by Amelia Brown
Luveday drew their attention having listened to Beatrix as she continued reading the documents. “Leah has other startling news to impart.” All eyes turned to her; she looked to Beatrix who she feared would not take what she was about to say well. “There is another letter, only a year or so old, while the others were penned only a month or two after Leah learned the truth.” She paused, and all eyes turned to the boy.
Benedict gasped, and Grayson grunted as they realized the heir had been present all along.
“Some months before the Battle in the north, not long after Lord Titus’s death, Leah overheard Sterling make some comments to his men.” Beatrix shook her head and moved away slowly as if she didn’t want to hear any more. “I am sorry,” Luveday whispered. “Leah is sure that what she heard implied that Sterling had Titus killed and made the death look like the act of bandits. The priest confirms in his note that the Lord’s death was odd, that no body was ever found, only his bloody cloak and sword, his horse and belongings were found days later. Many had suspicions about the likelihood of the unprovoked attack.” Luveday looked up. “Prim believed that Leah had heard true, which was why they added this to the parchments.”
Grayson turned deep in thought. “She was a clever woman to write all this down.”
“Prim says that Leah hoped that one day she would see the heir returned to his rightful place, and her part in this would be forgiven.”
“It was my hope as well,” Beatrix whispered. “The lady’s anger towards the boy only grew as he did. The more he looked like Titus, the angrier, just the sight of him, made her. I fear something was not right in her mind or her heart.” The tears the woman shed were real.
Luveday wondered how much the woman must have loved her friend and lady to show such loyalty despite all else. She could not say she had done right, but Beatrix was only a servant, and as the other woman had fervently whispered to her, she had only wanted to protect her lady; sometimes even from herself.
“That is the gist of the writing,” Luveday said. “I think the priest must have illuminated manuscripts in his youth for the penmanship is so flourished it is almost hard to read.” Handing over the six pieced of parchment; she gave Benedict a look. “Leah must have thought to give them to us, before…” she didn’t finish but looked to Artair.
Grayson moved to crouch before the bench that Luveday and the boy shared. Artair watched him with sharp eyes. He was not sure how much the boy understood, but the older man was certain alot was about to change for the boy. “You did well young man.” Grayson’s large bulk was almost level with the boy’s gaze. “I would like to clasp the hand of the young man, who bravely helped My Lady.”
The boy straightened in his seat and scooted forward a little to grasp Lord Stern’s arm. In one quick movement, the man swept aside the cloth covering the boy’s dirty left arm. Once again, Luveday looked down with the thought that she would scrub him from head to toe at the first opportunity, but she saw a mark on the boy’s forearm that was too dark to be dirt. Angling her head, she met Grayson’s gaze as he let go of the boy with an affectionate pat on the head. Luveday marveled for a moment. What were the chances that the birthmark Leah and the priest had alluded to in the letter would be shaped like a rose with leaves?
It was easy to catch the nod Grayson gave his friend before Luveday looked to the grinning boy. “You were very brave, Artair.” The light left the boy’s eyes as he whispered for his mother. “You will have to be brave a while longer.” She said, and he nodded taking on an expression she thought too stern and knowing for a boy of his years.
Claudia was buried in a quiet ceremony only two days later. Her body was taken from the courtyard to a chamber off the kitchen where she had been cleaned and dressed and prepared as was befitting of a lady. Villages and servants lined the small chapel as the priest from Kern Abbey made an impromptu service having arrived unexpectedly that morning baring documents for Lord St. James. Luveday thought the words were simple and heartfelt though she couldn’t judge from the atmosphere surrounding them, she thought that many were grateful that their Lady was receiving her due weather she was deserving or not. While many had seen the scene before their lady had fallen to her death of her own accord, many pondered whether it was suicide or an accident. While many talked of the former in hushed words, several strong voices suggested it was an accident caused by strong winds atop the roof and that no one could have saved the lady. Luveday took a different approach and was satisfied with their silence on the matter. She truly believed that Claudia had not been in her right mind and that her actions were not really of her own doing. Thus, this service was justified in the eyes of the church and people not for the woman she was, but for the woman she had once been. Several things had come to light in the last few days, and Luveday pondered them in the back of her mind, keeping her thoughts to herself.
Artair stood by her side, dressed in simple but fine clothes and as clean as a well-washed boy could be. He fidgeted, and Luveday looked down to whisper, “Almost done.” He quieted and took her hand in a gesture that had become all too familiar in the last days.
“May all blessings go with you.” The priest intoned the last line of what Luveday had begun to think of as their version of “Amen.”
They walked back to the Hall in silence as Luveday looked around. For some reason, she had thought that Leah, if she were able, would appear amongst the gathered people, but her now familiar face was not there. After reading the letters to Grayson and Benedict in full, Luveday thought she understood the woman a bit more and guessed that part of the kindness she had shown the lost lady, had been in part for the daughter Leah had lost years ago.
As word spread of Artair’s parentage, the boy became a curiosity to many and stuck beside Luveday like a lost puppy. How she wished she could promise him that Leah would return, but deep down Luveday wondered if the woman hadn’t disappeared to make this transition easier on the boy in some ways.
“I think it best we journey to court and tell the King ourselves,” Luveday suggested as they sat before the fire in the great hall. A repast was served in the garden, per Luveday’s wishes. It seemed that a reception was not something they practiced, but the food was appreciated and may gathered to ease their grief which was all the lady had hoped for.
“I don’t…” Benedict started.
“She is right, St. James.” Grayson used his surname to gently remind of his station. “The missive we sent will not satisfy him. It would be best he hears it from the Lady. After all, she is the one he sent.” Another reminder that his friend didn’t take so well.
“Artair will come with us.” The lady stated. It was not a request.
“Momon?” He asked suddenly appearing at Luveday’s shoulder.
Luveday looked at him. “No news of her yet, Artair, but the men can search for her while we are gone.”
“And perhaps she will be back when you return.” A man offered, and Luveday glared at him while she tried to remember the knight’s name. Failing that, she glared harder, and he had the decency to look chagrined. She had told them they would not give the boy false hope and pretty words to distract him from his loss. It would only be worse if Leah were not found or was not found alive. As days passed, she could not help the doubts and fears and knew that what little she did for the boy were only momentary distractions.
“Really?” He looked almost eager at the thought.
Luveday didn’t have the heart to answer and so the deep “Perhaps” came from Lord Stern. Luveday gave a slight nod to the man.
A moment of silence fell over them as Artair returned to play with a cat near the hearth. “Can you be prepared to leave on the morrow?” Stern asked. “I can leave a few men, and Benedict as well,” the latter nodded in agreement. “Word has gone out, and Sir Henry Navarro should arrive this afternoon.” The man would be devastated by his lady’s death and more so by the tragic details they would soon impart.
Luveday tore her gaze away from the boy. “Aye, we’ll be ready.”
Chapter 19
“My patience has dreadful chilblains from standing so long on a monument.”
~ Elizabeth Barrett Browning, Letter to Mary Russell Mitford, 1836-1854
King Edward, the Third of Anora, watched her a moment, unblinking atop his throne. Queen Augusta sat beside him, stiff with a hand pressed to her middle and looked between Luveday and the boy at her side several times. Luveday had finished her tale, and the reactions of all present were similar to that of the royals before her.
Luveday missed the informality of the royal chambers and tried not to stare at the nobles gathered around her. The court had cleared except for two dozen or so, the majority of their numbers made up of the Lords most loyal to the King. A few of their wives were included in the group, but there were not enough women to soften the hard line of warriors.
“And you say, this is Lord Titus’s heir?” He asked a moment later. “Come here, boy.” Artair went without much hesitation and proudly displayed the birthmark that was the trademark of the House of Pillar of Briar’s Gate. The King looked at the boy who looked uneasy but held his stare without fear. He had seen the proof for himself after hearing their tale and receiving letters from Lord Stern who had returned home, the priest who had spoken rights over the lady and a message from Beatrix, whose words Luveday had neatly copied verbatim as Stern had insisted. “You may go back to the lady.” He said after a thoughtful moment.
Artair returned to her side with a small smile. They had talked about what might happen before the King and Luveday had schooled the boy in etiquette as best she could over the ten days it took to return to court.
The royal couple exchanged a look that communicated volumes, but Luveday couldn’t decipher its meaning. Augusta smiled kindly down to the pair before them. “You may retire to your room while we think over this issue.” The Queen looked to a servant who stepped out to show their guests the way. “And once you are rested, Lady, I am sure that the princes are eager to see you again.”
Luveday bowed and left Benedict with a look as he stood off to one side. There was a lot of floor to traverse behind their guide, but Luveday was not sure she had the energy for it. They had barely had time to settle their mounts before they were summoned before the court to account for their time on the coast. Now all she wanted to do was rest.
Luveday heard the knocking at her door, but her groggy mind couldn’t remember where she was or why the noise was important, so the harried servant burst in before she could pull her wits together and get off the bed. The small frame tucked up against her atop the bedclothes stirred a little, then opened his eyes. Artair looked so small for his six years that it sometimes broke her heart.
Exasperated, the servant looked at the two of them, humped and said in a crisp, clear voice, “Their royal majesties wish to speak with you in their private chambers.” Luveday scooped up the sleepy boy and carried him as they made their way from one side of the castle to the other where the royal chambers were located separately from the wing which housed their guests. Luveday was hoping that they would return to the informality and comfortable room she had first met the Royals. She was not let down.
Luveday took the familiar chair at the end of the table, Artair sat in her lap, his head nestled against her breast, sleeping soundly once again.
The royal couple shared an unreadable look, and Luveday secretly wished that she had a husband that she might speak to in such a fashion where words were unnecessary. Queen Augusta smiled that maternal smile at Luveday and nodded to the boy. “He need not stay, Lady Luveday.”
Luveday was loathed to let go of him. “He will sleep through our talk.”
The King nodded and let the boy remain.
“It is no surprise to you that your letter and the turn of events this last fortnight was not what we had expected.” The Queen started, but the King almost laughed at her understatement.
“Indeed.” He said sarcastically and looked to Luveday with one arched brow.
Luveday didn’t know where to begin, so she said what was on her mind, not entirely sure how wise that might be. “I assure you I did not imagine I would be sitting here with the lost heir in my lap and a slew of trouble behind me. Sterling had not crossed my mind in several months, and I had hoped never to see that man again.”
The King glowered and shifted in his chair at the mention of his enemy. “We too had hoped the next time his name was spoken in our presence that it would be to announce his death, preferably by the Wolf’s hands, but alas.” The King wrapped sharply on the table only once as a sign of his anger.
Augusta sighed and covered his fist in a loving gesture. “Alas, it is not so.” She looked to Luveday. “I believe there are some things that Lord Stern has left out of his letter.” Luveday looked confused by this, having known that the Lord has added some private message to the parchment that he had sent to court, but she had not been curious about its content until that moment.
“Such as, Your Majesty?” She asked in confusion.
The King answered. “Stern thinks you have an eye for detail and may have learned something of the woman’s nature or illness before you left the coast.”
Luveday looked startled. She had been thinking about many things since that horrible day on the tower roof. Her bruises had healed, but her heart still felt raw. She had kept a lot of her observations to herself, but on more than one occasion she had caught Stern looking at her thoughtfully. Perhaps he had seen more than she thought. “While Lord Stern and Lord St. James put many of the puzzle pieces together, I found some other interesting bit of news that may or may not explain Lady Claudia’s illness.” They only looked at her expectantly. Luveday swallowed, licked her lips nervously and continued. “The work to make perfume could not be stopped for long, and Beatrix along with another head woman, took up work in the absence of Lady Claudia and Mistress Leah.”
“The woman is still missing?” The Queen asked.
“Yes.” Luveday looked at the sleeping boy in her arms and shifted him slightly without waking him. “While I oversaw a bit of the work, I also found that the lady had been doing some work of her own.” The couple looked confused, and a bit intrigued by this news but didn’t interrupt. “In one of the sheds, which I was not allowed into before, I found Claudia’s private workroom. It was set up much like a healer’s workroom, with exotic plants and equipment to mix and brew any number of…”
“Potions… brews…” the couple finished for her.
Luveday nodded. “I spent several hours in the room trying to see if I could discern Claudia’s notes and find what she was studying.” The look of interest grew keener. “While I wasn’t able to find out what her purpose was, I was able to look at some… trails she had done in the past and found some very troubling things. Some of the plants and spices she used were brought from overseas. Several of which were poisonous. Many could be the cause of her illness, having dangerous effects on the mind and temperament.”
The King asked a logical question, one she knew had been coming but was not entirely sure she wished to answer. “Do you believe the lady was aware of these effects?” Both royals had a hard look in their eyes.
“I am sure that she did, as she made notes of where the plants originated from and what she could learn about them. It seemed that she paid a large sum of coin to have them brought to her. Claudia was changing doses, adding small amounts to perfume and lotions.” Luveday took a breath. “While I am sure that the plants are deadly, from what I could see, she was trying to distill them in such small amounts that they would not be harmful to anyone who used them. It is true that while poisonous, many of the plants have healing qualities in very small doses.”
“You believe she didn’t intend to brew a poison for her lover to use?” The Queen asked cautiously.
Luveday had thought the same upon learning about the workroom and the experiments that Claudia had been running for years, but the fastidious nature of the woman had pointed to a scientific mind, not a murd
eress. Though that had clearly changed, Luveday would have called Lady Claudia a chemist if she were born in her modern world, but she didn’t know how to explain that to the two before her. “Lady Claudia left a journal, her notes though not complete, suggest she was looking for an edge. Something new that would make the perfumes of Briar’s Gate the envy of the world, not just the talk of court. Somewhere along the way, something changed, but I don’t believe she ever thought of brewing poisons for Sterling or using her skills to harm others.”
“Not even this burning potion she made?” The King scoffed.
“She did write about that. It was an accident. She poured together some things that should not have been mixed and found that the brew made her metal rods brittle and burned to the touch. She was later able to recreate the incident but thought of using the liquid to etch metal or glass, and to dissolve minerals to add to her brews.”
“And what do you believe happened to the lady’s mind?” The Queen asked.
Luveday looked at them both. “She was not as careful as she should have been. The workroom was dark and hot, and I think she handled the more dangerous plants improperly.” A look passed between the couple again, and they nodded for her to continue. “Claudia began her trails a few months before she found out she was pregnant. Many of the things she procured are dangerous when ingested, but they are also harmful if they come into contact with the skin. She limited her exposure to the poisonous plants, but I believe that over time the effects built up in her system,” she saw their confusion and tried to clarify. “It’s like filling a pale, a drop at a time. A drop doesn’t seem like a lot, a drop of water is so small it might seem like it would make no difference, but if you were to add a drop each day, or each hour, how soon could you fill a pale.” Light dawned in their expressions.
“And she worked for years…” The Queen said to no one in particular.
