by Carol Berg
“Aye. She is. Were it not for her, the dead would lie unwashed and unburied and the rest of us fly into giblets. Garibald bellows, but even he does the squawking goose’s bidding.”
I joined him alongside the row of portraits. “A plank to spread them on would be useful,” I said. “With props under it, if we’re to see a rainy spring.”
“Mmm.” His thick finger tapped the boy on the horse. “Witness said a black charger went wild and trampled this boy in the pocardon one night. None knew him. None saw where the horse went or if anyone was even riding it. ’Twas not four days after our lily girl was found in the hirudo.”
I rubbed one aching shoulder, ready to vouch for the witness’s story. The wretched sensations of battering and crushing had not yet faded, despite the four other portraits in between.
“That bald head had me curious. The older girl was found in a midden up in the Council District. Bek suspects poison. Her mouth and gullet were blistered unlike any disease he knows. A half month since, we had a thaw week, and this babe bobbed up from a pond inside the walls of Palinur’s royal palace. The gardener who found it is a Karish believer. He brought it here, as he knew we would bury it proper.”
“Infants die all the time,” I said, echoing his caution.
“For certain, and more than a few with a rag stuffed in its gullet. But this . . .” He pulled the infant’s portrait close. “Bek spends all his time thinking about dead folk and studying their nastiest parts. He believes these five young ones died within a few days of each other. And within a few days of the lily girl.”
“But that could happen for many reasons.”
“Mmm. But you’ve shown me the lily girl and these three others with possible royal connections, all between age three and twelve, all dead within a few days.” He dropped his voice as if a gossipy ghost might be listening behind the shutters. “None of ’em were starved like these others. None showed signs of sickness. The lily girl and the horse boy had their hair color hidden, one was an infant with no hair to hide, and that midden happened to have a vat of tar thrown in, so we don’t know what color was the bed girl’s hair. And what is the one thing everyone knows of Perryn, even those have never come near royalty?”
“He’s fair.”
“Aye. The Prince of Ardra has his mother’s hair—fine curling hair the color of gold thread. I do believe someone’s been cleaning up all Perryn’s leavings. Certain there’s someone inside his own household in on it. Who else would know where to find them all?”
“Killing children,” I said. “What place has that in honorable warfare?” The callous brutality appalled me. So brazen. So contemptuous of the law and everything righteous. “If Bayard had won the war, I might see it. But with the matter settled, it makes no sense at all.”
“Naught’s so new about killing children or holding ’em hostage,” said Bastien. “But you’ve likely not heard much news of late. The war’s not over, as we thought might be. Perryn’s not won his kingdom as yet. Seems his elder brother took offense at the outcome of their battle in the north and used the break in the weather to chase him westward. That fight didn’t go so well, and Perryn had to dig in for the winter. Now we’ve a thaw, Perryn’s racing homeward, hoping to make a stand here in Palinur. He’ll need support from every noble, cleric, and pureblood he can rally.”
I’d certainly given no thought to politics. “Such weakness isn’t promising.”
“Aye,” he said. “There’s alehouse talk of a brokered succession. Even if Bayard drums Perryn into the ground, he wouldn’t like anyone proposing we find some other offshoot of Eodward’s bloodline to raise up instead of him. Perryn seems to have left enough spawn about the countryside that every noble in Navronne could have his own little kinglet or queenlet. Perryn’s rightful get could be next for the knife.”
Cold, deliberate murder. Bastien needed to know what I could tell.
“I don’t have a name, but the murderer’s a nobleman. And he’s big and hairy and wears polished black boots.” I gave him the tale of my venture to Arrosa’s Temple.
“Blood and thunder!” He slapped his hands on the bier when I reached the conclusion. “It fits. It would have to be someone close to Perryn, likely suborned by one of the brother princes. Curious that he delivered the child to the temple in the first place. But documents, you say . . . if he signed documents and I could get hold of them . . . You’ll be worth the trouble yet, pureblood.”
His optimism eluded me. Certainly it would be gratifying to identify a man who would slaughter children. But spring would melt Bastien’s ice barrow. By the time he could learn the murderer’s name, no one would be able to identify the small bodies. Purebloods were considered unimpeachable witnesses in matters of their magic, but a Ciceron would be believed sooner than a madman. And from whom would Bastien collect his pay?
Weariness weighted arms and eyelids. “If I’m to do decent work tomorrow, I should sleep. Perhaps you could tell Constance that, with all sincere gratitude, I’ve no need of her food tonight.”
Bastien wrenched his attention from the portrait. “Nay, we’ve business yet tonight!”
My spirit groaned. “As you wish, naturally, but my magic—”
“Won’t require any. In fact”—he jumped up and strode over to the shelf and took up the leather mask and spool of silk cord—“as we’re keeping to the rules, we needs must do this.”
Though my spirit recoiled, I dipped my head. The universe had not changed since morning.
I dropped to my knees. “Easier to get it on this way. I’m not allowed to do it myself.”
He stared for a moment, then shook his head. “You are the damnedest.”
Once he’d latched the mask in place, he detached the mouth strap and tossed it back onto the shelf. “Won’t need this. You’ve permission. But the rest . . .”
Silkbindings—inexpert, but effective. Shackles. Gods! Trust came hard, but I allowed him to do as he was required. I would give no one an excuse to bury my gift.
He snatched the torch from the bracket and led me down the stair and through the colonnade behind the prometheum. Our destination was the Hallow Ground.
The grave markers seemed to have doubled in number and grown larger since I’d last been here, but it was only that the snow had shrunk to less than half its former depth. What were we were doing here in the frigid night? Ice pellets shot through the lamplight. At least it had stopped raining.
We halted deep in the center of the burial ground. And then we waited, unspeaking.
As the city bells rang ninth hour of the evening, Constance, in her finest cloud goddess costume, glided through the colonnade, guiding a hooded figure wearing a wine-colored cloak—a pureblood cloak.
My heart froze. An investigator already? Bastien likely didn’t want him to see the unlocked shutters and—
The visitor’s hood fell backward, erasing every thought from my head.
“Oh, Luka, what have they done to you?” Juli raced across the snow and flung her arms around me.
CHAPTER 19
“Juli! How—? I was sure— They said none—”
Juli ducked under my bound hands and into the loop of my arms.
“Gods, serena. Holy, mighty gods. Forgive me . . . wasn’t there . . . couldn’t get inside . . .” Joy, confusion, apology, grief tore at my wits.
Bending my elbows, I used my forearms to lift her up and crush her to my breast. Her hair was fragrant against my cheek. “Where have you been?”
The need to know and to tell her everything I wanted before she evaporated shoved words out of me so fast no human could possibly respond.
“The others—Soflet, Giaco, Maia. They aren’t—?” One miracle might imply more.
“Put me down. And let me loose.” She wriggled and squirmed. “Luka, I can’t breathe, and I can’t understand your mumbling.”
Even without the strap, the cursed mask prevented my mouth opening more than a finger’s breadth. I let her go, but only a little.
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br /> “Oh, ancieno. You look awful. Your poor hair. Filthy clothes. And this dreadful thing . . .” Her finger brushed the hard leather band across my brow. “How can you bear it? I’ve been so afraid for you. That night . . . I heard what those horrid people were saying.”
“Truly I’m all right. It’s just believing that you and the others . . . Holy Mother. Lord of Fire.” My knees jellied. The resolve that had held me together all day was crumbling rapidly.
“Here, sit down and I’ll tell you everything.” She ducked out of my embrace and dragged me in the direction of a mourners’ bench just emerged from the snow. I hobbled after, chains chinking and dragging snow into my boots. I was not dreaming. Was not.
“He said I could stay only a little time.” She dropped her voice and jerked her head toward Bastien, who strolled along the path to the colonnade as if on a courtier’s meander. “He is dreadfully stubborn. I knew you would yell at me for speaking to him, but I had to find out what became of you.”
Even the astonishment of Juli naming someone more stubborn than herself had to yield to the deeper truth. “You came here on your own? Approached Bastien?”
“How else was I to find you? It had been a whole day already. I was afraid to go to the Registry, which sounds stupid, I know—though it seems not, now he’s told me—but I knew your master wasn’t going to be happy if you’d not come in to work.” Behind her mask, she widened her eye. “He wasn’t. He growled and yelled at me. Only when I threatened to conjure his manhood into a turnip did he stop. Once he heard me out, he started bellowing again. Said he’d see his contract fulfilled, if it took him until the last day of the world. It certainly seemed that long, as it was only last night he sent me the message that he’d gotten you back. I think he’s the one who’s craz—”
I pressed my bundled hands to her mouth. “Mind your tongue, serena.” Joy and gratitude threatened to burst my skin, but I could not shake off caution.
Bastien had sat himself on a grave marker not so far away, elbows propped on his knees as if he were contemplating the particular arrangement of the memorials.
“My master hears everything we say. As is necessary just now. The Registry’s given us strict rules, and I would very much prefer not to go back to the Tower. But just to see you . . . by the Mother’s heart . . .” I touched my naked cheek to her hair again, just to make sure. “The curators told me they’d found a girl dead in the ruins.”
Juli wilted like a blooming rose doused with hot water. “Kila stayed late to help me sort my clothes for the move. I’d promised to give her things that she could use or sell—for her pay. As it was so late, I ordered her to stay and sleep in my room.” The lamplight glittered in my sister’s dark eyes, awash with tears that did not fall. “I killed her, Luka.”
“No, no. You did not. Not at all. But six—” They’d said six and we had only the five servants. “Ah, serena, not your friend.”
“He was so brave, Luka. And Kila, too. If the warning had only come a bit earlier! Egan brought it inside, asking if the message was from you, as he had been waiting for you so long and needed to get to his work. I didn’t even know he was waiting. When we read it, he insisted on getting me away immediately and promised to see the others safe. Kila refused to come, but went off to wake Soflet and the others.”
“Warning message?”
“It said we had to get out immediately or die like our kinsmen. No signature, no seal; I believed it came from you. I was so frightened. We could already smell the smoke. I tried a water spell . . . three of them. Usually I can draw water from anywhere, but they didn’t work.” Her voice rose . . . tremulous. “Nothing worked. I felt like an ordinary. What use is magic if you can’t use it when you’re afraid?”
“Not your fault,” I murmured, touching my forehead to hers. “Not your fault.”
“I ran away.”
Heartsick at Egan’s and Kila’s sacrifice, at the terrible deaths, at Juli’s anguish, I wanted to crush my sister to my heart until we were inseparable, to draw her tears away with a touch of magic and ease the terrible burden of this new grief, to cry out sorrow and loss and injustice like some ordinary mourner come to the necropolis. But my silk-bound hands could neither touch her nor work magic. All I could offer was words. “You did right. It’s all you could do.”
“Egan left me at the Vintner’s Well.” She pulled away, but not too far, keeping my wrist in her grasp. “I waited an aeon, but no one came. I’d brought Kila’s black cloak so she’d have it when she got out. I pulled it over mine and went back. The fire was everywhere already. Some in the mob said you had set the fire yourself and likely meant to fire the whole district. I knew that was lies. But the talk spread through the crowd and people were so very angry. Coward that I was, I hid and kept silent, even when you came. I saw Eqastré Pasquinale enspell you and send for the Registry. Then the Registry servitors bound you and took you away. Oh, Luka, knowing you believed me dead near drove me mad! If I’d spoken up . . .”
“No! You did exactly right. They would have taken you.”
“But why? Why would they believe that rabble instead of you? No one could ever believe you mad. Me, yes. But never you.”
“I don’t know why.” I’d never had a chance to tell her about the rumors Gilles had spoken of. “But none of this was about truth—not from the day they terminated my contract. I will find out, but it can’t be yet. For now I must obey the rules of my confinement. But what of you? Where did you sleep that night and all these months?”
“I went to Egan’s mam. I told her of how brave he was and how good a friend. I was in an awful state. I’d no idea what to do. She insisted I stay until I could think clearly. I’m able to pay for my keep, of course.”
Her brow lifted and her eye glared, which mystified me until I understood what she was telling me. She had saved my stipend purse.
“As is proper.” I kissed her hair, in awe at her forethought and relieved that she had some resources at least.
“You mustn’t worry about me.” She laid her hand on my exposed cheek. “Trust me, ancieno. Now I know you’re here, I can get on with things. It’s actually quite useful being dead. I’m free to try things and to learn and no one yells if I make mistakes. Ulfina, Egan’s mam, is so sad, and yet so brave and strong just like he was. She’s taught me so many things. Did you know . . . ?”
She prattled of rushlights and cooking, of buying and selling in the pocardon. But certain words stuck, scalding like hot tar. Being dead. Of course the Registry believed Juli dead. And they wouldn’t go looking for her unless someone caught sight of her. But, gods, the risk.
“. . . and now you’re out of the Tower and safe here, perhaps I can discover what this is about. I could sneak into the Tower by the back door Capatronn showed you—”
“No! You mustn’t! Let me think.” It was all I could do not to snare her in my arms again.
“Oh, be easy. I’m just teasing. I’ll stay with Ulfina like a good girl until you’re able to find us new lodgings. Trust me!” But the grin playing around her mouth told me otherwise.
She had to understand that my freedom was impossible now and unlikely in any near future. In a kingdom engulfed in war and famine, she needed pureblood protection. And if she stayed dead, she would have to remain dead forever, unable to use her magic, lest it be detected and traced to her. If the Registry discovered she had knowingly maintained such a deception even for a few months, they would name her recondeur—with all its dread consequences. No marriage. No children. Unrestricted contracts. And that was the best we could hope. Yet neither would I have her dragged to the Tower cellar. Not ever. Neither dread nor denial could obscure the only way to protect her. A risky, terrible, painful way.
“Juliana de Remeni-Masson, listen carefully to me.” I used my severest tone, even through the mask. “I am your eldest brother, your Head of Family in all save age and Registry blessing.”
“Luka, what—?”
“Bend your knee before me and ack
nowledge my claim.” No softness or lack of clarity must give her ideas of escaping my command.
All the bright animation of hope erased, she nodded. With dignity, wariness, and a smothered fire that near broke me, she left my side and sank to one knee in the snow. She did not bow her head, though. “I acknowledge your claim. Of course I—”
“On this day, you are the only hope of our bloodlines, and your first duty is to our family and the gifts we are charged to bring to the world. Yes?”
She shrugged.
“Answer me! Confess it!”
“Yes.”
“You must give yourself to the Registry. Tonight. Straightaway as you leave here.”
“What? But you just said—”
“I know what I said. But now I speak with the authority of my position that you have just acknowledged. You will tell them a story: that you were so stricken with horror and grief to see someone you believed was me set fire to our house that you collapsed and lost all memory. Say nothing of the warning message, but rather that someone in the crowd dragged you away, thinking to have a pureblood at her beck, and you’ve only now come to your senses and escaped. Make them believe, Juli. I know you can. Your life, your future, the lives of the children you are destined to bring into this world depend on it. My life may depend on it, as well. Repudiate me. Tell them how cruel a brother I was, always scolding you. Tell them of my erratic behavior since Pontia, of my devastating grief and my everlasting fury at our grandsire’s chastisement for my disgrace. Tell them that I have no bent worth the air I breathe. Think of every grievance you’ve ever had with me. Tell them whatever—and I mean whatever—it takes to convince them that you have not spoken with me, that you despise me, that you want nothing to do with me, that you believe I am a madman who could burn down his own house and kill—”
“I could never speak such lies!”
“Yes, you can. You must. Think, Juli. If you stay away, you are dead forever, your magic forsworn. You are already a recondeur at best. And they will find you and execute anyone who has sheltered or helped you—Egan’s mam, Bastien, everyone. That is the law. Believe me, if you want to help me discover the truth of all this, you must live safely among purebloods, develop your magic, learn what is in you to learn, but always, always with care. If I had the skill, I would erase your memory of these months and plant this story in your head, even if it meant you would despise me forever. I will not have you dead. And I will not have them make you a slave or a prisoner or whatever these villains have in mind. But I must let them have you.”
