My friend contemplated this story for a moment.
You know the names
, he said,
whereas I know only the ideas. I never considered that names and histories could connect ideas, like markings on a map. And yet my own story—
For a moment, scarce any sense of him remained, as if all I could hear was his breathing.
But I babbled on, unwilling to relinquish the best pleasure I’d had in months.
De Vouger still teaches at the Collegia Astronomica de Eldoris
, I said.
You could travel there and hear him lecture. You have such an astonishing grasp of the subject. Great Heaven, did you study with him there?
Alas, I am not free to travel so far as Eldoris.
His voice had turned cool. Distant.
Perhaps
you
could go and ask your questions.
And then did the magnitude of my discourtesy overwhelm and shame me. When he had backed away from a mention of his own life, I had selfishly pressed him with a direct question, a question I would not wish asked of me. If he answered, he could not lie. Yet the matter was more complex than that. If he said
anything
, while leaving himself so open as he had been on this night, I could perceive emotions that he might rather keep private. As he had perceived my melancholy about my family. His comment had given me fair warning.
Forgive me
, he said, before I could choose how to remedy the problem.
To speak of myself . . . Please understand—it’s awkward. I am a teacher of sorts. Were word of this curse to get out . . .
The fault is mine
, I said, hurrying to make it up to him.
You don’t know me. And you’ve been everything of patience since the beginning. I promise I didn’t mean to push or pry. Indeed, I, too, live in awkward circumstances . . . unmarried.
Ah . . .
We should swear on our mutual gift to leave sordid mundanity out of our conversation
, I said, whimsy giving my words flight,
and pretend we are wholly normal people in a pleasant sitting room, which, as it happens, we can reshape according to our imagination. Do you so swear?
I imagined him smiling . . . though puzzled, too. He was clearly unaccustomed to whimsy.
I swear
, he said.
And I do, as well.
The tower bells struck the third quarter of the hour. Eyelids heavy with sleep, I wasn’t even sure
which
hour. He said he had come to the end of his walk, and so we bade a hasty farewell. Embarrassed at my missteps, I did not press for assurance that we would talk again. That he had taken pleasure in the exchange, as I had, led me to hope such urging was not necessary.
CHAPTER 23
21 OCET, AFTERNOON
A
s I put away Eugenie’s jewels and garments from her morning activities and readied what she might want for her evening supper party with the Duc de Aubine, brisk footsteps in an outer room brought Lady Antonia into the bedchamber. She surveyed the room, her plucked eyebrows, as ever, giving her an appearance of surprise. I gestured toward the closed bed curtains. Eugenie, exhausted from receiving a delegation of Journian vintners, was napping.
With a jerk of her head, Antonia beckoned me into one of the adjoining rooms.
“Dear Anne, I must apologize,” she said as soon as we were out of the bedchamber. “My objections to your service must seem quite harsh.”
“Your care for Her Majesty’s reputation reflects credit on you, my lady,” I said, swallowing my true feelings in the way of all servants. “None would dispute your concerns about my reputation. Believe me, I am humbled by Her Majesty’s trust and will do everything in my power to deserve it.”
She beamed at me and reached for my hands. “Of course you will,
caeri
. I was sure you’d understand. Eugenie is of such sweet and ingenuous disposition, she is easily taken advantage of. With the continued elusiveness of your despicable father—I know you share this view of him, else I’d not state it so frankly—and the brazen unpleasantness of this Mage Dante, the scandal of my daughter’s unfortunate choice in magical counselors has not died down over these four years, as it should have. Every spiteful word lacerates my spirit on her behalf. But as ever with her wishes, I am quickly reconciled. I beg you consider me your mentor, not your overseer.”
This effusive declaration radiated such motherly concern as I might welcome did I believe one eyelash’s worth of it.
“So, have you any concerns or questions for me?”
I demurred. Taking my arm, she strolled through the rambling apartments, as if we were old friends exchanging girlish gossip. “Such tedious events we endure these days! Today these groveling vintners who cannot trim their fingernails without Philippe’s approval and cannot bother to clean them before seeking it. And yesterday that roomful of maudlin women, bemoaning their men going to war with their king. The whining cows should be clapped into the Spindle for treason.”
“Her Majesty tires so easily,” I said. “And seems constantly fevered. Whom should I call if she falls ill—saints protect and defend—and you are not available to advise me?”
She halted in midstep, giving the question genuinely serious consideration. “Both,” she said at last, “Dante and Roussel. Though
she
may instruct you otherwise, I’ll not have my daughter left at the mercy of any man without proper supervision. Despite her unfortunate experiences, Eugenie views the magical arts with the most profound respect and admiration. Those of us privileged to live in her household must, perforce, do the same, even when the purveyor is himself somewhat common . . . and entirely disagreeable.”
“Of course.” Interesting that Antonia was so reluctant to engage her partner in mayhem.
“Which reminds me that you’ll not be needed after Eugenie returns from supper tonight. The maids of honor have no activities on their schedule, and my own entertainments for the evening have fallen through. I do so enjoy performing this little nighttime service for her comfort. After all, I’ve put Eugenie to bed since she was eight.”
“Certainly, my lady. I understand.” All that remained on Eugenie’s schedule was supper with her cousin and Prayers at eleventh hour. “Naturally, I’ll stay alert until the hour passes.” Especially now I knew Antonia didn’t want me there.
Antonia began walking again, this time more purposeful. “Your family maintains a man of business here in Merona, yes?”
“We did. But he’s no longer on retainer.” I’d had to drop Simon’s contract two years previous, when roof repairs devoured the last of our ready money. “May I ask why?”
“Philippe’s resident secretary must review the existing Ruggiere grant before any papers are signed. We understand there were codicils appended after the original was placed in the archives. So we need your man’s name.”
Ah yes, that other grief—my lost home. “Simon de Bois of Laurent Square. So, is it announced who is granted Montclaire?”
“Oh,
caeri
, this is not about the demesne grant!” She wrapped her long arm about my shoulders in an affectionate squeeze. “This is about
you
. Eugenie and Philippe will be so pleased. The Barone Gurmeddion has made an offer this very morning. We’ll sign the betrothal contracts tomorrow. You’ll be married before the new year dawns.”
“No! I can’t! I won’t!” Horror banished all caution.
“Certainly you can,
caeri
.” Antonia, smiling, squeezed a little tighter and gave me a shake. “And you shall. The king’s secretary in residence has already given his approval.”
My life dissolved into a puddle of spit at my feet.
She abandoned me with a cold, triumphant kiss on each cheek. How could I have thought to match wits with a woman of her experience?
No, no, no, no, no.
Denial hammered with my life’s blood, with my footsteps, with the fury pounding in my head. Had I held an ax, I could have razed a forest. I would
not
be bound to that crude and mindless grotesque for the rest of my days. Her colleagues of the Camarilla might have plans for me, but Antonia just wished me dead. Poison was a woman’s weapon, my mother had always said, and failing poison, who better than a woman would understand the particular death of forced marriage?
I returned to the queen’s wardrobe rooms, forcing myself to ready Eugenie’s toilette for the evening. Eugenie would sympathize, but she bore no influence with the king’s advisors. Neither could I use Lianelle’s potion to run away, not with Papa’s life and Ambrose’s life and other important matters resting on my investigations.
As I set Eugenie’s shoes on the lavender-scented shelf, I spied a tangle of ribbons heaped in a basket. I snatched out a silken strip of scarlet. Love knots were tied of red ribbons.
Immediately, I threw it back. If using the signal put lives at risk, I’d best assess the threat first. Eugenie would sleep for two hours, time enough for me to find Simon de Bois’ office in Laurent Square and glean my prospects.
I notified Doorward Viggio to fetch Lady Eleanor if the queen rang for attendance before fifth hour, and stepped into the outer passage.
“Excuse me, please.”
Warmth flooded my skin when I heard the friendly greeting. My steps halted, and I responded with a vigor that must surely explode in his skull.
My friend! I’m glad of a distraction
. Head bowed, eyes closed, I listened . . . released my barriers a bit . . . but could not detect the familiar presence. Likely I was too agitated.
Friend?
“Might I speak to you for a m-moment?” The inquiry came from behind me, not inside.
I spun in my tracks, heart thumping, head noisy with the unleashed voices inside it. “Physician Roussel!”
He loomed large in the shadowed doorway across the passage. His head tilted, concern creasing his square face. “Are you quite well, damoselle?”
“Just startled,” I said, half sick, half pleased, entirely fuddled. “You appear immensely improved, sonjeur.”
Indeed, fresh garments, a well-applied comb, and a more natural ruddy color in his complexion had restored his ever-meticulous appearance. His thick, perfectly trimmed mustache sheltered the beginnings of a smile. “While you look the same as always, d-damoselle, entirely without need for improvement.”
His eyes dropped quickly after this quiet compliment. Eugenie had spoken of him as wretchedly shy
.
My own cheeks could have heated a snow cave. He had been waiting for me.
“I thought . . . hearing of your new p-post . . .” He glanced to either end of the passage, quiet in this resting hour. “I mustn’t—I’m not allowed to c-come into the queen’s apartments without specific summoning. Her Majesty’s condition concerns me, and I hoped I might prevail upon you to encourage her to attend her health more c-carefully.”
“Lady Antonia encourages the various tonics in Her Majesty’s medicine box. I assumed those originated with you. She’s quite insistent. I doubt I can do more.”
Roussel stepped closer, stooping to whisper. “In truth, I’ve p-prescribed little but the shellblade root tisane. Most of the rest originate with the lady mother.
The mage
sends things along from time to time.”
The physician might as well have told me arsenic or adder’s venom filled the queen’s vials.
“What would you have me do?”
“Her Majesty eats far too little, and not enough of liver and other b-blood meats that might sustain her. And she should drink more ale, take more exercise, and retire earlier. Such good habits would help her sleep more soundly. She is so restless, p-plagued with nightmares.”
“That, at least, seems improved,” I said. “I understand some kind of a spelled device was found under her bed and removed.”
“If one b-believed in magic . . .” His glance darted up and down the corridor. “Even if such a thing were possible, who would afflict the queen, so gracious to everyone?”
Sensing a fellow skeptic, I felt more freedom to speak. “I’ve thought perhaps the thing harnessed some natural energies—like sounds that set one’s nerves on edge. As to who, there are deadly conspiracies afoot in the household. Your own illness tells you. The couchine . . .”
“Aye. I g-guessed it was intended for you. D-damoselle, you must take care.”
The quarter hour rang from the bell tower. “I’ll do what I can in both matters,” I said. “But you must excuse me now. I’ve an urgent errand in the city.”
“My duties take me to the academie this morning. P-perhaps I could escort you. Assist in whatever way you might need.”
My heart stuttered, then blossomed like a lily at sunrise. Was
Roussel
Duplais’ trustworthy advisor? An outsider, self-effacing. Duplais himself had recommended him for his post. “An escort would be most—”
Men’s voices blasted from the outer doorway of the queen’s salon, halfway down the passage. Roussel and I hurried to see what transpired.
Mage Dante had his left arm wrapped about Adept Jacard’s neck and was dragging him across the threshold from the courtyard, as if the young man were a sheep being hauled to slaughter. “Out of my way, peacock,” he bellowed at Lord Ilario, who scurried in retreat to cower beside the stalwart Doorward Viggio. Everyone else in the room shrank toward the walls.