Mother of Souls: A novel of Alpennia

by Jones, Heather Rose

  “Just in time,” Luzie said. “I’ve told Silli to begin making the crepes—though of course you wouldn’t call them crepes but I don’t remember what you called them. I only remembered the description.”

  “What I…?” Serafina thought back. When had they talked about food? Yes, a month past. That day she’d found Luzie crying and they’d talked about holidays. And then…oh, that had ended badly! She’d hoped Luzie had forgotten it entirely. She breathed in the hints of dinner again. A suspicion crept over her. “What are we having?”

  “A special surprise! Come. I know you’ve been feeling low. I thought you might be homesick. So I described everything you told me to Mefro Chisillic and asked her to see what she could do.”

  Serafina let herself be led to the table with a sense of unease. It began to make sense. There was something like a stew—that must be the duck. Ginger and cinnamon and garlic and…yes, even cardamom. But studded with black peppercorns, not the hot red peppers that should have been laced through it. Something that might have been inspired by a dish of spinach, except that cabbage was the only green thing to be had at this time of year. And Chisillic was bringing in a stack of golden crepes before nodding to her mistress and returning to the kitchen. That must be meant to stand in for injera. All her cherished memories fed through an Alpennian kitchen and made as unrecognizable as Olimpia’s Africa had been.

  From Luzie’s expression, Serafina knew she hadn’t kept the dismay from her face.

  “It’s…it’s not right, is it. I tried to remember all the details, but…”

  No, it wasn’t right. Nothing was right except for the impulse that had created it. Serafina swallowed the memory of hurt and answered that impulse. “It’s almost perfect! But the meal needs the right setting. We never ate a holiday banquet at a table like this. We need to—” She glanced in the direction of the front parlor. Would Luzie find the idea too ridiculous? Would she laugh, or be too embarrassed? “We need to recline, like the ancient Romans did. And there must be cushions and…I’ll show you.”

  She took Luzie by the hand and pulled her into the next room. The low tea table would do. “Pull all the cushions and pillows off the sofa and pile them beside it. Gerta, go get some bed pillows too.”

  Gerta gaped in open-mouthed confusion until Luzie laughingly repeated the command.

  “Now bring in the dishes and lay them out here. Never mind the silver, we won’t need it.” Serafina grinned to see her own dismay now reflected in Luzie’s expression. “You’ll see!”

  When the room was arranged to her satisfaction, Serafina kicked off her shoes and sank down onto the cushions, patting the place beside her in invitation. When Luzie had settled awkwardly beside her, Serafina said, “Now this is how a holiday banquet is done in my home!”

  She sang something that no one else would know were not the prayers her mother had said before a meal, then tore off a corner from a crepe on top of the stack and daintily scooped up a morsel of duck. “And this is how we honor guests at our table.” She popped the bite into Luzie’s mouth almost before Luzie realized her intent.

  It might have been a disaster. Serafina could still remember her sister-in-law’s voice railing at her mother. Savages. Uncivilized barbarians. How can you live like this? But soon they were giggling as Luzie fed her in turn, holding up a napkin to contain the initial spills. And nothing was said of the choice of spices or the too-sweet taste of the bread.

  “It wasn’t just dinner, you know,” Luzie said when they were sated at last. She struggled to extricate herself from the nest of pillows and wiped her fingers carefully on a napkin, saying, “Wait here,” as she crossed to the fortepiano. “I noted the tune down as soon as I could, but I’m sure I’ve made as much a mess of it as I did of dinner. I hope you won’t mind.”

  The theme was brief and repetitive, transformed into variations like a student étude, but Luzie had captured the mode perfectly from memory. There were no words, of course, but the cloud of sound and colors that rose around them took on the shape of that never forgotten voice and reached back through time. The walls dissolved. The music touched her, caressed her. Fingers playing with her hair. The scent of spice. The whisper of fabric. Laughter. How could she remember laughter? When had there been laughter? Memories of her mother’s love had always before been wrapped in longing and regret. Had she forgotten so much? A warm cheek brushing against her own in greeting. A voice raised in song to the rhythm of the day’s chores. Her father’s strong hands lifting her up to his shoulder to watch a procession go by. Her brother’s quick energy running ahead into the crowd. Her mother’s face…her face…

  The music ended and the parlor echoed with a different sound. Sobbing. Whose?

  “Serafina! I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to—”

  Serafina shook herself free of the spell. Her own sobbing. It was still there—the lost world of her childhood, that place she had been transported to that time in Palermo. The place that no longer existed in this world. It was still there and the door could be opened again.

  The cushions shifted as Luzie crouched down beside her. “I’m sorry,” she repeated.

  “No, you don’t understand. It was beautiful. So beautiful.” Serafina grasped for the words to explain. “You gave it back to me. You gave her back. That’s what I came to Rotenek to find: how to get back there again.”

  She knew that Luzie didn’t understand. Couldn’t understand. She was making no sense at all. Luzie’s arms were holding her and it took all her strength not to turn in them and try to return some measure of gratitude in the only way she knew how.

  She thought briefly of Paolo’s letter and dismissed it. These were reasons to stay: Luzie’s magic, Margerit’s confidence in her work, even Kreiser’s intriguing project.

  Chapter Twelve

  Jeanne

  Late February, 1824

  Jeanne set her book aside on the cushion beside her and reviewed the letters on the silver tray that Tomric held for her examination. She selected the two that lay on top. The intended recipient of the third was clear by the signs of foreign origin, even without the name penned neatly across its face. The butler crossed to where Antuniet sat at the ornate secretary desk to complete his delivery.

  “And, Tomric, will you let Cook know that we’ll be four for dinner rather than three?” Jeanne reviewed the planned menu in her mind and added, “Tell her to add stewed pigeons if she thinks the mutton won’t be enough.”

  “Yes, Mesnera.”

  Antuniet looked up from turning the letter over in her hands and asked, “Who will be joining us?”

  “Tio’s husband will be in town after all.”

  “Ah.” Antuniet’s response included a hint of relief at the prospect of something to leaven Tio’s court gossip. With a brisk movement she cracked the seal on her letter and turned to spread it across the blotter.

  Jeanne skimmed over the contents of her own messages with a broadening smile but she waited until Antuniet sat back and looked up before sharing them.

  “This is curious, Toneke. My dressmaker begs the favor of a word with me. You remember Mefro Dominique? I wonder what that could be about? It certainly isn’t a dunning letter! And Maisetra Tizun is quite anxious to know when she will be invited to my salon again, although she carefully avoids mentioning the topic at all.”

  Antuniet turned. “And will she? Be invited?”

  Jeanne folded the note and set it aside. “That will be up to Anna. Selecting the guests is the most important skill. I think she’s ready to take charge of that part. A few mistakes will only improve the lesson.”

  There was something much like a snort from Antuniet’s direction, but she had turned back to the desk. “And do your guests know that their fate is in the hands of a chit of a girl who isn’t even out in society and wouldn’t be received in their own parlors?” The amused affection in her voice gave the lie to her dismissive words.

  “Of course she would be received. Maisetra Manzil is.” Manzil’s s
alon was famed among the more politically radical set. Jeanne had kept her success in mind when making plans for Anna.

  “Estir Manzil is a married woman. Her hosts have no need to worry that their sons will show unsuitable attentions to her. Though,” Antuniet added with the touch of regret that always intruded, “I suppose they needn’t worry about Anna attracting those.”

  Jeanne hastened to break the mood. “Have you discussed your plans with Princess Annek? Does she approve?”

  Antuniet’s head turned sharply. She looked more than startled, almost guilty.

  “The trip to Prague.” Jeanne gestured toward the letter that still lay spread under Antuniet’s hand. “Is she worried? I do wish you’d let me travel with you. There’s trouble on the borders. The Osekils have put off their visit to Baden.” The question had always been deflected, never rejected outright.

  “Princess Annek is concerned that I finish the current commission before I leave. Beyond that…” She shrugged. “I don’t plan to take any foolish chances. Jeanne—” Antuniet looked down at the letter again. She seemed to come to some decision and crossed over to perch at the other end of the settee. “Jeanne, I didn’t want to speak of this until there was a decision to be made.”

  “Mmm?” Jeanne hid her trepidation behind a mask of curiosity. This wasn’t Antuniet’s usual style. Bold, direct and tactless. That was her way.

  Antuniet spoke quietly but steadily, staring down at the folded letter in her hands. “You know what it meant to me to restore the honor and legacy of the Chazillens. But there’s no use in a legacy if it can’t be passed on. I have Princess Annek’s word on it—her charter—that my name and rank will pass to my children. But for that, there must be children.”

  A worm of doubt twisted in Jeanne’s heart. What was she saying?

  “I know it would mean a change to our lives. An intrusion. And it may be too much to ask of you. But I am asking.” Still her eyes remained fixed on the letter.

  Jeanne sat stunned, as if the house had collapsed about her, leaving her soul bare in a raging storm. How could she not have seen this coming? In any other person, she would have suspected—would have seen a change, a coolness. But no, it was all of a piece. She should have known that if Antuniet chose to marry it would come from the head and not the heart. She would know if Antuniet’s heart had changed, but the paths her mind took could be hard to follow. To ask this of her…

  “Toneke, I…” She felt tears start and fumbled for a handkerchief. “I don’t know what to say. I know it’s selfish of me.”

  Jeanne could see Antuniet stiffen. Of course she knew this would tear them apart. Such a short space of time they’d been happy here together! And how had it come to this? For years her heart had always skipped lightly past infidelity and betrayal, never letting any of her lovers plant deep roots in her life. Not until Antuniet.

  “Toneke…” she began again. “I remember when you said…when you offered to…to allow me to have other lovers.” It had seemed quaintly charming at the time, despite Antuniet’s distress. The offer had been easy enough to refuse. “Is it wrong that I can’t find it in me to be so generous? No, Toneke, it isn’t fair of me, it isn’t right. But not here. I couldn’t bear to share you with a husband here in my own home. And you have no right to ask that of me.”

  Now Antuniet looked up in startlement. “With a…?” She cast the letter aside and reached to grasp Jeanne’s hand, capturing it in its fitful motions. And then, unexpectedly, she laughed. “Oh, Jeanne, no! I have no intention of acquiring a husband! Only a child.”

  Jeanne gaped at her as she sorted through the implications. “Only…but Toneke, the scandal!” And how like Antuniet to propose such a thing so calmly. “Here I thought I was the daring one. You’ll lose your position at court, you know. Princess Annek can choose to overlook our…our friendship, but she can’t overlook that! What on earth will you tell people?”

  “I’ve thought it through carefully.” Antuniet composed her face into earnestness. “There are three Great Works in alchemy: the philosopher’s stone, the transmutation of metals and the creation of a homunculus. If I were to create a child by my art, it would be mine as much as any other, and there would be no reason for anyone to call me wanton or unchaste.”

  “And can you do that?” Jeanne turned the wonder over in her mind. “I’ve never seen anything in DeBoodt’s text about—”

  Antuniet released her hand and made a dismissive gesture. “He doesn’t touch on those techniques, but my old teacher Vitali has been studying them.” A faint smile crossed her face. “You didn’t think I was traveling all the way to Prague only to return his zodiacal watch did you?”

  “A child.” Jeanne let the thought sink further in. “And would you…would you carry it in your own womb?”

  There was a hesitation. “There are other ways, but that is the simplest.”

  Something in her words—in the careful phrasing—slipped into place. “Toneke, tell me the truth.”

  The stillness that came over Antuniet confirmed Jeanne’s suspicions.

  “Toneke!”

  “Jeanne,” she began more hesitantly. “Do you really want the truth? It might be better if you could tell people you know of no reason to doubt the child’s alchemical origin.”

  “Rubbish, Toneke. I’m a much better liar than you are. Now who is that letter from?” Jeanne held out her hand. The letter had precipitated this conversation. It must hold the key.

  With a sigh, Antuniet handed her the creased sheets. Jeanne scanned through the lines of elegant writing.

  I will not pretend to understand your reason for asking this of me, and I confess it is not entirely a flattering offer. Perhaps that is only fair. At this time in my life, there are no impediments to what you ask. So for the sake of the affection I have always sincerely felt for you, I extend my invitation for you to visit me in Heidelberg.

  The signature was more florid than the body and she could only make out the initials G von L. At the bottom of the sheet, cramped and in a less formal hand, there was a postscript. I could wish you had felt able to trust me before.

  “Heidelberg?” Jeanne asked. “You went there after you left Prague.”

  Antuniet nodded.

  “You told me once about a man you met in Heidelberg.”

  Another nod.

  “I hadn’t thought it was a pleasant memory for you.”

  “No, not pleasant,” Antuniet said. She seemed to be released from a great weight. “How could it have been? But he was—” She chose her words with the same precision she might have chosen materials in the workshop. “He was young and selfish, but no more than any other man would have been. You remember what I was like! I was terrified and I didn’t trust anyone. I never gave him the choice to help me from generosity, rather than in trade for my body. Perhaps he would have. I won’t blame him for that. And—” She spoke more briskly now. “—he’s of good birth and far enough away to avoid gossip. And if I must do the thing, I would prefer not to add to the number of men in the world that I have lain with. Call it fastidiousness if you like. Heidelberg is on the road to Prague. No one will think it strange if I break my journey there. I can—”

  Jeanne stayed the babbling with a finger across Antuniet’s lips. “Shh, I understand. And I will go with you. Don’t even think of leaving me behind! You still make plans as if you were alone in the world. A child!”

  Her imagination began listing the things that would be needed. The old nursery in the top of the house had been used for storage since she was a girl. So long empty!

  Antuniet broke in on the reverie. “Jeanne, you shouldn’t answer me too quickly. I can make people believe my story—there are amulets that can help with that—but it will mean changes. Difficulties. Think carefully.”

  Jeanne reached out and brushed a fingertip across the irregular red stone that hung suspended at Antuniet’s throat. “This is my answer, now and always, dear heart. Thinking can come later.” She smiled wistfully. �
��Do you know, I sometimes regretted not having children. Pierre…he was an old man. It wasn’t that sort of marriage. But Toneke, you know it isn’t as easy as all this! Some women try for years. You can’t simply—”

  “I’m not some women. I’m the foremost alchemist in all of Alpennia. And even short of the Great Work, it will be no lie when I tell people that I got my child by means of my art. DeBoodt describes amulets to make even a barren woman fertile. I’ve been testing some of the formulas. They should more than suffice for my needs.” Antuniet smiled as she always did at a new challenge in her work.

  One couldn’t help but believe.

  * * *

  Motherhood was still on Jeanne’s mind when Tio and Iohen Perzin joined them at the dining table that evening. Tio had changed with motherhood, despite her intentions. Once, she had been all rough edges and sharp points, straining against what society expected of her, restless in her boredom. She had joined in conspiracy with Rotenek’s eccentrics and rebels as they urged each other to new lengths of daring against convention. Now her edge was turned outward. When she lowered her voice to share the latest scandal, there was more of reproach than admiration.

  “Iaklin is making her husband look like a fool.” Tio glanced across the table at her husband, but Iohen was giving close attention to the meal. “She wants Silpirt to leave the foreign service. Take up some post that will keep him at home. And just now when Albori needs experienced men for the negotiations!”

  Jeanne aimed for a noncommittal response. “I should think you would sympathize. You weren’t happy about the time Iohen spent in Paris last year.”