The Arkhel Conundrum (The Tears of Artamon Book 4)

by Ash, Sarah

  “So where is this famous pump dispensing the healing water we’ve traveled so far to sample?” Lilias asked no one in particular.

  “My dear lady, let me escort you to the bar.” A white-wigged gentleman was beaming down at her; one glance at his upright stance and the military cut of his coat, overlaid with a splendid gold-embroidered sash, told her that he must be a retired soldier.

  “The bar? Surely they don’t serve alcohol here?”

  He laughed and she placed one lace-gloved hand on his outstretched arm, allowing him to lead her through the throng. As they moved across the crowded parquet floor, heads turned, undoubtedly wondering who the auburn-haired newcomer in the discreetly modish mourning dress might be. Black suited her, enhancing the pale luster of her skin and the languid green of her eyes, and she knew it. She was here to play the tragic young widow who had lost her husband. No one need know that they had never been formally married; she had borne his son and Stavy was proof of their liaison.

  A buxom serving girl wearing a fetchingly ruched white cap was serving glasses of the steaming spa water from a special fountain. As they approached, Lilias noticed that the sulfurous smell grew stronger. Her gallant companion beckoned the serving girl over and she handed Lilias a glass. Lilias took a sip and tried not to spit it out. The taste was revolting and its unpleasant bitterness was only enhanced by the warm temperature of the cloudy water.

  “It’s very good for you,” said her companion, smiling even more broadly at her evident disgust. “It’s kept me young and vigorous, I assure you!”

  Lilias took a swift gulp, swallowing the tepid water yet unable to prevent herself from pulling an unbecoming face.

  “Dysis; you should try some.”

  “No thank you,” said Dysis in an undertone.

  “The waters are blessed by our patron goddess,” continued the gentleman, leading Lilias away to the steam-misted windows that overlooked the healing waters. Lilias saw a large public bath below, filled with rheumatic and arthritic sufferers soaking in the green mineral waters, watched over by an ancient statue of the goddess Sulien. “They certainly helped me make a good recovery after I took a bullet in the thigh in the Allegondan campaign of ’67.”

  “I knew it!” Lilias exclaimed. “I knew you must be one of the military—and to have served your country in such a distinguished way.”

  “I’m retired now. My role here is to welcome visitors to the Pump Room and to ensure the young bucks don’t get out of hand.”

  “Wait—you must be the one they call the King of Sulien. Am I right, sir?” Lilias, genuinely excited that she had made such a conquest so soon, gave him her most winning smile. “Are you Captain Montpelier, the Master of Ceremonies?”

  He smiled back, evidently pleased that she had recognized him. “I had no idea my name was so well-known beyond Sulien.”

  “I made sure to read the Sulien Guide on the ship traveling here from Muscobar.” She was certain, by now, that their conversation had attracted the attention of many of the visitors.

  “Muscobar? You’ve traveled a long way to take the waters. Do you have acquaintances here in Tourmalise? I couldn’t help noticing, my dear Mistress—erm?”

  “Arkhel,” Lilias said, shyly averting her gaze. “Lilias Arkhel.” It said Arbelian on her papers and travel permit, but she was confident that Captain Montpelier was unlikely to ask to see them.

  “Arkhel?” he repeated. “Can it be that you’ve come this way because—” And then he broke off, returning to his earlier unfinished question. “I couldn’t help noticing that you were in mourning dress, Mistress Arkhel.”

  Lilias nodded. “My husband Jaromir was killed in Azhkendir. He was a ward of Emperor Eugene . . . and lost his life at the siege of Kastel Nagarian.”

  “My deepest condolences for your loss.” The captain bowed his head. “But I wonder if you are aware, Mistress Arkhel, that there are Arkhels currently residing in Sulien?”

  “In Sulien?” Lilias affected a tone of surprise. “But Jaro told me he had no living relatives. I thought his family were all massacred in the clan wars.”

  “It may be sheer coincidence. But it’s not a common name. I will see if I can arrange an introduction. Lady Tanaisie has brought her daughters here for the season for the last two years; such charming young ladies, Miss Fleurie and Miss Clarisse. I’m certain they would be delighted to make your acquaintance.”

  “So there is no Lord Arkhel?” Lilias asked slyly. “Or has he no interest in the delights of the Sulien season?”

  “Far from it; Lord Ranulph is a frequent visitor at the card tables, here, and at the new Assembly Rooms.”

  Was that a slight note of disapproval in the captain’s voice? Does Jaromir’s uncle have a taste for gaming, I wonder? How remarkably convenient.

  “Ah! I’ve spotted Lady Tanaisie taking tea in the alcove. Please follow me, Mistress Arkhel.”

  Lilias needed no further bidding, darting a swift, triumphant glance at Dysis who nodded and followed at a discreet distance.

  ***

  “Mistress Lilias,” announced Captain Montpelier, “has recently arrived from Tielen to take the waters. She asked me to arrange an introduction, my lady.”

  “All the way from Tielen?” Lady Tanaisie set down her tea cup and smiled welcomingly. “Won’t you join us? The tea is freshly brewed; it’s a special blend from Khitari that I think you’ll find very light and refreshing.”

  “Thank you, Lady Tanaisie.” Lilias smiled back and settled herself on one of the little gilt-painted chairs.

  “How do you take your tea? With cream or lemon?”

  “Black, with just a little sugar, thank you.”

  “Fleurie, pass our guest the sugar bowl and tongs.”

  “Yes, Mama.”

  Lilias took up the tongs and carefully dropped one lump into the fragrant liquid, stirring until the sugar dissolved. Then she took a sip and smiled again at the Arkhel ladies. “Delicious.”

  “I knew you would like it!” Lady Tanaisie clapped her plump little hands together in evident delight.

  “In Muscobar we take our tea with jam to sweeten it; plum works well with a strong Serindhen blend, but apricot suits a more delicate, perfumed leaf.”

  “Tea with jam?” echoed Fleurie, the elder daughter, pulling a face. “How peculiar.”

  “Fleurie,” said her mother in mild admonition, “just because people from other countries do things differently doesn’t mean that their customs are ‘peculiar’ . ”

  “Excuse me.” Fleurie bit her underlip and blushed a becoming rosy pink.

  “Your daughters are so pretty,” said Lilias. “They obviously take after you, Lady Tanaisie.” In fact, all three had the delicate white skin that flushes too easily, with eyes the light blue of summer speedwells. There was not a trace of the distinctive shade of dark Arkhel gold in their soft hair which had been artfully teased into curls and ringlets to frame their heart-shaped faces. How to describe the color? Pale buttercup? Winter jasmine?

  Lady Tanaisie nodded her head in acceptance of the compliment and then looked up at Captain Montpelier who was still hovering in attendance. “Won’t you join us, Captain? Or is something a little stronger more to your taste?”

  The Master of Ceremonies laughed. “You know me too well, Milady. But as I’m on duty, not a single drop of the stronger stuff will pass my lips until the Pump Room clock strikes six.” And then he bent down and whispered in Lady Tanaisie’s ear. Lilias saw her expression change, her eyes widening as she glanced in her direction. He straightened up and bowed before taking his leave.

  Lilias set down her cup and saucer, steeling herself for what might follow.

  “So we share a surname,” said Lady Tanaisie. Her face betrayed no emotion other than surprise. She’s either utterly lacking in guile, or supremely skilled at hiding her true thoughts. “Fleurie, Clarisse, as you’ve finished your tea, perhaps you could take this opportunity to greet Mistress Hauteclere; I imagine her daughters
are just as eager as you to discuss last night’s ball.”

  “Thank you, Mama!” The girls rose, each bobbing a curtsey, and hurried away. Lilias could sense their relief at being excused.

  “My sweet sylphs,” Lady Tanaisie said affectionately as they vanished into the animated throng. Then she turned to face Lilias. “My dear Mistress Arkhel, the captain has just intimated that we might be related by marriage. But surely it can’t be the same family; my husband was the only one to escape that shocking massacre twenty-one years ago.”

  As Lilias hesitated, wondering how best to frame her reply, she became aware of a swell of familiar music from the trio rising above the tinkle of tea spoons on fine porcelain: how ironic that they should be playing October Seas at this moment.

  “The truth is that my husb— my late husband was also unaware that anyone had escaped Lord Volkh’s murderous attack. Even when he became a ward of Eugene of Tielen, the prince’s agents were unable to track down any blood relations.”

  “That would have been at the time when Ranulph thought it prudent to lie low in Tourmalise, I imagine. But you said your ‘late husband’,” and Lady Tanaisie’s voice throbbed with sympathy. “My dear child, this is tragic. Tell me all about him.”

  Lilias drew in a halting breath, as though steeling herself to retread painful ground. “His name was Jaromir and he was the eldest son of Lord Stavyor. He was studying at the monastery of Saint Serzhei when Volkh Nagarian attacked Kastel Arkhel. The Drakhaon’s men came looking for him but the abbot managed to spirit him safely out of Azhkendir to Tielen.”

  “Lord Stavyor?” Lady Tanaisie repeated softly. “You were married to my husband’s nephew?”

  “So your husband Ranulph is . . .” Lilias was determined to ensure that she had her facts right. It would be a disaster to make a mistake at this stage.

  “The idle youngest brother of Lord Stavyor.”

  “But Ranulph is not a name that I’ve ever heard used in Azhkendir.”

  “He changed his name. For many reasons, as I’m sure you can imagine, but most of all to be accepted into polite Sulien society. Ranozhir has—if you’ll excuse me—a rather barbaric, uncouth ring to it.”

  Lilias nodded.

  “His idle nature saved his life. Lord Stavyor had sent him abroad on business to Tourmalise and when the terrible news leaked out from Azhkendir, he and his servants thought it wise to stay in Sulien. Not long after, we were introduced, and well,” Lady Tanaisie blushed as becomingly as her daughter, “we married, Ran took over the running of my father’s estate, and now we have three children of our own. But that’s enough of me. Tell me—if you feel strong enough, that is—about your own husband. If he was Eugene of Tielen’s ward, then you must find yourself in the Emperor’s favor.”

  Lilias, in spite of all her skills at dissembling, felt a muscle twitch at the corner of her mouth. The Emperor’s favor! Would I even be here if Eugene had deigned to treat me with the slightest show of compassion? She took out a little handkerchief from her reticule and dabbed at her eyes, hoping her new acquaintance would interpret her reaction as provoked by excess of emotion.

  “A fresh pot of the special Khitari blend,” she heard Lady Tanaisie ordering, beckoning one of the Pump Room flunkeys over. “And a plate of sandwiches. Cucumber.”

  Fortified by cucumber sandwiches and more tea, Lilias began to confide in Lady Tanaisie. It was strange to be unburdening herself (selectively, of course) to this sympathetic, trusting woman. She almost felt guilty for a moment. And then pushed the feeling away. I’m the injured party here. It’s taken months to raise the funds to make the journey to Sulien. I’m going to win these people over—and make Eugene regret that he stole my son from me.

  “So you met your husband by chance when your ship was forced to take shelter from autumn storms? Two lonely travelers, thrown together by the capricious elements, and unexpectedly finding love. How very romantic.” Lady Tanaisie’s pale blue eyes sparkled with enthusiasm.

  Lilias conveniently avoided any reference to her intimate relationship with Lord Volkh, the true reason for her visit to Azhkendir, or that her brief, impulsive affair with Jaromir had nearly ruined her mission to infiltrate the Drakhaon’s household to gather information for the Muscobar spymaster, Count Velemir. It was all in the past, and there was no need to over-complicate her explanation. “When Eugene of Tielen invaded Azhkendir, there was no alternative but to flee with little Stavyomir, even though he was only a few weeks old. And then—at the siege of Kastel Nagarian—Jaromir was shot as he tried to mediate between the Nagarians and the Tielens. He was killed by . . . by a Nagarian crossbowman.” She dabbed at her eyes again. “It was horrible. My poor little Stavy. He’s too young to remember his father.”

  “How very distressing for you.” Lady Tanaisie leaned over and pressed Lilias’s hand between her own. “And where is the dear little fellow now?”

  Lilias let a sob escape from behind her handkerchief. “The Emperor Eugene has made him his ward. I’m sure it’s all for the best and growing up at the imperial court will give him an excellent start in life but I—I miss him so.” And she hid her face in her hands.

  “But why must your child be separated from his mother? I don’t understand the reasoning behind such an action?”

  Lilias shook her head. “The Emperor has very strict ideas about the education of children.” She improvised. “Faced with the choice of raising Stavy myself on a widow’s pension or taking up the Emperor’s offer, I acted in my little boy’s best interests. But it’s been hard for me.” Eugene had not given her a choice, but Lady Tanaisie didn’t need to know that.

  “Fate has dealt you a cruel double blow. But you are among friends here. You must come to Serrigonde and meet my husband. We Arkhels must stick together.”

  “Serrigonde?” Lilias wiped her eyes.

  “Our little country estate. We’ll be returning next week.”

  “So Lord Ranulph is not in Sulien?”

  Lady Tanaisie hesitated and Lilias saw a look of vexation briefly cross her pretty features. “Indeed, he is here—but he is at the card tables and would not appreciate any interruption.” She let out a forced little laugh. “You know how stubborn men can be, Mistress Arkhel.” She lifted the teapot. “More tea?”

  ***

  “That went well . . . I think.” Lilias sank into a threadbare chair in their lodgings as Dysis lit the lamp.

  “An invitation to luncheon at Serrigonde Manor next week? I think that went very well,” said Dysis, brushing the street dust from her mistress’s velvet cloak before hanging it up. “And who’d have thought those rumors about the Tourmalise Arkhels were true?”

  “It turned out to be all for the best.” Lilias closed her eyes; her head was aching and she felt faint from lack of food; cucumber sandwiches made a delicious snack, but that was all she’d had to eat since the previous night. “Considering how low our funds are . . .”

  “But how will we get there? Didn’t you say the estate lies some ten miles to the west of the city?”

  “Lady Tanaisie will send her carriage to pick us up,” Lilias said. “She was most insistent.”

  “I’ll see if I can make some alterations to your other dress; you can’t appear in the same gown twice in Sulien society.”

  “How I hate being poor!” Lilias sat up. “And these dingy lodgings are costing us a fortune. They’re not even in the fashionable part of the city; they’re too close to the river.”

  “Would you mind if I removed my mask?” Dysis settled herself with her little sewing box close to the lamp. “I find it hard to do needlework with it on; it impedes my vision.”

  Lilias waved a hand in assent and Dysis carefully undid the ribbons, placing the black lace mask on the table, revealing the scars marring her face. Lilias still found it hard not to shudder when she looked at the terrible disfigurement her maid had suffered trying to protect baby Stavy from Gavril Nagarian. At the time he’d been possessed by the terrifying dragon-daemo
n, the Drakhaoul, and not in his right mind, hungering for innocent blood.

  You are still at the top of my list of those whom I intend to be revenged upon, my dearest Gavril, directly below Eugene of Tielen.

  “So what have we learned today?” she said as Dysis began to sew some silk violets onto the décolletage of her other gown. “That Lord Ranozhir—or Ranulph as he prefers to be called—is ‘idle’ and likes to play cards rather than tending to his father-in-law’s estate. If he’s a betting man, I imagine the prospect of the little deal I’m going to suggest to him will definitely appeal. And Lady Tanaisie seems like a dutiful loving wife who wouldn’t dare to oppose her husband’s will.”

  “But going back to Azhkendir to reclaim the Arkhel lands.” Dysis looked up from her sewing, the contours of the scars slashed across her forehead and cheek harshly emphasized by the lamplight. “The Nagarian druzhina won’t like it. And Lord Gavril will petition the Emperor.”

  “Legally that land still belongs to the Arkhels. I had Boris check it out when I was in Azhgorod.”

  “Lord Stoyan?” Dysis looked up again, a quizzical expression on her face. “Didn’t he go back to his wife?”

  Lilias gave a disdainful sniff. “The instant he suspected I was out of favor with the Emperor, he went running back to Marfa. ‘Oh take me back, my beloved, forgive me and I swear I’ll never stray again!’” She mimicked Lord Stoyan’s deep voice, making Dysis smile. “He changed allegiances so many times I don’t think he even knew what day it was. But at least I coaxed copies of the documents out of him. I thought I was doing it for Stavy, but it seems that Lord Ranulph has a son too.” The knowledge that there was a rival heir to the Arkhel lands had been troubling her all day. The sylphlike daughters were not a threat to Stavy’s birthright; in Azhkendir, only men could inherit. But this son, Toran, was eighteen and old enough to succeed his father. “Who is the official legal inheritor, I wonder? My Stavy, the grandson of Lord Stavyor? Or Toran, Lord Stavyor’s nephew?”