“Be assured that Gantry can be trusted to do his job. He is here in Haverston for a purpose.” I recognize Montmoore’s scratchy voice. “Once that purpose is accomplished, he will no longer be a part of the plan.”
“I won’t be able to pull the other guilds or the merchants behind me unless they have some confidence that this will work, your Grace.” I recognize the first man as Aman.
“You must get their support. The mission here is critical to the rest of our plan. Once we have enough money and support, we can proceed. The throne will fall.”
My breath stops at this confirmation of Julianna’s worst fears. But the merchants? Why here in Haverston? What good would the guild do them?
Idiot. The guild controls the commerce, and all the goods and money that go through here. And Haverston is one of the few duchies the king can count on fully. If Haverston were against the king …
They could outfit an army. A vision swirls over me, short and sharp and painful: battalions on the move. They mean to outfit an army. I yank myself back to the present.
“How many are with us?”
“Not enough. But pressure is being brought to bear on those who owe me money — and there are a lot of those. The people of Haverston are restless, afraid, and hungry. King Peter’s mistakes with his son, and Julianna’s supposed witchcraft are bandied about often. But the people here are behind the duchess, your Grace. They won’t betray her easily. There must be proof of witchcraft and treachery before most will join.”
“Not to worry, my dear Guildmaster. There will be proof a-plenty.”
A frantic knock sounds on the door, and I hear hurried feet. “Guildmaster! You must come immediately to the ballroom!”
“What is it? Can’t you see I’m with a guest?” Aman’s voice loses some of its smoothness.
“Please come right away, sir. Merchant Sandros has fallen very ill!” The footsteps hurry away.
I wait what seems like an eternity, holding my breath. Distant sounds of raised voices, but no one comes near.
I creep to the door and peer out of the crack. The lamps are still on, the hall door open, and no one about. Making sure my discoveries remain secure, I cautiously step out of the closet.
No alarm yet. I make my way to the door, and seeing no one, slip into the hall. I make my way further toward the party, starting to breathe more easily.
“And who might you be?”
Whirling, I find Archbishop Montmoore striding toward me from the east wing. I put my hand to my throat and think desperately of an excuse, or anything that might get me out of this. Silently yelling a prayer for salvation, and a message to Hugh, I manage a small smile.
“Your Grace is the Archbishop, yes? You gave me such a fright! I am looking for my brother, Bhanu. I’ve just come from the garden, but he’s not out there. Have you seen him? I really must find him: his wife is ill.”
During my too-fast speech Montmoore frowns, his neck growing as his chins draw back. At the mention of illness, he starts a little. I see sweat stains on his golden robes, and I notice sweat on his brow.
A hand snatches at my elbow from behind, and I clutch tight to the cloaks to keep the packages from falling out. To be caught a thief in this house would be almost as bad as being found out a witch.
“There you are, mistress. I thought you had been gone too long. Your friends await you in the ballroom. Shall I escort you?” Francis pulls on my arm, to guide me into the hall.
I shrug him off and back as gracefully as I may, and stutter something incomprehensible. I’m afraid to back into Montmoore, and I realize I’m cornered. I hear Asa’s name being called, and we all turn to see Connor walking toward us. Relief floods my senses.
“Zelig! Thank goodness! I’ve been looking all over for you,” I scold and march past the other men to his side.
He takes in the scene quickly and bows to Montmoore and Francis. “I am sorry, your Grace, good sir, but we must take our leave. My sister-in-law is very ill. Please convey our apologies to our hosts.” And he bows again.
I curtsey clumsily, trying to hold onto everything.
Connor takes my arm and we head back toward the ballroom. Everyone seems to be leaving.
“Is the party over already?” I ask as he chivvies me along. “Not a successful celebration for the Aman family.”
“The others are already in the carriage. Too many are suddenly feeling ill, and people are afraid it’s the food. I’m afraid it’s something else,” he murmurs, as we make our way out the door.
Our carriage is further down the drive, waiting in a line with the others. Connor grabs my hand firmly and whispers “hurry,” pulling me along faster than I can walk with such treasures filling my arms.
I pull on his hand and ask him to slow down, to no avail. The bag thunks to the pathway.
Connor stops and looks at me, and the things on the ground.
I feel a sheepish smile growing on my face. “I found something.”
He scoops up what’s dropped and hides it in his cloak. The wind blows his hair into his eyes. “What else have you got hidden in there?”
A giddy relief bubbles up my throat, and I try not to laugh.
He looks away and bites his lips, clearing his throat. “Shall we?” He gestures to the end of the path and our waiting carriage.
I clutch the rest of the cloaks to my chest and hurry to comply.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Connor and I scramble into the carriage as it pulls up along the garden edge, out of the line of the others. The lights and noise of the manor quickly fade behind us as the driver urges the horses faster.
I lurch into Linnet as I try to settle myself. The carriage jumbles along toward the castle, and the ride is fraught with bumped foreheads as we all lean together.
“I have a note, and a ledger,” I say, pulling apart the clothing and handing Linnet her cloak. “I found some things in the secret safe. It didn’t look like Aman ever found it.”
“That looks like Da’s handwriting,” Linnet says.
“I can’t read it in here.” The light from outside is too variable, and the ride too bumpy.
“Let me see,” Hugh intones as he plucks them from my hands. He flips through the ledger, squinting. “We’ll have to have a better look in good light, you’re right. But this letter is addressed to Linnet.”
“It’s probably nothing,” Linnet says, her voice quiet.
It’s clear they realize I’m disappointed the letter isn’t for both of us. But we can’t release the spell until we’re back in the castle.
I push away my emotions. “There’s something else,” I say, and I tell them about Montmoore and Aman talking. Connor swears quietly and Hugh sits back, tucking the ledger under his arm.
“If the merchants are already involved, then it’s more serious than I feared. I had hoped they would be more loyal.” Hugh’s face is grim, even with Bhanu’s genial features.
I sense a shift in his mood suddenly, and he looks at me, hope dawning. “Rhia, you actually heard Montmoore admit to treason?” Hugh grabs my arm as I’m jostled off the seat by a rut in the road.
Rubbing my bruised forehead with my other hand, I look at him in the wavering light and sigh at his excitement. “You can’t have him arrested on what I heard, your Grace. I never saw him, only heard his voice. And technically I wasn’t even there: it was Asa. You can’t drag her into this.”
He grips my arm harder, determined. “We don’t have to mention you were in disguise, or that you have anything to do with the Indrani. We need only place you in the court to —”
“They’ll never listen to me, especially since I’m supposedly dead twice: once as a witch and once in a fire. If I go into court someone’s bound to know the Wolff cousins are actually dead. Who am I going to tell, my lord?” I try to sound reasonable.
His grip loosens and he settles back next to Connor, frustrated. Connor leans forward, careful to grip the handle next to the door so as not to fly from his seat.
“I think we should focus more on what he said, or what your Sight told you. Did you See an army? Did you See where, or when?”
“I Saw an army. But I don’t know if it was now, or a possibility, or in the past. It was just a glimpse, my lord. I’m sorry.”
He leans back, sighs. “I’ll have to get back in there somehow. I was close to something, before all the chaos descended.”
“Chaos?” I ask.
“All the people getting sick. It was getting a bit scary,” Linnet says.
The carriage jolts suddenly to a halt, the horses whinnying, and we tumble into a heap against each other. I hear the driver curse.
“What is it?” Hugh calls, his Indrani accent perfect. He tries to extricate himself from the mess of limbs and clothing we have become.
I find myself sprawled across Connor’s thighs, my cheek pressed into his side. Muffled in my wrap and his cloak, the driver’s voice sounds far away.
“The gates won’t open, sir.”
I push myself off Connor’s chest and look up. Hugh pokes his head out the door of the carriage as Linnet struggles to a sitting position.
“Star Lord preserve us,” I hear Hugh breathe. He thrusts open the door and stands staring.
We’re outside the gates, and I can hear shouting. Connor grabs my waist and helps me up, and I push him upright as the carriage rocks from Hugh stepping down. We peek out, and two guards are yelling down to the driver and Hugh.
A guard is marking the gate tower with a black slash in charcoal. I stare in dismay — it’s the symbol people in the town use to identify houses touched by the Wasting: a symbol of plague.
“Oh sweet Dorei, no,” Connor whispers. “Seely Magan,” he yells up to the guards, and they stare down at him in consternation. “Damn your eyes, Seely Magan! Open the gates!” He’s dropped his Indrani accent, and they open the gates reluctantly. Connor and Hugh enter the barbican without the carriage, and Linnet and I follow.
“We’re under quarantine, sir, we aren’t —”
“I can see that, Sergeant. We have people here. We enter willingly. The driver can choose,” he says, and breaks into a run. We all rush through the main gate and into the courtyard.
Guards rush around, and a few people are saddling horses, trying to leave. The guards are trying to stop them. Orders for plague marker is that no one leaves until cleared, but I can feel panic washing from people in waves.
We run to the castle doors. The front hall is deserted. Noise and voices come from the great hall. Rounding a corner, Connor almost runs Preyasi down. He stops short, and grabs her shoulders as we all stumble to a halt behind him. Preyasi gasps in surprise at our arrival.
“Zelig!” And then comprehension dawns in her eyes. “Quickly, you must change back before someone sees.”
We have to end the spell somewhere. She pushes at Connor and shoos us all before her toward the stairs.
“The princess,” Connor rasps.
“Is fine. This way, now, hurry!”
We run up the main stair and into Hugh’s rooms. Servants rush around, eyeing our own running with alarm.
In Hugh’s rooms, Preyasi urges us to change into our regular clothes. The men are in Hugh’s bedchamber, and we’re in the bathing room. Preyasi stands in the doorwary, facing us.
Linnet calls out to Hugh. “I’m releasing the spell.”
The river of power that runs through me cuts off suddenly, and I stumble, giddy from the backlash of power washing into a dam. I look up, and Linnet looks herself again. Grasping the sides of the bathtub gratefully, I heave a breath and struggle for equilibrium.
“Shortly after you left, my friends and I heard much commotion in the halls. We were left to ourselves in our chambers, as His Grace assured us we would be, but we were concerned that perhaps you’d been found out. After awhile, Bhanu decided he’d better have a look.
“He found everyone in an uproar, with many falling sick and needing help. It came on rather sudden, and so many at once, no one knew what to do.
“The princess has gathered anyone without sickness to help, moved everyone to the great hall to monitor them, like a hospice. Some of the servants have fled. Anyone left who isn’t sick is tending to those who are.”
I rip the gown a little trying to get it off without help. Linnet unhooks the back for me and I shrug into my gray linen. Who is ill, and who has fled? I am glad Orrin is safe, although I feel guilty for thinking it. But now I’m worried — is he alone? Is this striking everywhere? People were ill at the manor, as well.
I hear Hugh cursing as I help Linnet with her shift. I try to breathe slowly and hear everything Preyasi says.
“My countrymen and I are helping as we can. Asa can Heal a little, but her gift is not strong. The princess needs help.” We finish dressing and join the others in Hugh’s chamber.
“Who is ill?” asks Hugh, his face a mask hiding all emotion.
Preyasi breathes deeply once before answering, and I see Hugh’s face pale. “I’m sorry to report, your mother and her ladies seem to be the worst off. I believe a lady named Geneve came down with it this evening first, and your mother was tending her—” but Hugh is gone, rushing out the door without another word.
Connor catches my eye as Linnet and Preyasi follow Hugh, rushing to the great hall.
I hesitate, watching the door close behind Linnet with a thump. I round toward Connor and gasp.
He’s right in front of me, and he hasn’t put his shirt on yet. His skin mesmerizes me for a moment.
I close my eyes and step back.
“What is it?” he asks.
“I, that’s what I was going to ask you.”
I open my eyes, and he’s stepped back as well.
“You should go help the others. I’ll be along in a moment.”
I nod, turn to go.
“Rhiannon,” he starts, and I turn again. “Be careful of Julianna. She will wear herself to nothing. You’ll have to keep her from killing herself to save everyone.”
I look away. He catches my hand as I turn again. “Be careful of yourself, too. Julianna’s not the only one with that habit.”
I open my mouth to protest, and his other hand comes up to touch my cheek. My protest flutters to nothing on my lips. He looks into my eyes a moment, releases me and turns away.
“And keep your eye out for anyone who acts strange,” he adds as he shrugs into a shirt.
“What?” I’m having trouble keeping up.
“Stephen has spies, too.”
Shaking my head, I try to think up reasons why he could be wrong. “Now? Here? Would anyone stay to their posts during something like this?”
He turns and raises an eyebrow. “You are.”
I sputter, shake my head again. “Connor, I, that’s different! Why would anyone stay in this kind of danger to spy on Julianna?”
“You don’t know my brother,” he says darkly.
I have nothing to say to that.
He looks up from contemplating his hands. “Go help Julianna. I’ll be right there.”
I stare at his back a moment, then turn and hurry away. I put my hand to my face, where the brand of his fingers still burns on my cheek. Remember whom it is he loves, and why he’s concerned, I tell myself, and force my mind back to the catastrophe at hand.
If the Wasting did break out so virulently at the manor as well as here this time, then this is a much more dangerous strain. It usually takes days for so many to sicken, and this has only taken hours. If we can’t Heal them, then the dead will add up quickly. If this is a demon spell … I don’t want it to be a demon spell.
The great hall writhes; guards and servants cross in front of me, carrying cots that must be from the guard house, linens, basins of water. Many of the cots have occupants: I see Samuel lying in a knot, clutching his stomach and moaning. And Christine, the kitchen maid, limp on one of the cots. It seems at least a third of the castle is pale and sweating, moaning, vomiting. Guards and servants and the highbor
n ladies and their retinues, all brought low.
Hugh hurries by me, heading toward the kitchens or the herbarium, Linnet just behind. The rank stink of the Wasting hangs heavy. Julianna bends over a cot near the head table. I make my way toward her, winding my way through people and blankets and stench. “Your Highness,” I call as I near her.
She doesn’t look up, but gestures to me to hurry. I reach her as she grasps her mother’s hand, and I can see how tired they both are. Julianna’s brow drips with sweat, and her dress sticks to her back. The Healing magic flows from her in a thin strand. I put my hand on her arm, worried.
With a start I feel power draining from me in great draughts. Julianna’s power strengthens and she finishes the spell. She straightens, and looks at me.
“I think I’ve caught my second wind. Thank goodness you’re back.”
I worry at how easy it was for her to pull magic from me. Should everyone be able to do that?
“So many became sick so suddenly: I can’t keep the disease at bay.” She takes a breath, smoothing Duchess Marguerite’s hair. “I’m so glad you all are here, and well. I’ve sent to the hospice for help, but no one has come. I’m about to send someone to the Inquisitor’s Building, but I don’t know who will get the message.”
A commotion makes us turn. Archbishop Montmoore staggers into the hall, supported on either side by sweating monks. The room shushes quiet but for the moans of the sick.
“How did he get in the gates?” I ask, but Julianna hurries toward the group. I follow, sending for Hugh in my mind.
“Your Grace, we are in quarantine; you should not be here,” she says, but she motions the monks to help him to a cot. Everyone nearby looks nervous. Hugh is cursing in my head.
“Highness,” Montmoore gasps, “I must ask for your help. It comes to my attention that Bishop Gantry has worked a foul spell, and we cannot control it. I have hope that you and your brother can.”
Julianna looks at me, but I am no less surprised. She looks up at the monks, but they seem frightened and worried. And sick.
A Ragged Magic Page 26
