Daughter of Mystery (48 page)

Estefen said scornfully, “A name so disgraced by your father that it’s been unspoken for twenty years. A name you never dared to claim before today. I will not stand here to be slandered by the long-lost Arpik.”

“Be silent,” the prince commanded. “This is not your time to answer.” He gestured for her to approach and she bowed and knelt before him. At another gesture the packet was delivered. He examined the ring for what seemed like eternity before breaking the seal and unfolding the letter within. The contents may have been brief but she suspected the hand was difficult. He was a long time reading while the crowd grew restless once more. At last he looked up at her again and said, “Marziel’s death came at a most inconvenient time for you.”

She couldn’t resist responding, “I’m sure he found it inconvenient on his own part as well.” A titter of laughter ran through the room.

The prince handed the document to his clerk but Barbara noticed that he kept the ring. “Record it: Marziel Lumbeirt, late Baron Saveze acknowledges this woman as his natural daughter. Barbara Lumbeirt, you have birthright to bring suit in my court, but have you evidence?”

Barbara took a deep breath to steady her nerves. She longed to see how Margerit had taken the revelation but now was not the time. Only the first two steps were passed and a long walk still stretched before them. “I call as witness to my charge Iohennis Lutoz. And I stand prepared to uphold the charge with my body as well, if need be.” She watched Estefen’s face carefully as she spoke. At Lutoz’s name he looked startled, but at what followed there was a trace of fear. Good. She might not be certain of victory, but if he feared to meet her it made the rest easier.

“And you,” the prince said, turning to Estefen as well. “How will you answer?”

“Unless my dear friend Hennis has regained his wits, the charges seem to be lacking in substance. I will gladly stand by your judgment and forego crossing swords with a professional murderer.”

He was trying to goad her but he’d moved his piece to the square she’d intended. “Mesner Lutoz isn’t mad,” she hastened to respond. “He’s been touched by the saints, a punishment for his part in this plot. But there is one who can win forgiveness for him and restore to him the power of speech.” She paused until the prince signaled her to continue.

This was the next chasm they had to leap across. Margerit couldn’t testify to Estefen’s guilt directly, but she would need to confess her own to make sense of what needed to be done. She turned and gestured to her to approach. The concealing cloak was shed and she came forward. One wild glance spoke of the questions roiling in her mind. Barbara gave her hand a hidden squeeze. “Your Grace, this is—”

Estefen broke in accusingly, “This is the real villain! That Sovitre woman I raised the charge against!”

“Raised, but not yet laid to her face,” Barbara countered quickly. “And you cannot lay it until your own charge is settled—that’s the law.”

Estefen sputtered and protested but Barbara knew her ground was solid. For the first time in the proceedings, Princess Elisebet spoke up. “Is there another who could lay the charge in your place, Saveze?”

As Estefen looked around, she held her breath and once again touched Margerit’s hand for reassurance. How many others in the guild had been privy to the plot? And were any willing to risk themselves? Estefen’s game had nothing to do with the succession, after all—it was purely his own vengeance. And there was the example of Lutoz to urge caution.

All eyes watched as he first approached Filip Amituz, then Mihail Salun, and was met with stony silence. He searched around for other members of the guild’s inner circle but they were suddenly absent. He crossed at last to where Antuniet stood with their mother. The words that passed between them were not audible but Barbara could see that his hand had closed tightly on Antuniet’s arm. It was not until a sharp word from Mesnera Chazillen that he released her and returned to his place empty-handed and trying to cover his embarrassment with bravado. “It seems that justice against this woman will need to wait. But I won’t stand by while she corrupts and bewitches the witnesses brought against me. If Lutoz can testify, then let him testify. But if he cannot, then don’t allow her to put words in his mouth by sorcery!”

Barbara could feel Margerit trembling. It had been many years since charges of sorcery had been taken seriously in a secular court and she doubted Estefen had meant them as an accusation. But there were ancient fears that could be stirred up.

“And what do you say to that,” the prince looked to his clerk for prompting, “Maisetra Sovitre?”

Margerit remembered to drop a low curtsy before answering. “These past two months I have worked performing mysteries with the Sisters of Saint Orisul. I think they can be trusted to know the difference between the works of God and those of the devil.”

He nodded. “A fair answer. And how is it that you alone know how to dispel Mesner Lutoz’s afflictions?”

Then Margerit plunged into her story. There were, perhaps, more details than needed to be told but the attention of most in the hall was caught and held. Her inheritance, the university, the discovery of her talent as a
vidator
, the guild, the
castellum
and finally the extra tower whose seeds Lutoz had planted for her. “I was ignorant,” she confessed contritely, “and didn’t know what meaning those symbols had. And I was too full of pride in my skill to wonder why it seemed important that only we two should work on the rite. It wasn’t until after…after I fled the city that I learned what I’d been a party to.”

“You see?” Estefen interrupted. “She confesses her guilt.” But he was silenced at a gesture from the prince.

“Continue. We have not yet come to the heart of the matter.”

Then Margerit told of the new mystery she had worked and the visions on All Saints’ Day. “And I prayed to them to be deaf to his words, but they—they seemed to have answered by silencing his voice instead.”

“What was it you saw?” The question came from the woman Barbara assumed was Duchess Annek—she could be no one else and she had the Atilliet look about her.

Margerit answered hesitantly. “It was strange—like in a nightmare. A
phasma
, not like a regular vision. I saw leopards with glowing eyes prowling in the dark. And hedges of briar crept across the land. Then the saints stood before me, blazing like the images in the cathedral windows with swords in hand, and I thought they would cut down the thorns but then there was a great light and the leopards were edged in glory and the Virgin came in her blue mantle and spread it over the thorn and it blossomed and—” She trailed off as if suddenly self-conscious. “And then I fainted, I think.”

“A pretty tale,” said the princess from the other side. “Are we to spend the whole day listening to more of this?”

“She speaks the truth,” Annek said. “There were strange things on the road that day. Things she couldn’t know unless she were there in spirit.” She turned directly to Margerit. “So it seems I owe to you both our peril and our salvation. I say you’ve proven your point and you should have the chance to make your witness speak. But what will that avail you? It seems he could confirm
your
guilt, but I’ve heard nothing to place any on Baron Saveze.”

Barbara took up the answer. “Lutoz didn’t plan this alone. My charge is that Estefen Chazillen set all in motion, both the guild itself and the mystery aimed at you. He worked through Lutoz and then betrayed him in turn for the sake of his own revenge. Lutoz never meant the second mystery to come to light, that was Chazillen’s doing. And if not for Lutoz’s affliction Chazillen’s plans would have fallen short, for the evidence wasn’t found at the guildhall as he meant it to be.” Some of that was guesswork, but she saw nods among those who would know and knew she hadn’t stumbled yet.

Estefen tried for one last bluff. Barbara could see the fear under the bravado. “It’s a tale worthy of a gothic novel. All it needs is a kidnapping and a moldering ruin. Let her try her little tricks but I want no chance for plans to be made against me. Let it be done here, now, or end this farce.”

“Not here,” the prince said mildly, “but in the cathedral, surely, if mysteries are to be done. And to keep the peace of God on the proceedings. Let Lutoz be brought there. As gently as you may, given his madness, but bring him.”

* * *

When the court reconvened in the nave of Saint Mauriz’s cathedral the crowd of spectators had doubled. Within the palace assembly hall there were limits to who might enter, but as word of the spectacle ran through the
plaiz
every idler and curiosity seeker that could fit into the aisles came to watch and repeat fifth-hand stories of what was afoot.

There was time, only briefly, for a private word with Margerit in the confusion of the procession. “Can you do it? With no preparation and no experiments?”

“I think so—if I can do it at all. And nobody knows what to expect, so there’s some chance to try variants in the guise of repetitions. I wish—well, it doesn’t matter. This is what we get to work with. But Barbara, the baron…how did you know—”

“Not now. There’s no time even to begin. Hush now, they’re coming.”

And then they were separated. Barbara moved to where the prince was installed on his chair of state and where Estefen stood apart, not quite under guard but close in hand, while Margerit went to the space before the altar. The archbishop had given his assent to the mystery but declined to lend his presence and the priest who remained seemed to be content to assure the seemliness of the proceedings.

Lutoz was led in. Though the guards sent to fetch him stood close by, he was supported on the arm of his father. The old man’s careworn face told much of the last four months. Lutoz himself moved listlessly and his gaze focused on nothing in particular. The boyish good looks were gone and his face was thin and haunted. Only when he passed by where Estefen stood did his expression change—a brief flash of recognition, a movement quickly forestalled, his head turning over his shoulder as he was guided past. There was no emotion shown, just the glass-hard look that a hawk might give at sighting movement. He changed when he was brought to face Margerit, shrinking back against his father’s shoulder and shaking his head. The old man looked embarrassed and clumsily patted his son’s hand, then stepped away at a signal from the guards.

Margerit looked around and said something quietly to Lutoz. Estefen protested loudly but when Margerit looked to the prince his vague gesture gave no guidance.
Just begin
, Barbara thought.

Even with the best intent, Margerit’s voice was weak as she began the preliminaries, explaining what she believed had happened and asking Lutoz’s forgiveness for her part in what had befallen him. That was a nice touch, Barbara thought. There was enough in that beginning to let him know how matters stood. God only knew what he had heard or understood of what was happening—and if he had, how much temptation there might be to remain mute by choice. But he showed his assent by kneeling at the rail and bowing his head.

Barbara had seen Margerit at work often enough to know how tentative her opening was. First, the general prayers asking the blessing of God on the undertaking and for Christ’s mercy on all present. Then the addresses to the saints invoked in the invasion tower. She was re-using some of the original text and Barbara saw Lutoz raise his head in recognition at some of the passages. Finally she moved into the meat of the ceremony: the petition for mercy and forgiveness. It was simpler and more repetitious than her usual work. Barbara took note of the little changes at each cycle. There were candles and a few other symbols but mostly it was only her words weaving around him: cajoling, praising, pleading. She added Saint Tirok to the roster, patron of deaf-mutes. That was a nice touch.

Margerit gave no sign of her progress but when a ripple of scattered exclamations ran through the crowd Barbara guessed that some had seen the saints respond. And then the repetitions grew more focused and more intense until at last Margerit exhorted Lutoz to join her in the
Ave
. As she drew out and repeated the opening phrases
Aaa-veee Maaa-riii-aaa, Aaa-veee
…a croaking sound—more a sigh than a word—joined her voice, growing gradually stronger until she led him through the entire prayer.

And then it was done. Lutoz still knelt, his hands covering his face and his shoulders heaving, but now the sound of wracking sobs could be heard where only silence had gripped before. His father ran to embrace him and help him to his feet. Margerit had stepped back to the edge of the crowd as if to disown her part in the cure.

A decent interval was allowed before Lutoz was brought before the prince. So he wanted a speedy conclusion, Barbara thought. Well, that was to their advantage as well. Lutoz still seemed dazed—and little wonder—as he knelt.

“Like your deliverer, you are in a delicate position,” Prince Aukust admonished him. “You do not now stand accused and yet your testimony requires your confession. She gave hers freely and I have taken note of that. To you, I can promise only that if you speak the truth unstintingly I will require nothing greater than your exile.”

But if he expected defiance, it seemed he hadn’t accounted for the sobering effects of Lutoz’s penance. “What I did,” he began, “I did for Alpennia. As I have been judged in a higher court and granted mercy, I will stand by the truth.”

His story, coming first haltingly as his ragged voice found its way, held few surprises. How could it? Knowing the end, knowing how everything had focused on destroying Margerit, there was only one possible beginning. But to the prince and the others who would judge, Margerit was nothing and the tale must stand on its own merits. The guild—that had been Lutoz’s dream, but Estefen had urged him to realize it. And Estefen had insisted on expanding the membership to bring one particular name into play. The idea for the mystery? That, he thought, had been consensus—his memory wasn’t clear. But Estefen had insisted on the invasion tower, laying out the specific symbols to use, and suggesting they keep it close until the celebration.