The Mystic Marriage (56 page)

He might have thought it a bargaining ploy. When he rose after her his voice carried a tone of urgency, even desperation. “A title should not be so carelessly cast aside. You will have heirs someday, I presume. A second son might thank you for giving my offer more consideration.”

That made her pause. The fate of the Lumbeirt line was not a topic she enjoyed contemplating. She was the last, unless… Well, there was no point dwelling on that. To marry and get heirs—it would risk what she held most dear. Dearer even than Saveze itself. Margerit might protest that they could find a way to make it work, but she knew better. Even the most pliant of husbands would find such a position untenable. And yet Langal’s point held true. The future was uncertain; who could say what use she might someday find for the despised name of Turinz?

She turned and seated herself once more. “So, Maistir Langal. It seems you have wares you find difficult to sell to anyone but me, and I have no strong desire or use for them. Exactly what sort of pittance did you have in mind?”

* * *

It was the expectation more than the outcome that made the New Year’s ceremonies the pinnacle of the season. If the business of the day itself failed to provide sufficient entertainment, it was supplied by the endless speculations concerning what had failed to occur. Last year, Efriturik’s installation as Baron Razik had supplied the first. This year, he contributed to the second by his absence. There was no need for speculation; Princess Annek had made clear that it was the price of her official displeasure for the escapade on the river. Whatever price it had cost Efriturik had bought one thing: no one had questioned the story. A much chastened Tio still had her place in Elisebet’s retinue. Aukustin, too, was absent but that caused little enough talk. He wasn’t yet of an age where his presence would be expected, and his mother’s excuse that he was feeling poorly was given no credit at all.

Barbara filled the time before the presentations began by strolling down the long galleries arm in arm with Margerit. Half the crowd was doing the same and the other half was standing at the sides watching them. She had favored a gown in the same braided military style that had turned heads the year before, but Margerit had foregone her silken scholar’s robe for a more conventional dress in pale blue trimmed with white lace. Antuniet looked stunning in a garnet velvet as brilliant as the gem at her throat, with the sleeves tucked and pinched into a latticework and the hem drawn up at one side in a swag to show the dark gold slip beneath. Barbara was too honest ever to have thought her cousin pretty, but one couldn’t deny that today she drew the eye. The deep color turned her stiffness and height into majesty. And someone had taken her hair in hand, for a cascade of carefully-arranged curls replaced its usual severely-pinned control.

“You look magnificent,” Barbara offered, as they joined her where a trick of the doors and passages left a quiet pool among the streams of guests.

“Thanks to your gift,” she replied, looking grateful for the distraction.

“Is it? I’d thought the other gown—”

Antuniet twisted her mouth in a rueful smile. “I may be a two-dress dowd but I know better than to begin the New Year wearing a gown that’s been seen before. I was saving this one.”

“You needn’t have,” Margerit protested. “Only say the word—”

Antuniet’s face closed a little. “You have been very generous to me but I prefer to avoid obligations that I’m not in a position to repay.”

Ah yes, Proud Antuniet!
But it was a pride Barbara could understand and respect. She touched Margerit’s hand where it caught the crook of her elbow. “Let it be for tonight,” Barbara said. To smooth over the moment, she asked Antuniet, “Has Jeanne abandoned you?”

“She flits here and there.” A shrug, but of amusement, not annoyance. “I send her off to give me some quiet, and then in time she returns. I’m not in a mood to hear the chatter of her friends until this is over.” She waved a hand toward the Assembly Room.

And how would she feel when it was over? Barbara had debated with herself whether to reveal the thoughts Annek had shared. Was it better for Antuniet to know the likely limits of royal gratitude, or to enjoy one more hour of hope? And who was to say Annek hadn’t had a change of heart? Better to hold her tongue.

“And here the butterfly returns!” Margerit laughed. “We’ll leave you to your quiet for now.”

Not all their encounters were as pleasant. Baron Mazuk took the trouble to set himself in their path and Barbara tensed, still recalling their words after the debates in the spring. His expression fell short of belligerent by very little and it was impossible to forget that the night was traditionally used to find an excuse to settle grievances. Margerit felt her tension and slipped her hand free. With the same reflex that might once have driven her to touch a sword hilt, Barbara briefly glanced toward the end of the hall where the armins watched. Tavit met her eye and came alert, though she gave him no other sign. Nothing would happen here in the crowd. At his shoulder she saw Brandel lean forward with a question and be quickly hushed. He’d been granted leave to attend for his education but the first lesson was to hold his tongue and watch. Mazuk stepped forward with a brief formal bow of greeting. Nothing to do but see it through, whatever his purpose might be.

“Baron Mazuk,” she returned. “I hope the season finds you well.”

“Well enough, well enough. Maisetra,” he added with a nod to Margerit.

Barbara relaxed the slightest amount. So she wouldn’t be expected to take offense in that direction.

“I hear you’re claiming a second title, Saveze.” His opening was blunt but that could be excused as simply his way. “You waited long enough to take up that responsibility.”

His comment echoed something he’d said in the spring after the sessions.
Is this what his true grudge was back then?

Barbara threaded her way between confirmation and denial, since neither would answer. “That rumor has traveled quickly. It’s not for me to claim, but it’s true that I’ve petitioned Her Grace to settle the Turinz question. It leaves complications hanging about my life that I’d prefer to leave behind. By law, it seems I’m still the heir-default, but I’m sure Princess Annek would entertain other claims should they come to light.”

And were there other claims? She ran through an inventory of Mazuk’s connections. Was this a personal matter to him? No, not a matter of descent, one of geography. His title-lands lay cheek-by-jowl with Turinz. Had he been hoping to add to them? Or was it more complicated than that?

He harrumphed in reply. “It just seems a touch…greedy to me, considering what you started from.”

Now he was trying for provocation. Barbara tried to deflect him with humor; this wasn’t a night when she cared for distractions. “If I were greedy, it wouldn’t be for Turinz. There’s little enough value in it.”

“Still, it isn’t everyone who has a chance to inherit two titles,” Mazuk said slyly. “Why stop at two? Perhaps your mother arranged an even greater legacy. Just how many fathers might you produce?”

The thrust fell so wide of the mark that she could only laugh, to his bewildered surprise. Had he expected her to react to the intent of the insult regardless of the substance? “Recall that the entire basis of my title is in being Lumbeirt’s bastard and so the daughter of an adulteress. If you mean to provoke me to a challenge, you’ll need to find another glove to drop.” He tried to protest but she continued, “We’ve had our differences over law, but there’s no need for this. If the vacancy in Turinz has caused problems for you, we can discuss it when I know whether the matter is mine to address. Or if you want to test my skills with a blade, I’d be delighted to have you join me at Perret’s
salle
for a friendly bout or two. But there’s nothing we need to settle tonight.”

He seemed baffled, but relieved, as if he’d expected a different response. Perhaps she should look more closely into how matters stood in Turinz sooner rather than later.

They moved on. After another half an hour of empty pleasantries, the encounter with Kreiser was less tense. He was all politeness and smiles, answering Margerit’s wariness with charm and adding, “I think perhaps I have underestimated you, Saveze.”

“How so?” Barbara asked. If this were to be more verbal fencing, let him take the lead.

“I took a great deal of trouble to set certain things in motion. And after turning my attention away for a moment, I find you have brought them all to naught. Like smoke in the wind.” He waved a hand, as if dispersing the very thought.

Barbara answered his vagueness with the faintest suggestion of a bow. Let him make of that what he would.

He glanced down toward the other end of the gallery. “I fear I’ve underestimated your cousin the alchemist as well. That’s a harder loss to take. If I’d known…I thought the treasure I was pursuing lay within the covers of a book, not inside her head. She’s gone beyond all her teachers. I should have suggested to the emperor that he offer her a position in Vienna, but too late for that now.”

“She wouldn’t have taken it,” Barbara replied. “But if you like, I’ll pass along your compliment.”

“Will you be returning home to Vienna then?” Margerit asked.

He considered her, as if looking for guile in the question. “Yes, in the spring, though perhaps not for the reason you think. Perhaps someday you will visit me there.” Barbara felt the return of his attention. “You’ve been keeping quite a close watch over me. You might do well to expand your interests. There are more people than my emperor who have concerns in Alpennia.”

Barbara debated asking, to see if he would reveal more, but Kreiser bowed again and moved on.

And then it was time for the processions and receptions. Barbara parted from Margerit for their different roles in the pageantry: vestiges of the pomp of an older time that seemed more and more out of place.

It seemed an eternity before the name of Chazillen was called and Barbara watched Antuniet make the slow, stately approach through the center of the crowd, carrying an ebony box before her as if it were a holy relic. Annek had seen the rings already, of course. Yesterday they had been presented and examined, Antuniet’s claims verified by those who could judge their worth. Now the box was received and opened. A nod, a smile, words too low for the watching crowd to hear. And then the voice of the majordomo ringing through the hall: “In recognition of the services that Antuniet Chazillen has performed for Alpennia, We appoint her as alchemist to Our court, with use and command of the facilities We have caused to be built for her, and she is granted a suitable pension as a sign of Our favor.”

Polite applause covered the long moment that Antuniet remained unmoving. Then slowly she rose, curtseyed and turned. They all would take her stunned expression for surprise and pleasure. Barbara knew it for deep disappointment and slipped around the edges of the crowd toward the back of the hall. Most of the watchers had already turned their attention to the next presentation but there were a few eager well-wishers following after Antuniet. Jeanne was there before her, accepting the congratulations and fending off the most pressing.

Barbara claimed the privilege of pushing through and leading Antuniet out the doors at the end of the hall and into the empty corridor beyond. Awkwardly, she gave Antuniet a brief embrace and whispered, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t!” she said tightly.

Barbara stepped back and gave her a moment to regain control as Jeanne joined them, asking, “Would you prefer to leave now?”

Antuniet shook her head. “I can’t. There’s still the supper to see through.” Yes, when the formalities were done, there would be a more private celebration for those honored today. And it must be treated as an honor whatever she felt. The rings were to be distributed then, alongside other gifts. There would be no begging off.

Antuniet raised her chin and schooled her face to stillness. “It was always such a small hope.” Her voice tightened and she shook her head again. “It’s done.”

Chapter Thirty-Three

Antuniet

There was a usefulness, Antuniet thought, to having a reputation for stiffness and reserve. What had been promised as an informal supper looked likely to drone on for hours. Out in the side chambers off the galleries people would be satisfying themselves with lighter fare. Jeanne would be there, no doubt missing her company. But Jeanne always found something to entertain herself.

For a time, the need to make polite conversation distracted her from her disappointment. Eventually she took refuge in silence. Disappointment! Such a tame word. There had always been so little reason to hope, but hope had been all that sustained her in the dark days. Roasted duck and a paté of oysters replaced the veal roulade before her. She’d always thought that failure—if it came—would come from within: a failure of her art or of her skill. It had never occurred to her that she might triumph in the Great Work and yet fall short of the prize.

Where is all your pride now? Where is your vow? Why did you even think—
It was the same voice that haunted her nightmares: cutting, accusing… Her mother’s voice.

This time she had an answer.
No, Mother. I didn’t fail. I did my best. Everything I set my hand to succeeded. There is nothing more I could have done. To change Annek’s heart was never within my power.

And for the first time, she believed it. The voices stilled. It was like the opening of doors and the sun blazing into dark spaces. She had done the best she could have done and would accept what came after. This was her life now: no way out but forward. Perhaps failure was as liberating as success would have been.

As the final course was removed, Antuniet looked around the room. There were perhaps four dozen guests in all, those who had received some special mark of favor during the court. There were minor gifts too, it being the season for gifts. She received from Annek’s hand a fan with ivory sticks and a painted scene of the triumph of Athena. Afterward, she tapped it restlessly against her knee, below the table, where it couldn’t be seen. She’d never learned the art of the fan; perhaps Jeanne would teach her.