else in the gardens seeing them. Her father was obviously making sure they were alone.
But he took a long time at it, and Tabitha finally said, “Father?”
He jerked his head around, but did not look directly at her. “Forgive me,” he said gruffly. “I don’t want anyone to hear us. That is why I wanted to talk out here.”
“What is it?”
He still did not look at her, and there was another long pause before he answered. “Othot will inherit Betaul.”
She grimaced. “He is probably already drunk.” She had heard that that was how he celebrated.
“Unless …”
Tabitha waited. Did her father want her to kill Othot? Of course not. Of course not. It was wrong, and Othot’s death would not even help. Some other very distant relative would become the heir, and while it was hard to imagine anyone more objectionable than Othot, such a person might exist. And even if the new heir was a perfectly fine gentleman, his loyalties would be to his immediate family, not to the Betauls.
Her father did not continue, and she finally repeated, “Unless?” He would never ask her to kill anyone. She had to believe that.
“Unless I have a son. But you have doubtless heard the rumors.”
No one had actually repeated the rumors to Tabitha, of course, but she was older now, and she knew what the veiled references and cautiously chosen phrases meant. She could not help scrunching up her face in disgust. Fortunately her father did not see it because he still was not looking at her, and she understood why. A father never spoke to a daughter about his impotence.
But she was not just his daughter. She was the sorceress.
“No one actually knows if the rumors are true, of course,” he added.
Except my former stepmothers, she thought. But one was dead and the other was a cloistered holy sister, so neither counted anymore.
“They are true. I have tried many things to solve the problem.” He had apparently decided to be blunt, because blunt or delicate, this was embarrassing for both of them. “Medicine from healers, therapies described in books, old folk remedies. But nothing worked.”
Tabitha thought about what to say. “Do you think magic will help?” she finally asked as matter-of-factly as she could, trying to sound like Beatris talking about cures for hemorrhoids.
“It might.�
� He shook his head. “But I don’t know. Charms did not. There was a maga that I hoped … she … that did not work either.”
She did not know what to say. The fact that her father, her father, had turned to charms, to a maga, for help with this problem was too disturbing for words.
“Your mother …” He stopped. His arms were still crossed over his chest and he stood tense and immobile.
“You told me that my mother helped you with many difficulties,” she said carefully.
“Yes.”
If her mother had helped her father through this in order to conceive Tabitha, she must have been very patient and very kind. And then she had died. Tabitha pitied her father so much in that moment that it embarrassed her even more, and she covered it up with a question. “If you need magic, why not ask Lord Natayl?”
Her father snorted like a horse. “The Lord Sorcerer would take great pleasure in laughing in my face and telling the story over a hundred supper parties.”
He was right. She never should have suggested that. “Forgive me,” she said, lowering her head. Her hands twisted together in her lap, her fingers lacing and unlacing, wrinkling her skirt. This was so awkward. Her father thought she was still a virgin, but not very many hours ago, Nicolas had been doing to her what her father could not do to women.
I can’t think about that. I can’t think about that!
“The truth is,” her father said eventually, “I can’t trust anyone except you.”
No one had ever said anything like that to her before. The weight of it was heavy, until she realized that he was only saying out loud what had always been understood. They were the only Betauls. Together they held the honor of their house and history, and she wanted that house and history to continue as much as her father did.
The Betauls were Thendalia’s first kings. They had built this kingdom. Her family was the guardian of Thendalia’s shores and the steward of its mines. Her father had repelled the Khenroxans at Cuan Searla and had destroyed the pirates in the Gulf. All Thendalia owed him a debt of gratitude. His bloodline could not end here.
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