Daughter of Mystery (49 page)

“And what was the purpose of that part of the ritual?” the prince asked harshly. When Lutoz faltered he added, “The truth. Unstintingly.”

“To protect the interests of your true heir, Aukustin, against…against those of foreigners.”

“Against my beloved daughter and my grandsons,” he countered. “And did you have no thought for the consequences of raising the guardians of our land against them?”

“That, I left in the hands of God.”

“And we see how God answered. Continue,” the prince commanded.

The accusation, the search of the guildhall—he had been shocked at that, but mystified and grateful that only the public mystery text had been found. The treasonous
turris
? Only he and Margerit had copies. At some point Estefen had borrowed his; was that before or after? He had thought it best to let things lie but Estefen had urged completion, had arranged for a venue. Then came the disaster of All Saints’ Day. And on the heels of that—when all the doctors and priests had come and gone to no avail—betrayal. Estefen had ransacked his papers and notes and carried away all trace of the ritual. And if the ritual was the foundation for the treason that was charged, then the charge belonged as much to Estefen as to any other.

Barbara watched the prince’s face closely as the questioning concluded. Was it enough? Was the miracle of speech restored sufficient to give credence to that speech?

Estefen, challenged to respond, was dismissive. “My old friend Hennis lost his wits and his voice but only his voice has returned. When have I shown any interest in chanting mysteries? If I’ve been arranging all these secret meetings, who has seen me? If I’ve been dictating the details of this treasonous ceremony, who has heard me? Where is the proof? Who can produce a single document that taints me with any greater crime than a poor choice of friends?”

As the silence stretched out Barbara stole a brief glance at Margerit. Did she realize how close they were to failing? And then, like the voice of doom, two words fell into the silence.

“I can.”

The stir in those around her identified the speaker. Mesnera Chazillen had no need to raise her voice to command attention. Her words, like her face, seemed chiseled from ice as she addressed her son.

“If you had betrayed a friend out of loyalty to your prince, I could forgive that,” she said, stepping forward into the space where Estefen stood alone. “If you had betrayed your prince out of zeal for a cause, I might forgive that. But to betray your family, to drag our name into the gutter, to trample your honor into the mud underfoot for no better reason than petty revenge on this…this
burfro
girl? You are drowning in your own bile and now you won’t be satisfied until you drag all of us under with you. It’s time to make an end.”

Chapter Fifty-Seven

Margerit

And suddenly, just when it seemed they might fail, it was over.
Did she know about that too?
Margerit wondered. A crowd clustered thickly around the principals with voices raised in babble. As much as Margerit longed for the reassurance of Barbara’s presence, she hung back from the press of people. This was Barbara’s realm—her game to play out. But it seemed there would be no further spectacle today. Judgment would come later. She saw Estefen being led off under guard. The ordinary folk slowly began to drain away, leaving the cathedral quieter and suddenly colder.

When the crowd had thinned enough she caught Barbara’s eye. After a brief conversation she came over, bringing the vicomtesse with her. “The talking is likely to go on for some time. It might be better for you to leave now. Jeanne has said she can see you safely home. I’ll come when I can.” But she looked worried.

“I thought it was all settled.”

The vicomtesse laughed and not in amusement. “The game is only begun in earnest. One takes another’s pawn—so. The other disclaims the pawn but demands a knight in return. A third player enters the board and the game changes. They will be arguing all night over moves that no one dares to make openly.”

“Don’t frighten her,” Barbara chided. “Our part is nearly over but we’ve upset the balance of something larger. I need to stay to see how it plays out. At the moment, I’d rather you kept out of view as much as possible.”

“But Barbara, when did you—”

“Hush. Later.” Barbara laid a finger across her lips and let it linger there a moment longer than necessary. “Later.”

* * *

Margerit hardly knew what to say to the vicomtesse on the brief carriage ride from the cathedral to home. The day’s events were too vast to address and the past that bound them together seemed perilous territory. And she wasn’t put at all at ease by the knowing smile that lingered at the corner of Jeanne de Cherdillac’s mouth. But at the last, as the footmen came out to let down the steps and open the door, the vicomtesse leaned over to offer a quick embrace and whispered, “Be good to each other. I think you suit her far more than I could.”

Margerit remembered little of that homecoming later: a long tearful welcome from Aunt Bertrut; careful, incisive questions from Uncle Pertinek; a constant parade of curious servants, peeking around corners until she capitulated and went understairs to show herself and share reassurances that she didn’t entirely believe herself. In turn, she learned the fate of Maitelen, who had thought it wise to remain in Chalanz until sent for. Nikule too hadn’t returned to the city and Margerit could only imagine what Uncle Fulpi would have to say when next they met.

And then, after a quiet supper, there was nothing left but to wait. Aunt Bertrut fussed at her to rest. “Not until Barbara returns,” she responded firmly. Her aunt looked worn thin by the past months.

“But I thought…” Bertrut began. “That is, she doesn’t…work for you now. That was the arrangement, wasn’t it? And Charul said…” The highlights of the days’ revelations had traveled faster than she had. Those of the household that had served in the baron’s time found Barbara’s news of far more interest than the actions of the court. No detail of that matter had escaped discussion. Bertrut finished at last, “Will she be staying here, then?”

“This is her home. Where else would she go?”

“But I should have them make up the guest room. We can’t put a baron’s daughter in an attic room with the servants.”

Margerit forestalled her. “Tomorrow is soon enough to worry about it, Aunt Bertrut.” She had a sudden thought. “We’ll be up late talking. I expect Barbara will simply stay in my room tonight.” But how to excuse the next night? And the night after? How did one arrange these things?

* * *

Alone, waiting in the library as so many times before, she finally had time to start turning over the puzzle pieces. The baron’s daughter? Had LeFevre told her…just two nights before, it would have been? But then she thought of the charter, when she’d refused to use the name Arpik. She must have known then. How long? Had she known when she’d vowed to have no more secrets between them? And why? Why had it been secret all those years?

She hadn’t meant to sleep. She would have sworn she hadn’t, but the next thing she knew there was a hand on her shoulder and Barbara’s whisper in her ear. “Margerit, wake up, I’m here.”

Margerit blinked a moment in confusion then threw her arms around her and held her as if she never meant to let go. She could feel the other woman’s body vibrating with tension. “Is it over?”

“Not entirely. But the rest will only be formalities. Estefen…Estefen will be condemned. Mesnera Chazillen had letters, documents—it wasn’t just you. If it had only been the trap he laid for you he might have wriggled free. He’d kept his hands nearly clean of the mystery plot. But he owed too many debts—both in Alpennia and out—and he’d sold his honor to pay them. She’d looked the other way for too long. Even family loyalty has its limits.”

“And Hennis?” Even now, Margerit found it hard to feel worse than pity for him. They’d worked so closely for so long. As callous as he’d been toward Duchess Annek and her sons, she wanted to believe he’d been ignorant of Estefen’s plans for her.

“Exile, as the prince said. He stands convicted by his own words. Margerit, you haven’t asked—you’re safe, you’re free; the charges won’t be laid.”

It was the relief in Barbara’s voice that struck like a blow. “But I thought…when no one took up the charge…”

She was suddenly shaking and Barbara eased her down into the chair by the fire. “That only held until the case against Estefen was settled. Even condemned, he could still lay his charge against you. That was one of the reasons I wanted you away while it was all being argued. So there would be a chance to have the charge voided before it could be laid. Princess Elisebet was looking for blood. She couldn’t defend either of the men directly but she could seek to even the score. And it didn’t matter to her that neither of us has any stake in the succession. She wanted your exile to match Lutoz’s.”

Exile.
The images flashed through her mind. Wandering, homeless, a stranger…and would Barbara be willing to follow her?

“It’s all right, you’re safe,” Barbara repeated. “Annek…I don’t know what she really thought, but she suggested to Aukust that someone of your talents shouldn’t be driven into the hands of foreigners. And since she was the most concerned in the plot he took her advice and pardoned you of any charges.” She gave a little forced laugh. “I think you impressed a fair number of people today.”

“Then it’s over?” she repeated. It seemed hard to believe things had happened so fast. And then, a more practical thought, “You must be starving, it’s after midnight. I’ll ring to have something brought up.”

“No, no, don’t disturb anyone. All I want is to sleep for a week.”

Margerit grinned. “I told Aunt Bertrut that we’d likely be up late talking and they shouldn’t expect your bed to be slept in.”

* * *

Waking was once more disorienting. A tap at the door—Iannipirt? No, this was her own bed. She disentangled herself from Barbara just as a maid came in bearing a tray with chocolate and pastries. But someone had already seen to building up the fires while they slept. If there were to be gossip, it would be started already. The maid set the tray on a table by the window and dipped a rather formal curtsy. “Welcome home, Maisetra,” and after the slightest hesitation, as if to rehearse, “Mesnera Lumbeirt.”

When the door had closed, Barbara rose and poured out cups for the both of them. “As Marken said, that will take some getting used to.”

It seemed an invitation to the subject. “When did you know?”

“For certain? Not until Aukust opened the baron’s letter. But it…fit. That night that Sister Anna died, she said some things. About my mother. And that was the one answer that would make sense.”

“But…but
why?
” In a gesture, Margerit took in the whole long masquerade.

An angry look twisted Barbara’s face. “Money,” she said harshly. And then, as if her feelings could not be contained in stillness, she paced the room as she explained. “Do you remember that treatise on the laws of debt that LeFevre sent me? I was the child of two purses. If the baron had acknowledged me, I had a claim by right to his purse. But if Arpik failed to disclaim me, then I was tied to his purse as well—both the wealth and the debts. I was the link by which Arpik’s creditors could sue the baron, even after Arpik’s death.”

The complexity of it began to sink in. Margerit thought it through aloud. “So if he acknowledged you after you came of age, you’d have no claim by law on his estate, but neither would there have been any bar to him making you his heir. He could have chosen any heir, just as he did me.”

“Yes, that inconvenient death!”

“But then why?” Each answer brought only more questions. “Then all this was to protect you from the debts?”

“It was to protect his fortune!” Barbara seemed truly furious now. “Work the sums out. From the hour that Arpik breathed his last, the size of his debt was fixed and known. It was large—it might have taken half the baron’s fortune to pay at that time—but he could have paid it if he chose.” Almost as an afterthought, as if she were commenting on the weather, she said, “I hate him.”

“You don’t mean that,” Margerit protested. Always before Barbara had defended him, excused him.

She sighed. “Margerit, to you he was kindly Saint Nikule, tossing bags of gold over your garden wall at your coming-out. But he was my father. My
father
. And he raised me in his own household as less than a servant, all for his own greed and the love of intrigue. He’s mine to hate, not yours.”

Those impressions she had had of the baron came back: capricious, manipulative, always with some deeper, hidden game. She ventured, “He
could
have raised you as a free woman—as his ward but with no claim on him.”

“But then he would have had to put a name to me. Arpik’s name. Oh, I don’t really know what he was thinking, but I have to wonder if even that wasn’t part of his greed—that he couldn’t bear to let me belong to another even if he wouldn’t claim me himself.” She stood, staring out the window where the Rotein flowed silently past, like the passage of years. “Well, what’s done is done.” In an abrupt change of mood, she poked through her discarded garments from the day before. “I’m going to need some new clothing. I may have one or two gowns that still fit and I rather think I’ll take advantage of my scandalous reputation and wear breeches when it suits my fancy. But I can’t go around dressed like an armin anymore.”

“Then we’ll call in the dressmakers and tailors both,” Margerit declared.

“You know, you aren’t responsible for clothing and housing me now.”

Was she teasing? Margerit wasn’t certain and answered seriously, “You know this is your home for as long as it is mine.”

“Ah, I had meant to tell you—” Barbara came to sit on the edge of the bed and took her hand. “Prince Aukust invited me to take rooms at the palace for now. He doesn’t know about what’s between us—how could he? And we need to be very discreet about that. It’s an invitation that would be hard to decline in any case. Oh Margerit, it’s just for a little while.” She traced a hand along her cheek, forestalling the protest that came to her lips. “I think we should be very careful. Just until we’ve found our feet again.”