“I don’t know what you mean,” Margerit replied stiffly, though in truth she suspected she did.
“First you encourage her to disregard her parents’ wishes. Then you tempt her with worldly power from a talent that should belong to God, as your own should belong to God. And when she falls from grace—as she will—then you will be waiting, won’t you?”
She made it sound so…so hateful. And she meant to. But was Marzina so wrong? Yes, I want Valeir to defy her parents’ expectations and seize the chance to use her talent for some greater purpose. And yes, if I must stand ready to catch her if she falls, I will. But it was the other matter that she couldn’t let pass. The ugly shadow that lay between them.
“Marzina, do you remember what you said that day we first met? You told me that when my mother came looking for a miracle to be granted a living child, you created the mystery using Mesnera Arpik’s pregnancy as part of the structure. You said you knew that Barbara and I would share a destiny. How can you be so sure this wasn’t the destiny we were meant for?”
For a moment Marzina hesitated, as if remembering that long-ago day, but then her face hardened again. “The Holy Virgin would not have granted your mother her miracle only to let sin and filth into the world.”
Margerit’s mouth trembled. But she had stood alone in Saint Mauriz’s cathedral working a mystery out of thin air when her life depended on it. And she had dared to lecture Archbishop Fereir on his own ceremonies. She could defend herself to one mean-spirited nun. “No, the Holy Virgin would not have granted a miracle to bring sin into the world. And yet She answered my mother’s plea. And in bringing me into the world, She brought me to Barbara. And there I have found the closest thing I have known to divine love. Perhaps you should think on that.”
There was no purpose to staying after that. Marzina might send for her again if there were a puzzle in need of assistance, but she knew they would never return to anything resembling friendship.
* * *
On an afternoon when the summer storms were sweeping down the valley and all sensible people stayed indoors, Margerit came out of her studies to find Barbara dressed in riding clothes and with a brief apology on her lips. “I know we’d meant to go over the accounts to make sure they’re ready for LeFevre’s review, but I’m called away.” She laughed lightly, but it sounded forced. “Another mysterious stranger passing through, sending me secret messages by name.”
Margerit could hear the tension underneath. “Who is it now?” There was no glint of humor in Barbara’s eye this time and she pleaded, “No secrets.”
Barbara frowned and bit her lip. “There was no name on the note, but…” She took a folded paper from inside her waistcoat and handed it over.
Margerit skimmed through the opening lines. “Barbara, how are you meant to read this? ‘To a true friend of the Atilliets’ or ‘to a friend of the true Atilliets’?”
“I don’t think that was mere clumsiness. The writer chose that ambiguity carefully. Read the rest.”
There was little enough to puzzle out: a meeting place, a suggestion of matters of importance to Alpennia, a caution for secrecy, and no signature but the letter K. That alone narrowed down the possibilities greatly: not an Alpennian name nor yet French or Italian. “Kreiser?” she asked.
Barbara hesitated, then nodded. “That would be my guess, but why to me? And what does he intend?”
Margerit suppressed her first impulse to beg her to stay home. “You’ll only know if you meet with him. Be careful.”
“You needn’t tell me that. Don’t wait dinner for me, I may be late.”
Margerit wasn’t concerned when Barbara hadn’t returned by dinner, nor even when dusk fell and there was no commotion in the yard signaling her return. There was no need to worry. She had Tavit with her and these were her own lands and her own people. But night drew in and the possibilities spun through her imagination, chasing off sleep. Yet sleep must have come at last, for she woke again to a single candle lighting the darkness and the sound of Maitelen helping Barbara undress from clothes that had failed to keep out the driving rain. When they were alone together and the candle blown out, she chafed Barbara’s limbs into warmth again as the story emerged.
“I’ve let myself be caught up in a dangerous game,” Barbara began. “You know those little errands I’ve been doing for Princess Elisebet?”
Margerit nodded, then realizing the darkness hid her response, said, “Yes, that matter with Aukustin’s tutor, I recall. Were there more?”
“More than I cared for,” Barbara said. “This and that. It seemed harmless at the time. But now…” She paused with a deep sigh. “It seems that Kreiser’s master has given up hope of arranging an alliance through Efriturik and has set his sights on Aukustin instead.”
“What do you mean? Chustin isn’t old enough to be making alliances.”
“But he’s old enough to be betrothed. Kreiser never said it in as many words, but he asked me to carry a letter to Elisebet, and I think it concerns a possible marriage to one of the emperor’s daughters.”
Margerit thought it over. “That doesn’t make any sense. There’s no certainty at all he would inherit. It seems an odd investment for such a powerful family.”
“Not an investment, perhaps. They may view it more as ensuring Aukustin’s future.” Barbara shifted in the bed and Margerit imagined she could see her lean, expressive hands gesturing in the dark. “Efriturik’s connections to Austria are seen as a liability, but for Aukustin a connection could be an asset. Powerful friends. A counter to the return of French power.”
“But why would he think that you would help?” Margerit asked.
A long pause. “Elisebet has always mistaken my neutrality for support. She must have said something to him that led him to believe…”
“Then what will you do?”
“I’ll burn the letter.”
Margerit felt a shiver run through her. Barbara’s arms closed tightly in response. “Will that be enough?”
“He’ll receive no answer. Elisebet will receive no offer. Perhaps they’ll let it be.” But it didn’t sound as if Barbara truly believed it.
“You need to tell her. Tell Annek. Take the letter to her, whatever it is.”
A sigh. “I know. But what if Elisebet is innocent in this? I don’t want to make more trouble between them. What if I—”
“Is it your choice to make?”
Another sigh. “I don’t want to leave you for so long. I could be a month on the road—I don’t even know where Annek is at the moment.”
Margerit’s heart sank. Despite her urging, she wanted there to be some other way. But she heard capitulation in Barbara’s protests. “We can talk more in the morning,” she said. “It’s late. Sleep now.”
But when she rose in the morning, she found Barbara already giving orders for the journey and setting the household in order for her absence. “Margerit, I’ve told Cheruk to come to you for any decisions he’d need me for. And if LeFevre comes before I return, you know more about the accounts than I do. In any case, if Kreiser tries to contact me here, you know nothing, only that I’ve left on an errand.” She turned to call over her shoulder, “Tavit, go see if the horses are ready. And remind the groom to send someone later to fetch them back from the staging inn.”
“You aren’t taking the traveling coach?”
“And announce myself at every change of horses? No, I daren’t even wear my usual riding clothes. I might as well send a trumpeter ahead of me crying, ‘Here comes the eccentric Baroness Saveze!’ I’ve asked Maitelen to find me a better disguise. Let’s go see what she’s turned up.”
When Margerit descended the stairs again a short time later, it was in the company of a dapper young man in tall hat and riding breeches. She struggled not to laugh at the dismay on Tavit’s face when he met them at the door.
“So, do you think I’ll pass well enough for a man?” Barbara asked. “You’ll need to do most of the talking, I’m afraid, but
we’ll go less noticed.”
“Mesnera, I don’t…” Words failed him.
“Oh, it’ll serve well enough among strangers,” Barbara assured him. “It has before. People see what they expect to see.”
“Yes, Mesnera.” He recovered himself quickly and amended, “Yes, Mesner,” as he took the small traveling bag that Maitelen handed over and went to secure it to the saddle.
“I fear I’ve scandalized my armin,” Barbara said grinning, and leaned down for a long farewell kiss.
Margerit held her tightly until their parting could no longer be delayed. “Be safe. Come home to me as soon as you may.”
And then she was alone.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Jeanne
Jeanne stepped back and leaned against the workbench as Anna closed the furnace door and locked it in place with a clang. The fire added to the fierce summer heat and she felt sweat running down her face but didn’t dare to pull a handkerchief out until she’d washed.
Antuniet looked over at her. “Tired?”
“Oh, no,” Jeanne said. “Just enjoying the moment. I think this is the time I like best: when everything is in place and we’ve done all we can and there’s nothing left to do but wait.”
Anna laughed. “Nothing for you to do!” True enough. She’d be tending the furnace all through the heat of the afternoon, making sure the fire stayed intense and steady for the most important stage. Anna continued, “I prefer the preparations: mixing and measuring and setting everything out and ready.”
“What about you, Antuniet? What’s your favorite part?” Jeanne watched her closely, wondering what she would choose to reveal.
Antuniet pursed her lips in thought. “It would have to be when we tip the matrix out of the crucible and crack it open to see what we’ve made. Nothing else counts beyond that.”
Jeanne stood idle for several more minutes as Anna started tidying up the room, then she stripped off her gloves and apron and called out into the front room for Marien to bring water to wash. The summer had been one long moment like this: a space to breathe and wait for possibility to ripen into hope.
All along the road back from Chalanz, she had rehearsed over in her mind what she would say. How she would explain. What she should apologize for first. But in the end, standing on Antuniet’s threshold the day after her return, she had said only, “What do we work on today?” and walked in before there could be any protest. That first week had been tense, with all that was left unsaid echoing between them. She had long practice in wearing masks and Antuniet had refused to be the first to speak of it, and so they both pretended that nothing had changed as old habits returned. But though they still tiptoed around what lay unspoken, everything had changed.
“Do we need to prepare anything for tomorrow?” she asked Antuniet as she, too, washed the dust and grit from her arms and face.
“Tomorrow is nothing but picking the stones out of the matrix and cleaning them. I know how tedious you find that.”
It was true, Jeanne thought. The endless tink-tinking of the tiny chisels drove her to distraction and the whole was entirely too much like workman’s labor. “I could read to you while you work.” That, too, had become a habit: mostly going over extracts from DeBoodt that Antuniet had translated, but sometimes she brought the Parisian gazettes and once—to Anna’s poorly concealed delight—the latest novel. Antuniet had scoffed at that but let her choose what she would.
The work was more meticulous now, more subtle. They hadn’t the range of roles to test many new recipes, but there were small improvements to be made, changes to develop the purity and brilliance of the stones. Antuniet had taken one brief, passing suggestion DeBoodt made for cibation: growing the stones as a pearl grows, layer on layer, refiring each cleaned and polished drop with fresh materials. The technique showed promise, but failures flaked and shattered like ill-tempered glass. Antuniet thought the temperatures were the key: too low and the layers failed to wed, too high and threads of slag were trapped beneath, destroying the purity of the stones.
The next morning the pale straw-gold of the gems emerged slowly from the embracing waste. Antuniet took the first to come free and tapped it gently then more sharply with a small jeweler’s hammer. As one, they all let out a breath of relief when it stood firm and whole. “A good lot,” Antuniet proclaimed, slipping the stone into the waiting pouch and taking up her chisels again.
The second crucible was nearly finished by the time it grew too hot to work. Jeanne paused in her reading to dab a handkerchief across her forehead before the sweat could run into her eyes. There was a reason why society fled Rotenek in the summer. Baking heat settled into the bones of the city. It was impossible to look one’s best or even to appear vaguely presentable. She tucked the handkerchief away and would have continued, but Antuniet sat back and declared, “That’s enough for now. It’s well past luncheon. I don’t think I could manage to eat a bite, but perhaps we could find something cool to drink and take it up to the riverbank and try to chase a breeze.”
Jeanne had been thinking the same herself, but she’d let go of directing other people’s lives for now. That was part of the summer’s calm. She closed the green-bound book and handed it to Anna to be locked away. “Antuniet, do you have a blanket we could take to spread on the river wall? Marien will be scandalized if I sit on the bare stones in my good clothes.” Today she’d left behind the plain gown she wore for the dirtier work. Standards were important, even in midsummer.
There was a zigzag path down from the street that paced the riverbank to the tie-ups at the water’s edge, where rivermen waited for passengers. They found a spot on the low parapet halfway down where there was some shade and a hint of a breeze coming off the water. When Marien began ostentatiously shaking the blanket out over the rough-cut stones, a group of workmen moved over to make room for them with a touch to their caps. They made a rustic picnic of it there in the middle of the city, sharing a loaf from the bakery and passing back and forth a bottle of cider, bought from a tavern on the way, as if they were factory women.
Rotenek was not entirely devoid of Society, of course. They watched as a pleasure barge slowly worked its way past against the current, under the power of four sweating oarsmen. Jeanne raised a hand to the figures lounging against the cushions at the front. They called and gestured to her to join them but she waved them off and turned back to Antuniet as a snatch of song drifted out over the water. “I think this is the first holiday you’ve taken all summer. If this swelter holds, perhaps we could take a boat down past the docks and out to Urmai. There’s a lovely public garden there and we could come back by the evening mail coach.”
“You can’t keep from planning something,” Antuniet said, but her tone was teasing rather than impatient.
Had she come even that close to joking? Step by step, day by day, Jeanne thought. And then she smiled as an image came to her. Layer by layer: neither too hot nor too cold.
“Was I so amusing?” Antuniet asked.
“Not you. I was thinking…of how pleasant it is just to be here.” With you. But it was too soon to say that. Layer by layer.
The heat settled in for two more days. Another ceration was out of the question. By the second afternoon they’d exhausted the preparations that could be done without fire and left Anna studying in the workshop to spend the entire afternoon walking slowly along the river from the Pont Ruip up to the old city walls and back. “Does it worry you,” Jeanne asked, “to leave Anna alone like that?”
“She isn’t alone; Mefro Feldin is there and Petro is usually in and out. And Anna knows not to unlock the door to strangers. There’s nothing to worry about like there was last winter.”
“You dismissed the men Margerit hired to keep watch.”
A shrug. “There was no point in keeping them, really. Not once Kreiser was gone. Margerit was the one who wanted them here. And I…well, there was no point in keeping them tied down over the summer.”
And yet their presen
ce must have provided some reassurance. “What are your plans?” Jeanne asked, to change the subject. “To refine the techniques, yes, and then to perfect more of the formulas. But when will it be ready? What do you want to present?”
Antuniet looked around as if for eavesdroppers. Did she fear spies on her work? Or was it only her usual caution? But no one was taking the same leisurely pace they were. There was little chance of being overheard unwittingly.
“I think…by early October. When I’ve had time to apply our improvements to some of the more complex formulas after we have more help again. I want…” She fell silent for a while, as if she’d never put the matter into words before. “I want to give Her Grace something useful, something to make the land stronger. To bind loyalties, to increase wise decisions, to make our soldiers braver and our ministers more eloquent and persuasive. The properties are all there; it’s just a matter of putting them to good use. It will be for her to choose how to use them, but I need to prove that I offer something real. Something of value.”
“Something to pay your brother’s debt?”
A sour and angry look fell across Antuniet’s face. Jeanne wondered just what had lain between the siblings.
“No,” Antuniet said at last. “That can’t be paid. Something to remind the world that Estefen was not the only Chazillen. That one man should not blot out the honor of an entire line. Jeanne, there’s nothing I can do of any worth in this world except this one thing. There’s nothing else for me to live for.”
“I don’t believe that,” Jeanne said softly. “And you shouldn’t either.” But there was no response and they walked on in silence.
The day had cooled to a more bearable temperature by the time Jeanne returned home. As Tomric relieved her of her bonnet and parasol, he said mysteriously, “You have a visitor.”
Visitors, surely, she thought on entering the parlor, for the two men were dressed in similarly plain traveling clothes. Then with a glad cry and an embrace she recognized Barbara beneath the disguise. “Whatever are you doing here like this?” She stood back to encompass the outfit with a wave of her hand.
The Mystic Marriage Page 29
