“Go.”
When they led Antuniet out, she locked the doors behind her as if it were the end of an ordinary day and placed the key in the hands of the guard. He took it with a sheepish expression; his face was familiar, though she couldn’t have put a name to it.
So it had come to this at last. Sorcery. She could almost laugh. There was nothing but science in what she did, despite the odd trappings used to invoke the greater powers. Sorcery, but not treason. No, of course not. Although it was everywhere implied. And conspiracy. There could be no conspiracy without conspirators and without one conspired against. And who could that be except Aukustin Atilliet? Conspiracy against an Atilliet should be treason, but treason was a charge that could only be heard in the royal court. And they wouldn’t risk letting her slip through their fingers the way Efriturik had.
It was well on toward evening before she had visitors in her little cell. For hours she had wavered between expecting them to all come in a cloud as they always did and expecting no one at all. But in the end it was only Barbara, with her armin left outside when the guards insisted the rules allowed only one visitor each day. One visitor and ten minutes. Barbara looked worn and tired and fumbled through an unaccustomed apology.
“This is my fault, I’m afraid.”
Antuniet felt a laugh burbling up in her throat and suppressed it only because hysteria would waste precious time. “Your fault? Of all the people entangled in this, you are the last person who bears any blame. How could it possibly be your fault?”
“When I returned yesterday, I went to Elisebet—with Annek’s consent—to tell her that we’d traced the stones and could prove Efriturik’s innocence.”
A tiny flutter of hope sprang up in Antuniet’s breast, but it was not echoed in Barbara’s grim face.
“It was foolish, perhaps, to think she might back down now, but I hoped at the least to plant some doubt. To ease the way for her to save face. But justice means nothing to her now. She’s set on vengeance. She still wants to pursue Efriturik, even with his case in the royal court. She will claim that it’s favoritism and not truth that saves him. She demanded that I be her champion and challenge him in the duellum iudicialis. And when I refused, she took her revenge by charging you as well.”
Antuniet stood and began pacing. “Don’t flatter yourself so much, cousin. She would have come to this in any event. She needs blood, and if she can’t get his, she’ll have mine, because mine is the only blood that makes sense given the charges. What does it matter that I mean nothing to her? Pride must be satisfied. But you say you traced the stones past Feldin?”
Barbara hesitated for too long. Did she fear listeners? Well, no doubt they were there. “You needn’t mention names. Can you get testimony? Will it clear me?”
“The man is dead,” Barbara said. “Feldin worked at the bidding of a man in Elisebet’s household. I knew him from her description. He died this morning and it was no accident. I didn’t think…I never named him or described him when I spoke with Elisebet, but—” She dropped her voice so low that Antuniet had to stop and lean closely to hear. “—Sain-Mazzi was there. No one could have known who the traitor was except the one who gave him orders. It was her; I’m sure of it. From that moment, he was a dead man. I might as well have done the deed myself.”
Sain-Mazzi. Yes, that might almost make sense. “And Feldin?” she asked anxiously. Was it all slipping away?
“Safe, for now. She’s held at the palace. We can be sure of her testimony for Efriturik. That will still be given under the veriloquium, but you’re to be tried by the city magistrate. He bears no obligation to admit testimony from another court and he’s already refused the use of truth mysteries. There’s no telling if Feldin will give him the same tale.”
The fear curled in its familiar home in her belly. “Then I’m condemned.”
“No!” Barbara protested.
“Feldin doesn’t matter,” Antuniet said. “They have all the evidence they need for sorcery. When the stones are presented in court, the work of my own hands will condemn me. And Feldin? Even if she tells the truth, no one will believe her. They’ll say she lied out of fear of you or from loyalty to Annek. And all the light of Margerit’s pretty little mystery won’t penetrate the walls of that courtroom.”
“If we could get your case transferred to Annek’s court—”
“But you can’t. They’ve avoided all charges that would be heard there. Efriturik has the right of birth to appeal, but I don’t. I lost that with everything else when Estefen was executed. I have nothing except the law and the evidence. And the evidence will betray me.”
Surely Barbara had considered all these things as well? Antuniet had failed so utterly. Instead of redeeming the name of Chazillen, she had brought this additional stain to it. She ceased her pacing and sank to the hard wooden bench.
Barbara sat close beside her. “Antuniet, I won’t abandon you, even if all hope is gone.”
“And isn’t it already?”
“If there’s no other way, I will stand your advocate.”
Antuniet caught the meaning behind her words. “But you told Elisebet—”
“I wouldn’t betray my principles for Elisebet, but I would for you.”
For the first time since the whole matter had begun, Antuniet felt tears start in her eyes. She dashed them away with the cuff of her sleeve and turned her face away. “But why?” And when there was no answer, “I don’t know that I would be strong enough to forbid you. Thank you.”
“There’s a better way,” Barbara said, “though I don’t know if you would take it. If Annek agrees…But I don’t want to raise your hopes…”
* * *
After Barbara was gone, the hours ticked by, measured by the regular faint tonk tonk of a drip somewhere out of sight. A gutter pipe, from the metallic echo. No windows gave any clue to the sun’s passage but the chill of evening quieted the sound. Then she was glad for the lack of windows. Powerful friends could do that much at least: an interior cell where the cold could be kept off with blankets. Good food and plentiful, when it came. It could have been far worse. Higher friends could do more, of course. Efriturik had spent no time inside these walls. He’d been released on oath as soon as the charge was laid. If truth could not be held as constant, even less could justice. There had never been any possibility that a son of Atilliet would suffer worse than humiliation and count that bad enough.
What were the penalties for sorcery in the ordinary courts? Her imagination had never shied away from picking at wounds. Gone were the days when such a case would have been handed over to the church—not unless there were blasphemy involved as well. It was such an elusive charge, sorcery. So easy to believe; so hard to prove. And so rarely brought against anyone with standing. What penalty would Elisebet have sought had Efriturik not escaped her grasp by claiming privilege? It didn’t matter, except to guess what she herself might face. And even so, would Elisebet have been mad enough to demand the ultimate penalty? It wasn’t right or just to have one law for princes and another for such as her. And yet, justice be damned, if she had the same right to appeal her case to Annek, she would, so long as honor remained.
She slept in fits and starts with no dreams that she could recall. The nightmares that had preyed on her while waiting were satisfied with her waking fears now.
In the morning, Jeanne came. She hadn’t slept well either; that much was clear. Even paint and powder couldn’t conceal that she’d been weeping. She wept again now, held close while Antuniet found herself playing the awkward role of comforter. Jeanne’s voice came muffled, “I meant to be strong for you.”
“Hush, hush,” Antuniet found herself saying. “You needn’t be afraid. Barbara has all manner of ideas in train. Do you know? She even offered to bloody her sword in my name.”
“She would do that?” Jeanne asked in surprise.
“Well, I’m not as shocked as I should be,” Antuniet said in an attempt at humor. “For all her grand speeches abou
t justice and law, I know she has few qualms about settling matters in dark alleys. I suppose I should be glad I’m under her protection. There was a time when I would have been on the other end of her blade. Though God knows why she’s taken me in. I’ve brought no honor to her house or lineage.” She was babbling and she knew it.
Jeanne wasn’t fooled. “I couldn’t bear to lose you. I couldn’t go through that again.”
But the time had ticked past and the guards were at the door. “Something will be arranged, I’m sure of it,” she said to Jeanne through the bars. She’d meant the words more for Jeanne’s sake than her own, but in the light of day she felt half convinced by them.
That day when she’d returned to Rotenek, near penniless and alone with nothing but DeBoodt’s book and her vow, she never would have believed that her brightest gems would come in human form. Jeanne, Anna, Margerit, Barbara—all tried by fire and enhanced through the long, slow layering of work side by side. Was there need for any other talismans than these?
The hours stretched out empty after that, without even expectation to fill them. Counted only by the drip, drip, dripping echoing hollowly. Another meal. A second blanket offered—what luxury! She thought back on the little room in Heidelberg that sometimes had given up its coal to feed the workshop furnace. Would she still have left, knowing it would come to this, if Kreiser hadn’t pursued her? Knowing she could die here with her oath left unfulfilled and the name of Chazillen even more a curse? Yes, even so. Not to have tried—that would be the true shame.
* * *
Another night of fits and starts. She woke once, thinking she felt Jeanne’s touch and reached for the spot at her breast where the jewel should hang. Later she woke to screaming—not hers this time—echoing down the corridors from some other cell. Another dawn. How long did the wheels of law take to grind? She realized she had no idea. A fortnight, at least, between when Efriturik was charged and when the magistrate had been named. But now Elisebet had her magistrate chosen. Surely it would be swifter for her?
Barbara was the next day’s visitor, bringing news. Efriturik had been cleared: Feldin’s testimony, Margerit’s veriloquium, the brisk efficiency of the royal court, all joined in harness. There was nothing else to tell for now.
* * *
The dripping that measured her days stopped. She didn’t notice until one long afternoon passed in deafening silence. Perhaps the last of the ice had melted on the roof somewhere overhead. She’d stopped counting the days. Each was much alike except for the identity of the one visitor she was allowed. Most often Jeanne, sometimes Barbara. Once Margerit came and could find nothing to say, spending her brief minutes in mute witness. It was enough to know she was not forgotten. She could have asked any of them what day it was, but what did it matter? All would pass in time.
Her mind filled with the absurd injustice of fate. To have come so far, to have learned so much and to have triumphed in her chosen art, only to fall victim to petty palace jealousies and superstition. To know the truth and have no way to prove it. And the most bitter irony of all: to have the work of her own hands brought out in evidence, pointing its finger at her in accusation, like the telltale beam of a watchman’s lantern, with no way to turn it on the genuine traitor.
That was what Margerit’s mystery had been meant to do: to use the light of divine judgment to point to the truth. To point the light… Her thoughts caught for a moment, recalling the box of stones that Tio had risked so much to show them. What else had it contained beyond the amulet she’d given Feldin—the one with that child’s trick of the blue light? There had been ammonite and scarab, far more prominent in memory than effective in use; onyx engraved with a goat’s head and jacinth. What else? What else?
She closed her eyes and tried to bring the box’s contents to memory. Had there been a moonstone or crystal spar? She remembered a flat square crystal, but it might have been quartz. In a pinch, any lens would do. There had been a handful of polished spheres and cabochons. Surely one would have the right properties.
A plan took shape, born out of hope and nourished by desperation. Would they be there in the room when she came to trial—every person needed for the resolution? She couldn’t imagine Elisebet leaving such a thing to chance. But would Sain-Mazzi come as well? Surely she would. She must be watching over Elisebet ever more closely now. Was there a way to ensure it? What did she have a right to demand as defendant? Barbara might know. She rehearsed speeches in her mind, playing out as many scenes as she could imagine. But the plan she kept to herself, not wanting to tease the others with what might be a vain hope.
* * *
Another meal, another sleep. Let it just be over. Yet when they came for her at midday, her only thought was, So soon? She was led out, not through the yard toward the salle-iust, but to a bright and comfortable room that must belong to the warden. Jeanne was there and Barbara as well. Such luxury for a visit! The guards closed the door behind her, remaining outside, and she was bewildered until she saw the other figures in the room.
“Your Grace,” she said, sinking to a curtsey on unsteady legs. “Mesner Atilliet.” This was no time to presume on familiarity. “How may I serve you?” She couldn’t keep the edge of irony from her voice.
“It weighs greatly on me,” Annek began, “that you should be in peril in place of my son. And you have strong advocates who have urged me to find a way through. But we have a conundrum.” She paused with pursed lips in a way that should have been maddening. “How can we best see that justice is served and not merely the law? It is a delicate matter. If it were a lesser offense, I would have a freer hand—and if I had not expended so much goodwill for my son’s sake. My cousin will hold me to the letter of things, and there are those who support her whom I don’t care to cross needlessly. Yet we still have several possible paths.” She held a packet of papers in her hand.
Antuniet wondered at first if any of them were a pardon. But no, that would break the letter of the law that Elisebet would insist on. For a moment, a flutter of wild hope stirred, but that was dashed by Annek’s next words.
“I cannot go back on my word in the matter of my father’s judgment on the Chazillens now, not in the midst of this trial. It would be seen as too self-serving. But there has always been another option. When the line of Chazillen was disenrolled, those of the name who were not condemned were free to petition trans-familia, as your cousin Sepestien did. Baroness Saveze has asked me to allow you to take the Lumbeirt name in respect of your mother and I have agreed. Become Antuniet Lumbeirt and take again the status of your birth. Then we can resolve the charges against you.” She lifted the document in her hand and held it out.
For a moment Antuniet stood silent. What was it she had told herself? That regardless of the injustice, if she were offered the same escape Efriturik had taken she would seize it? And here it was: adopted into the Lumbeirts, once again to be addressed as Mesnera, free to claim the privilege of royal justice and only one small price to pay. To no longer be a Chazillen. If the offer had been made on the day of her brother’s execution she would have rejected it as an insult. Barbara was staring at her in anxious trepidation. Now she saw it for an act of love, though at little cost to Barbara herself.
She thought of her desperate plans for the trial, of the trick with the stones. That might fail; this was sure. And yet…she’d told herself that she would take this escape if it left honor intact. And since the day Estefen died, honor had driven her to one purpose and one purpose alone. Everything else had been stripped away from her: dignity, pride, chastity. Only the name remained. And if she could not redeem it, at least she would continue bearing it.
“Do you have an answer?” Annek asked with a hint of impatience.
“My cousin makes a generous offer,” she said slowly, not daring to look at Jeanne for fear of what she’d see there. “I would not insult the baroness by comparing the house of Lumbeirt to a mess of pottage, but I will not trade my birthright for it. I have sworn to bring honor
to the name of Chazillen. I cannot do that by trading it away, even to save my life.”
She ventured a look toward the others at last. Barbara looked grave, but she nodded as if she understood. Jeanne was biting her lip to keep it from trembling.
“A fair answer,” Annek said, nodding slowly as if in approval. She, too, looked over at Barbara. “You predicted correctly, though I wouldn’t have credited it. But it was gracious of you to offer.”
She set the sealed paper back on the table and took up a second document that had lain underneath it. “There is another possibility, though now I wonder whether you will hear it.” She tapped the new papers against one hand, as if even now debating some decision. “It was a thought that came to me even before this matter. I expected to have more time to consider, but fate has forced my hand. I find you a formidable young woman. You have resources and dedication that Alpennia would be much poorer for losing. And despite the matter with your brother, no one can deny the deep roots the Chazillens have in this land. I told you once before that I was surprised and grateful for the influence you’ve had on my son. Someday, if he is prince, he will need the support of a strong woman. I wonder, since you will not change your name for Lumbeirt, would you consider changing it for Atilliet?”
Her meaning sank in only gradually. When it did, Antuniet’s hand flew up to cover her mouth. Not—as they must believe—to muffle a gasp or sob, but to stifle an undignified giggle. Oh Mother! she thought. Could I drag you out of hell for just two minutes now, I’d show you this and then throw you back again!
Through all those long years when nothing she had ever accomplished had weighed in the balance of that one failure… No, it would have been absurd to imagine it might come someday to this. Surely this hadn’t been Efriturik’s idea!
She glanced over at him. There was nothing of the eager lover about him, more the apprehension of a man facing a strange dog of uncertain temper. If it weren’t for her predicament, there could not have been a woman in all of Alpennia less tempted by such an offer, or more certain of her unsuitability for the role. And she was tempted, just for one fleeting moment.
The Mystic Marriage Page 50
