She took up the next page. This one was both discreet and daring. There was no date, no salutation. If not for its place in the sequence, there would have been no knowing what it meant.
I will arrange to deliver this into your hands secretly as you requested, though I cannot like to do so. To my vow of devotion you answered that men’s words are like the blooming of a rose: soon withered and forgotten. Since you will not believe what is written in my heart’s blood, I set out this pledge in mere ink. I have written to my mother declaring that I will not take vows this year. Whether I take them at all depends on you. If you will not have me, God may receive what remains. When your dancing year is complete, if you are still of the same mind, I will speak to your father. But I think it more likely that the salles of Rotenek will offer you greater temptations than my poor promise. More than this I cannot pledge, for I will do nothing to bring your name into disrepute. Neither will I bring blame on the good Sisters who have you in their keeping. There has been nothing improper between us but no one would believe that if I speak before the season is complete. If these words suffice, then I will remain in hope until we meet again.
What a mix of caution and passion! And on what was it based? There were a few clues in the letters. A journey together under the watchful eyes of her parents. A day in company at a festival with the nuns as vizeino. But from the allusions, this must have been written as summer was coming on and Lissa was at the end of her schooldays. It was unexceptional for those of the manor and village to attend services at Saint Orisul’s if they chose. More than one romance had been fed on nothing more than smoldering looks and a word in passing under public eye. More than half a year? And how long did it take to know my own heart? Barbara thought. One month at most. But if Lissa and the baron had both formed the attachment at a time when no other vows bound them, where had it all gone wrong? She reached for another letter.
When Margerit came in, Barbara asked, “So soon?” then looked up to notice that lamps had replaced daylight and saw the reminder of the untouched tea tray on the table by the door. She had been only vaguely aware of the comings and goings that accompanied them.
Margerit came to lean closely over her shoulder and ask, “The casket?”
“Letters,” Barbara confirmed. “From the baron.”
“Oh.” There was a world of wonder, curiosity and patience in the one word.
Barbara shuffled them back into a single pile and pressed her cheek against Margerit’s hand where it lay on her shoulder. “Do you mind waiting?” she asked. “I don’t…I’m not ready to—”
“Of course.”
“No secrets,” Barbara said quickly with a reassuring smile. “But I’ve barely started looking through them and…and I need time to think before I talk about it.” She looked up. “In what I’ve read so far, your mother shows up rather often. I wouldn’t keep that from you.” She smiled at the eager interest in Margerit’s face and closed the lid of the casket once again. “Is it time to dress for dinner already?”
At Margerit’s nod, she rose.
* * *
An invitation to dine with Lord and Lady Marzim always meant a noisy and cheerful affair, as long as there were no guests from outside the family to cast a veil of formality over the proceedings. But that was rare, as the Pertineks’ notion of family was generous and encompassing and tonight was no exception. Barbara recalled that it had been scant months into her first season in the title before she had been included within that circle, as if truly a cousin-in-law. And as Lady Marzim refused to banish politics to the men’s after-dinner brandy, Barbara felt no surprise now when her host leaned across his dinner partner to ask, “Will you be attending the sessions next week?”
She laughed. “I’m not yet so bored with life that I’ll be joining the graybeards in their debates. If I’m needed for a vote, someone will let me know.”
“I would have thought you might have a special interest in Chormuin’s bill.”
Barbara cast about in memory. “I’d heard he was slipping something in right when everyone’s eager to finish before Holy Week. I thought it was just a matter of regularizing how evidence is presented in the courts. I may have studied the law, but I’m not likely to be allowed to practice. What special interest could I have?”
“There’s a new clause added. He proposes to exclude the duel. Hadn’t you heard?”
“Outlaw dueling?” came a woman’s voice from the far end of the table. “That would make half the young men in Rotenek felons!”
“Not duels of honor,” Marzim explained. “Only judicial duels. Now what do you think of that, Saveze?”
Without even thinking, Barbara answered, “It’s long overdue. Duels of honor are another matter. Just as a man has a right to defend his body against attack, even though he fails, so too he’s obliged to protect his honor, even if lies prevail. But judicial duels should have no place in a civilized world.”
Several heads near her turned in surprise. “And yet you challenged that Chazillen boy,” another man said.
Barbara frowned and glanced over at Margerit, but she was turned away, chatting with her neighbor. She tried to find the right words. “To invoke the duellum iudicialis is either the act of a bully or a desperate man. I’d prefer to think that I was desperate. But if Estefen had accepted, would it have made him any more guilty because I was skilled with a blade? No, let judgments be based on truth. And if there isn’t enough truth, then find more truth, but there’s no truth in the point of a sword.”
Lord Marzim had a look of satisfaction, as if a deal had been struck. “Then I will see you at the sessions?”
She smiled ruefully. “I suppose you might. My first sally onto the field of debate!”
* * *
Having made her decision, there was a great deal of research to do in the days that followed. The volumes of legal commentaries that she’d barely touched in the past two years gave forth the history of the matters under debate—the ordinary revisions as well as those concerning the duel. If she were to make her maiden speech, she didn’t care to look a fool even in the smallest of details. And, too, attending the sessions was sure to mean a chance to encounter Elisebet with little remark from anyone. It would be good to finish up that question about Chautovil before then.
She gave Tavit a day’s notice of her intentions and was surprised when he asked, “The Red Oak again, or perhaps Filip’s or the Cavern?”
He grinned a little when she raised a brow quizzically. “Marken said that it might be good to be familiar with the university quarter.”
It seemed that Marken said would become a regular part of her life. “The Cavern, I think. But since you have some time to spare tomorrow, go see where Dozzur Basille’s students go after his lecture—the older ones that seem to know each other. Not the well-born ones; they wouldn’t be interested in this sort of politics. And not the quiet, bookish ones; they wouldn’t have time for it. Don’t be too obvious; wear something ordinary. Your old clothes will do if you still have them.” She watched him store the instructions carefully away. “Questions?”
“No, Mesnera.”
He should have had questions, but let him find his own way. “When you have time, start learning your way around the palace. You’ve heard my plans? So start with the area around the Assembly Hall. Take one of my cards and show it to the page at the gate. He’ll pass you along to the right people.” And when he looked dubious: “The palace is just another grand house. They deal with this all the time.”
“Yes, Mesnera.”
Tavit was doing well enough so far. Marken’s only comment after the first few days was, “He keeps himself to himself. I like that.” But Marken’s tentative approval showed in the hints and advice that left their traces in Tavit’s work.
* * *
The Assembly Hall was rarely filled during debates of the sessions, certainly not in the way it had been for the succession council. Even attendance for the votes didn’t come close, unless the matter stirred
serious passions. Yet it was crowded enough to require a long glance to find an empty space among suitable company. Tavit leaned closely to ask, “Will you want me to remain, Mesnera? Or should I return later?”
It took a moment to recall that he hadn’t been steeped in the rituals of the palace as she had. She nodded toward the benches along the far wall. “Over there. I don’t imagine you’ll find the speeches interesting, but I always found it a good opportunity to study people.”
He hesitated before going to take his place and asked, “Mesnera? Who attends these sessions?”
She looked at him curiously. Did he have an interest in politics? “The titled lords, the bishops, the great lords of state, a few of Her Grace’s ministers, the mayor of Rotenek and those of the other larger towns. The generals, though they usually fall within one of the other groups as well. But never all at once. I doubt one in five has an interest in the day-to-day matters. I certainly don’t.”
“Then a well-born man with property but no title—he wouldn’t attend?”
“Not these. The common sessions, perhaps.” Ah, now light dawned. “Your last employer,” she asked. “Who was he?”
Reluctantly, he gave a name. The family name was familiar, but not the man. “No, I don’t think you need fear meeting him here. Not unless there were some matter that touched directly on his lands or family.” Now she was curious. Whatever that bad business had been, did it still follow him here? But he offered no further clues and she let the matter lie.
The morning’s session was nothing to the point of why she had come but she wanted the lay of the land, as if she were still an armin scouting out a new venue for her charge. At the midday break, as the others spilled out into the Plaiz to find refreshment in the cafés, Barbara saw her chance for a quiet word with Princess Elisebet. In Aukust’s day, Elisebet had often been his representative to the sessions. Perhaps she continued attending out of genuine interest, or perhaps only for the appearance of interest. If I were her, Barbara reflected, I’d want to make it clear that my concerns in government went beyond the needs of the moment. But Elisebet’s strategies were rarely that long-sighted, so perhaps the interest was genuine.
Barbara’s report was short and to the point but Elisebet’s questions kept her long past the interval, when she could have made other use of the time. As she returned to her seat, resigning herself to a grumbling stomach, a footman intercepted her with the information that Her Grace wished a quiet word.
Annek was sitting at a small table back behind the dais, taking advantage of the time to deal with a stack of petitions that sat at her elbow. She paused with pen in hand as Barbara approached. “My cousin seemed to have a great interest in what you came to say,” Annek began. “I was hoping you planned to share your opinions more openly.”
“That was nothing to do with the debates,” Barbara replied. “A personal matter.” And then, because there was no reason to conceal it and every reason to avoid the appearance of doing so, she added, “I was conducting a bit of investigation for her. It seems there are rumors that Chustin’s tutor is a secret republican.”
“And is he?” Annek asked with an amused look.
“Not secret, no,” Barbara said. “But neither is he a zealot. He seems harmless enough.”
“I can’t believe that was the only thing that brought you to the Assembly Hall today.” Annek had no need to demand answers directly.
“It seems I have opinions on Mesner Chormuin’s bill.”
“Ah, I was hoping that was the case. May I ask in which direction those opinions lie?”
It took no special knowledge to guess where Annek stood. Her father’s long reign had left a waiting tide of modern ideas. Though Aukust himself had been forward-looking, he’d lacked the energy to help see them through and Elisebet had always favored the conservatives.
“I support it,” Barbara said quietly and without elaboration.
Annek nodded. “I’ll see that you have a chance to be heard.” She had no direct power to dictate the proceedings beyond the voice given by her own minor title-lands, but unlike Elisebet she had the knack of quietly guiding others to want the same things she desired.
The afternoon passed without that chance. No matter. Three days’ debate was scheduled and halfway into the next morning’s session Count Amituz, no doubt at Annek’s prompting, brought his arguments around to the suggestion that it would be well to hear the opinions of those who had acted under the laws they proposed to abolish. As if by cue, Lord Marzim rose to say, “I believe Baroness Saveze would be worth hearing on this matter.”
Barbara rose when recognized, her heart suddenly pounding. A moment’s reflection on the last occasion she’d spoken formally in this chamber returned a sense of calm. She wasn’t fighting for her own life or for Margerit’s this time. The worst that could happen would be to stumble and look foolish. She sifted through the histories and arguments she’d assembled in the past days and found the place where her thoughts wove into the debate as it stood. She was acutely aware of how she stood out among the throng, both for her youth and her sex. But that had been the case too many times in her life to be daunting. She took a deep breath and began.
It was, at the last, harder to find a place to end than to begin. The words poured out in an easy stream, as if she were arguing philosophy with Margerit back home in the library. From the corner of her eye she saw nods, frowns, whispered exchanges, but she kept her eyes on Annek to focus and saw there only approval and gratitude. It felt as if she’d been speaking for hours, but when she looked at the clock as she sat down, a bare fifteen minutes had passed.
The remaining speeches that day gave no sign whether any heed had been taken of her remarks. But when the summaries came the next afternoon, Lord Chormuin included the best of her arguments among his own, with a look and a nod to acknowledge them, and in the end the vote went his way, not easily but solidly. It was only the beginning, of course. The clerks would spend months drafting up the proper language; then would come the private negotiations to change a word here, a clause there. The commons would have their chance at amending it. The final approval might not come for another year when the approaching close of the sessions once more brought pressure to bear. That, too, she remembered from her years shadowing the baron.
As she followed the others out into the Plaiz to wait while carriages were summoned and sorted out, she accepted a quiet word of congratulations from Lord Marzim and nods of acknowledgment from several others as they passed. But when the crowd had dispersed, the stout figure of Baron Mazuk approached her, demanding a word in a more querulous tone. From the corner of her eye she saw Tavit taking a watchful stance and looking around. Softly, she thought, this is all part of the game. She remembered it well from the old baron’s time. Mazuk was clearly looking for a quarrel—why, she had yet to determine.
“I would have expected better from you, Saveze,” he said, “but you seem to make a habit of neglecting responsibilities until it suits you. Your father certainly knew the value of challenge and response in keeping the law.”
Was this only about her belated interest in the session debates? “My father,” she answered quietly, “had the wherewithal to buy the steel to make his case. That alone made his arguments strangely persuasive. But it didn’t always make them just. And I’m not my father.”
“No, you aren’t.” He snorted. “Just? If you were accused, would you leave your fate in the hands of some burfroi magistrate?”
“When I was accused, I had far more confidence leaving my fate to the law than to the arena.” Technically, she had been accuser, not accused, but it didn’t change the argument. “If the evidence were clear and the law were fair and I knew he wouldn’t act from fear or favor, then yes, even to an ordinary magistrate. We live in a modern world now. Leave the duels for ancient stories.”
“And what else do you plan to do away with in the name of your modern world? Swearing on relics? The truth-finding mysteries?”
Neither of
those had fallen under Chormuin’s bill, but it was a fair question.
“The mysteria veridica are a more difficult matter,” Barbara said. “They have a valuable place in the hands of a skilled and talented practitioner, but can every judge distinguish that from a charlatan?”
“Like that Sovitre woman?”
His question came so quickly on the heels of her own words that Barbara couldn’t guess which of the two labels he’d meant. Was he merely being dismissive or openly insulting? She knew she’d bristled because she saw the reflection of it in Mazuk’s armin. She gripped tightly to her rising temper. Into the heavy stillness that had fallen between them, she heard Tavit’s voice at her back, speaking lightly as if an idle question for her ears alone. “Perhaps I’ve misunderstood, Mesnera. The bill, it was only to ban duels of law, not those of honor, yes?”
Barbara’s eyes narrowed and she stared down the baron, while answering in the same casual tone, “You understood correctly.”
Mazuk’s face turned red and he glanced at his own armin who shook his head almost imperceptibly. Armins had their own code, as Barbara knew well, and they hated to shed each other’s blood for mere spite or clumsy words. He would be bound to answer any insult raised against his employer, but he had more leeway if it were Mazuk who gave the insult, and that sign had told the baron he might have to defend his own ground. Mazuk cleared his throat. “Ah, yes, in the hands of a skilled practitioner like Her Grace’s thaumaturgist, we can agree, I think, on the value.”
“As you say,” Barbara said icily and turned away before her own temper broke through. She felt, rather than saw, Tavit at her back as she spotted her carriage and headed for it briskly.
The Mystic Marriage Page 24
