He was taken aback, as if expecting a duel of wills. The edge of challenge in his voice retreated. “You know the wharves. Do you truly think they’ve been tricked on board and taken?”
Jeanne could see hope and truth warring in Barbara’s face. “An even chance, I think. Better than even if nothing worse happened.”
Efriturik nodded. “Then I’m for Iser. Charlin?”
His friend nodded grimly. “The moon will be up soon. Iser is closer by the coach road than the river. With a few swift changes of horses we should beat any barge that left after noon. And with that and luck we could bring them back before dawn.” All the ways the plan might fail were left unsaid.
“I’ll cover the Nikuleplaiz and the docks,” Barbara countered. “If there’s news to be found, I’ll follow it.”
Jeanne lingered until the last of the rescuers had scattered to their tasks. The room echoed hollowly as Antuniet made the final adjustments to the furnace mechanism. She had ignored it all. “Toneke?” Jeanne said at last. “Would you come home with me tonight?” Antuniet looked up and hesitated, as if calculating the next day’s tasks against the moment’s desires. It was hard: to lay this need before her after the weeks of setting her desires aside. “I’ll lie awake fretting all night,” Jeanne offered. “It would be easier if you were there.”
“Of course,” Antuniet said, as if there were no question.
But there had been a question. And when they were rolled in each other’s arms later, skin pressed to skin, Antuniet’s lips sought to erase that doubt with fervent hunger. Jeanne longed to respond as the attention deserved but at last she said, “Toneke, just hold me tonight.” She could feel Antuniet stiffen beside her. “No, no, there’s nothing wrong. I’m worried, that’s all.”
“Tio!” Antuniet made it an oath. “What has she ever done to deserve your concern?”
Jeanne rolled the question around in her mind. “She reminds me of myself when I was young.”
Another rude noise cut through the dark. “You were never that selfish or heedless.”
“Oh, but I was. You didn’t know me then; you wouldn’t have been out of the nursery yet.” Jeanne winced at the reminder of the years that stood between them. There was so much of her life that Antuniet didn’t know. “I was so unhappy. And I’d found that virtue paid me no return, so I tried other roads. Tio at least has the grace to know that she has no right to be unhappy. So she walks along the parapet of a bridge, hoping and fearing that she’ll fall into the flood to be swept away.”
There was silence for a time, then Antuniet said, “I nearly threw myself from a bridge once, but I never expected all the world to dive in after me.”
Jeanne turned and buried her face in the angle of Antuniet’s neck. “And yet for your sake, I would have drained the river dry. You needn’t be jealous of her.”
They slept at last. It was still full dark when the distant thud of the knocker broke the night.
Fearing as much as hoping, Jeanne struggled into her chemise and dressing gown while Marien came in with a lamp. “Stay here,” she whispered to Antuniet when she would have risen as well. “I don’t know who it is and there’s no need to add that fuel to the rumors about us.” She bit her lip, recalling that she hadn’t meant to worry Antuniet about the gossip.
Tomric was before her to the door. She hadn’t thought to warn him, but he’d had sense enough not to keep the unexpected visitors waiting on the stoop. Jeanne hurried down the last few steps and rushed to throw her arms around the slight figure wrapped in an oversized greatcoat. “Tio! You’re safe!”
She was answered by a muffled sobbing against her shoulder. Jeanne looked past to the second figure in the doorway. “Mesner Mainek, what of—”
“The other wanderer is safe too,” he said. “Efriturik took Aukustin to the palace. Vicomtesse…see to it that your friend is known to have been in Rotenek yesterday and this night. In Rotenek and in your company.”
Jeanne’s mind leaped past his words to their meaning. “So Efriturik is to take the blame?”
A nod. “I’ll leave you now and take the news to Saveze. Say as little as you can manage until the smoke has cleared and we can see what fires still need to be quenched.”
“Thank you,” she said to his departing back.
With the door closed again, she gave Tionez a shake. “Enough tears. We have work to do if you mean to keep your reputation from tatters. Marien, could you go ask Maisetra Chazillen to come down? And Tomric, some tea in the breakfast room, if you can.”
There was at least an hour before dawn and she intended to have a plan by then.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Barbara
Looking back, Barbara was grateful that the threatening storm had waited until after their late-night adventure to begin in earnest. Snow had started falling in the afternoon and by the next morning lay heavily on the cobbled streets and drifted against house walls. Though it continued to fall, Brandel returned from his early-morning expedition across to the stables with the news that there was no reason their ride need be postponed.
She smiled at the enthusiasm of youth. “I’ll hold to my promise,” she told him, “but not so far as we’d planned. Just out the Port Ausiz to the fairgrounds. That will be far enough for the horses to settle down and sufficient space for your lessons.”
Even that shortened plan seemed doomed when a liveried messenger appeared just as the household was dispersing to the day’s plans. He presented a crisp note sealed with a simple but unmistakable “AA.” So. No need to guess what it was about.
Barbara looked up from the unfolded paper to Brandel’s disappointed face. “My promise must be postponed, I fear. Or—” She looked to where Tavit stood waiting. “I don’t suppose you’d be willing to cede your place to Brandel this once? We’re only going to the palace so it would all be kicking your heels in the galleries in any event.”
Tavit bowed slightly. “As you wish, Mesnera.” It was only the dignity of rank that called for attendance there at all.
“Go change your coat, Brandel. Quickly. The good one.”
She calculated her appearance. With the streets in unknown state it still made sense to ride rather than to bring out the carriage, but perhaps a proper habit rather than breeches. She could only guess what Annek’s mood might be.
The ride over was a litany of instruction, until Brandel seemed petrified at the responsibilities of his post. Good. Mistakes were harder to correct than overformality. She left him waiting in the long gallery with strict orders to speak to no one unless addressed and to assume that anyone who did so was a mesner unless told otherwise.
She was ushered into the small, dark-paneled parlor: the one Annek used for private business, though that meant nothing in itself. After the briefest glance of acknowledgment, Annek continued reviewing the papers handed to her one by one by the dark-suited secretary who stood at her side. Barbara composed her mind to read nothing into the wait. She had learned that game from the old baron. There had been times when he had kept her standing for an hour until he deigned to give instructions. From what she knew of Annek, this was no game of wills, only the tedious ordering of a busy schedule. But she had no doubt of its effectiveness on those less accustomed to patience. The secretary was sent away at last, confirming that this was to be private business.
Annek sat back, folding her hands on the table before her. “You have been busy of late, Saveze,” she said.
Barbara nodded. No need to give an answer until there was a question.
A pause, as if to see what she would offer up. And then, “What do you know of this business with Aukustin?”
She had her evasions rehearsed. “I know the gossip that sped about the city yesterday.” She chose her truths carefully. Efriturik had stood by his story and she would follow his lead as she was able. “It’s said that your son thought it would be good sport to show his cousin around the wharves at the Nikuleplaiz and that they ended by mischance going downriver for a space and
didn’t return until well after midnight.”
“You know this,” Annek said, daring her to overreach.
“I have heard it said,” Barbara offered.
“And I would guess you know it for a lie,” Annek said. “You know as well as I that my son was on the palace grounds all that day. If alchemy has taught him how to be here in Rotenek and on a barge to Iser at the same time, that’s a great mystery indeed. My cousin chooses to believe the story for her own reasons. I’m more interested to know why it was put about at all. If my son’s name is to be dragged in the mud once more, I would know the purpose.”
“Have you asked your son?”
“I have,” she said. “And now I’m asking you.”
The pause that followed was longer than Annek’s patience. She snapped out, “My father, of blessed memory, once said a thing in your presence. Perhaps you remember? The truth, unstintingly.”
Now the resemblance to the old baron was stronger. In his time, that tone of voice would have brought her to one knee in instant obedience but she had the dignity of Saveze to uphold now. So she only curtseyed deeply. “Your son is protecting the reputation of a lady,” she began.
Now that startled her. “A lady?”
“One of Elisebet’s waiting women who helped the boy slip out. She meant no harm by it, but she had no sense either. Mesner Atilliet took the blame on himself because that would be believed and no one would question further.”
Annek raised a brow at that, for clearly she had questioned it. “The lady’s name?”
There could be no holding back. “Perzin. Tionez Perzin.”
The name seemed to mean nothing to her.
“Her husband is with the embassy to Paris.”
“I see. Perhaps I should recall him to keep a closer eye on his wife.” But it had the tone of sour humor rather than decision. Annek sighed and frowned. “Efriturik has put me in a difficult place. If the story stands, I must be seen to disapprove.” She sighed again. “He may keep his secret chivalry.”
Barbara thought the interview might be at an end, but just when she expected a dismissal, Annek asked, “What of that other matter of Efriturik’s?”
“Your Grace?” She received that look again that warned her not to pretend to ignorance. This time there was no other reputation to protect. “Some information came into my hands regarding a…a friendship that might be misconstrued: some letters to a lady—”
“Another lady?”
“A different one. I believe she’s the sister of one of the Austrian attachés.” She gave what other details were necessary to satisfy Annek’s command and concluded, “I arranged for the letters to be returned to their author.”
“Baroness Saveze,” the princess said at last, “in the future, I would ask that you consult with me before you take such measures to defend the name of Atilliet. I forgive the past for your good intentions but you take too much on yourself. Perhaps you could trust that my judgment might be as good as yours.” The steel of the message belied the delicacy of her words. “I know your history, Saveze. You could be a useful tool, or turn in my hand and cut me. Don’t give me reason to blunt your edge.”
Now Barbara did sink to one knee to beg forgiveness. “It was never my intent to set my will against yours.”
“Get up, get up,” she said impatiently. “Don’t turn this into a tragic drama. I might have expected women to cause trouble for my son, but I hadn’t expected it to take quite this form. Perhaps it isn’t too soon to think about a bride for him: some girl strong-willed enough to take him in hand, with an impeccable Alpennian pedigree and not too many ambitious relatives.” Annek eyed her speculatively. “I don’t suppose you have any plans to marry.”
There was a perilous question! Barbara was caught off guard and knew she shouldn’t have been. An unmarried woman who would bring one of the oldest and most respected titles in the land to the match? Did she say no and give the impression she was available? But she could hardly imply there was a suitor in the wings without being asked to produce one. “I think perhaps Efriturik would prefer a bride younger than himself,” she ventured.
“He will take the bride I choose for him,” Annek said sharply. “And it will be someone I can trust at his side on the throne: a woman with sense, not some pretty face. My stepmother was pretty enough in her day, and see where that’s brought us. Alpennia would be the better if my father had chosen someone with brains instead.”
It was a mark of her mood that she called Elisebet stepmother and not cousin. Barbara waited patiently until Annek shook her head and waved a hand, as if to dismiss the path of her thoughts. “Now tell me: this project of Maisetra Chazillen’s—do you think it will succeed?”
The change of subject once more caught her off guard. “I’ve seen the work. It has succeeded already, and little enough remains to be completed. She will succeed.”
“I’ll be curious to see what comes of her art when it’s had time to work.” She frowned again, more thoughtfully this time. “I know what your cousin wants, but it can’t be done. I will not reverse my father’s judgment against the Chazillens. That would lead to his every act being questioned. What sort of woman is this Antuniet?”
That was a dangerously unbounded question. “I’ve had little enough opportunity to know her. My father…There was bad blood between the families, you know. You’d do better to ask your thaumaturgist.”
“Maisetra Sovitre might give me a less guarded answer but I think you are the better judge of character. Tell me plainly: if I fail to offer what she wants, what will she do?” Annek stared at her intently with the eagle gaze inherited from her father.
What would Antuniet do? “A year past…I don’t know. But she has ties now that would make it difficult for her to leave Rotenek, I think.”
It seemed to be answer enough for the moment but Barbara’s heart sank. Antuniet had staked all her hopes on this chance. She thought of pleading on her cousin’s behalf but it was a poor time to ask for favors. And then the audience was truly at an end.
* * *
Christmastide had crept upon them unawares, with only the Advent services to mark its approach. Somehow Antuniet’s project had infected the entire household at Tiporsel, even at several removes. All attention was focused ahead to the New Year’s court.
In past years, Margerit had known the dull disappointment of her Uncle Fulpi’s refusal of her invitation. She had been particularly hoping for her cousins to visit, Barbara knew. It should be a time for family, but instead it was when Margerit most felt the gulf that had grown within hers. Barbara had briefly considered reaching out to the Chamerings but it would be too great a journey for them. And they were strangers still; this was not a time to add complications to the household.
Yet Tiporsel’s bench in the cathedral was well-filled for the season’s services and mysteries and Barbara felt something close to familial pride when glancing past Margerit down the row of worshippers. The Pertineks, of course, that first and most essential addition. Brandel, who was every day becoming more woven into their lives.
What she felt when her eyes lighted on Antuniet was more complex. The invitation to join them here had been accepted immediately and without comment but always there was a distance, a holding back. With Antuniet came Jeanne, slipping easily into any gathering, as always. And now the most recent addition: Maisetra Talarico, still too much a stranger in Rotenek to have found a regular home for her worship. It was not a family like other houses, but more of one than she had known before in her life. What was it Antuniet had called it? Her saliesin. Yes, that fit.
Next came the frantic lull between the mysteries of the Nativity and the spectacle of the court at the year’s turning. Antuniet’s work was all in other hands to finish and Barbara found herself idle, when she most longed for distraction. That distraction came in the memory of an unfinished debt. She hadn’t meant to let weeks pass before she returned to the question of Langal’s purpose. It was time to close that book.
> The last time she had approached Langal’s house, she had been following one of his shadows up the narrow lane in back meant for servants and deliveries. This time she came in state in the carriage adorned with her crest, and an armin to precede her and rap on the door, demanding entrance. And if any passersby took note and speculated on the state of her finances because of the visit, she was content for them to draw mistaken conclusions. For all that the house stood in a respectable part of town—a neighborhood where money could buy the chance to rub elbows with good birth—the interior was as different from its neighbors as a cart horse from a thoroughbred. Langal had no wife that she could recall hearing of and evidently no need or desire to impress his clients favorably with comfort and beauty. Not squalor—far from it—but more a tradesman’s office than a home.
Barbara could see enough hesitation when she entered Langal’s presence to guess that he wasn’t accustomed to rising in respect for his guests, no matter what their station. But rise he did, nor did he offer even a pretense of suggesting that Tavit wait in another room. Barbara made a show of inspecting the available chair before settling into it. Their encounter would be rife with playacting; they both knew it and she thought perhaps Langal was enjoying it. His message about Efriturik’s difficulties might have bought him a hearing, but that was all. She still remembered vividly that night on the bridge with his men: the attack, her wound and what had come after.
“You have business to discuss with me,” she began bluntly. “But I can’t imagine what it might be. All that was concluded three years ago when I came of age and you lost any claim over me for Arpik’s debts.”
He sat as well and settled his beetle-browed face into what was meant to be an inviting expression. “No, I freely confess you owe me nothing now. Not even this meeting. As it happens, it was to offer you something that I asked you here.”
It was easy enough to show no curiosity. Barbara waited for Langal to explain, looking idly about the room. Her first impression had been somewhat mistaken. There were a few touches of comfort and luxury here: a portrait by Helez of someone other than its present owner, an ornately inlaid clock standing tall in the corner. They had the air of being a pawnshop’s contents rather than the furnishings of a stately home. She continued to wait. He would come to the point in his own time.
The Mystic Marriage Page 43
