Reluctantly leaving a peaceful and empty office, she hailed a carriage and gave the driver her address. She leaned back in the seat and lost herself in the details of the past few days, details her mind had stored away for later perusal. As the carriage turned down her street, she saw residents strolling about the peaceful neighborhood, enjoying the spring sunshine that had pushed away the morning clouds.
She paid the driver and paused on the steps to Anja’s house, enjoying the clean solidity of the stone face and the carving of the wooden window mullions and doors facing the street. As she reached for the handle on one of the double doors, it popped open to reveal a flushed Maricie.
“There you are, Mistress! Just in time, too.”
“Excuse me?” She drew back. She’d told no one about her hunch.
“I was about to send a runner for you. Lady Meran-Viisi Aracia is here visiting and she wishes to speak with you.”
The matriarch of the Meran-Viisi was here? Draius barely managed to remove her cloak before Maricie hurried her into the parlor, where the two matriarchs waited. Anja was dressed for gardening, wearing a simple kirtle that reached to the midway point of her soft calfskin boots.
Aracia was undoubtedly the most powerful woman in Tyrran society. Not only was she matriarch of the Meran-Viisi, she managed the King’s household and assets. She was sister to Perinon’s mother, who died of grief after the death of Perinon’s brother, King Valos. Even in mid-life, at perhaps sixty years, Aracia was an imposing figure. She was in full visiting dress. Her silvering hair fell down her back in an intricate pattern of tiny braids. Two hairdressers, working at least an hour, were usually required to create such a style.
Draius glanced from older woman to younger woman, trying to gauge the atmosphere of the room, but both matriarchs displayed blank and genteel expressions.
“Greetings to you, Lady Aracia.” She made a quick bow by slightly bending at the waist. It was an appropriate gesture because she was dressed in her Guard uniform, but a flicker of distaste wrinkled Aracia’s lips and forehead, quickly fading. There was no way to know whether the matriarch disapproved of the uniform, the manly bow, or the visible bruises on her neck.
Aracia was also cousin to Draius’s mother and niece to the previous Meran-Viisi matriarch, Nuora. When Draius’s mother had died, Nuora had sent a note of condolence. The matriarch hadn’t attended the pyre, but there were so many funerals during that dark period of the Fevers. Without the Phrenii and their healing, Tyrra might have lost more than half her population, rather than one in every five. The Fevers were finally defeated about fifteen years ago, but the country was still laboring to recover.
Draius thought if her mother had lived, she might look like Aracia, but less stern. The resemblance stirred up bad memories, her mother insisting she didn’t want phrenic healing, her father crying over her mother’s unconscious body and sending nine-year-old Draius to the Phrenii, but much too late. The Phrenii heal anyone who appeals for their help, but in the order they ask. There is no partiality for rank or gravity of illness. Not for the King, and not for Draius’s mother, who was dead by the time an exhausted Dahni showed up at their door. There were too many sick and dying for only five Phrenii—and no healing, even magical, can pull someone back from death.
“Greetings, Draius,” Aracia responded. “I’ve been remiss in my attention to you, and to your child.”
“Not at all,” she said, moving to sit in a chair halfway between the two matriarchs. Perhaps Aracia had seen the articles and poem in the H&H; she probably disapproved of such publicity for the Meran-Viisi, no matter how removed Draius was from the lineage. “I changed to Serasa-Kolme when I married Jan, and I no longer expect support from the Meran-Viisi.”
“But now your marriage contract is in jeopardy,” Aracia said bluntly.
This wasn’t what she expected. “Well, y-yes,” she stammered, looking at the impassive Anja for help.
“I am assessing their contract,” Anja said. “I’m sure you’ll agree this shouldn’t be changed in haste.”
Aracia sniffed. “I’ve heard rumors of drunkenness, gambling, and infidelity. Best not to wait too long.”
Draius suppressed a smile at the absurdity of her husband giving up control of his money to gambling. She opened her mouth to say Jan hardly ever gambled or drank to excess—
“The only complaint is infidelity.” Anja was surprisingly candid.
“I see.” Aracia looked sharply at Draius. Whatever she saw, she undoubtedly didn’t approve.
Draius squirmed and felt she had Prideful stamped across her forehead. She wanted to be any place but that parlor, where the two matriarchs observed her in silence. This uncomfortable aspect of having one’s life opened for all to appraise, and having others decide what course one would take, had caused more than one of her Meran-Viisi cousins to flee the country. In a way, Draius appreciated leaving difficult decisions to matriarchs, but young Tyrrans often rebelled at this control and moved to Sareen to live their lives in peace.
“What of the boy?” asked Aracia. “If you dissolve the contract, will he be Serasa-Kolme or Meran-Viisi?”
Of course, she wasn’t interested in Draius, but Peri! Draius’s mind raced as she reassessed the situation. Aracia might be considering all possible options for continuing the King’s lineage, and a young boy with the next-generation name of Perinon, with Meran-Viisi blood, who might be brought back into the Meran-Viisi fold… She suddenly felt out of her depth; these were things that matriarchs handled, not Guard officers.
“It’s too soon to tell if the contract will be dissolved, but if it is, then this may be a point for negotiation,” Anja said.
As the discussion progressed, Draius fidgeted while the two matriarchs maneuvered and made no early commitments. Eventually the visit was over, and Aracia rose to leave. This had been a surprising coincidence—but beneficial, because Draius needed information from Aracia. Unfortunately, when everyone stood, she realized she’d have to make her request in front of Anja.
“Lady Aracia, a request please.” She stopped the woman as she prepared to grandly sweep out of the room.
“Yes? What is it?”
“You know what I’m investigating, and that I have both the King’s attention and his Law behind me…” Draius hesitated. She’d never heard of a matriarch doing this before, but these were unusual circumstances. “I need records of all the Meran blood-lines.”
Both matriarchs looked at her with astonishment.
“That’s—that’s absurd,” Aracia sputtered. “What do you need them for?”
“I’m sorry, I can’t tell you that. Except that I’m looking for someone with Meran blood, someone no longer carrying the lineal name.” Quite similar to my situation—an uncomfortable thought.
“Impossible.” Aracia sniffed. “No one with the King’s lineage would be involved.”
“The Phrenii told me this.”
One didn’t sniff at the Phrenii. Still Aracia hedged. “You need records of all the Meran bloodlines? That surely involves more than Meran-Viisi.”
“I know, but the Meran-Viisi line is the original source of Meran blood. Your records would show the offshoots to Meran-Nelja and Meran-Kolme.” Watching Aracia’s face carefully, Draius knew that she was right. Aracia probably had the bloodlines of half the sister city population mapped out.
The matriarch’s eyes, cold and proud, held her gaze. Draius stood her ground. There was really no other place to find this information and all the women in the room knew it. As they knew it was Aracia’s duty to resist this, thereby protecting the privacy and venerability of matriarchal records.
Draius had a duty also. “I could go through the magistrates and use the King’s Law to force you to give me the records, but that would be so public, wouldn’t it? I can even petition the King. Consider those headlines in the Horn and Herald: ‘King must force his own matriarch to open records. What are the Meran-Viisi hiding?’”
There was a moment of silenc
e. She didn’t waver as the older woman glared at her.
“Very well, Officer Draius.” Aracia almost frosted the windows with her tone. “How far back do you need records?”
“I can probably find what I need with four generations.”
“You will get lineage records covering that period. But no other transaction information will be included.” Meaning she wouldn’t provide information regarding Meran-Viisi business interests or assets.
She nodded. That was all she needed. After bidding farewell, Aracia’s exit was grandly executed and Draius was free to get on with her original business. She went to her cloak and pulled the little box from her pocket. Then she found Maricie in the morning room, polishing some silver.
“Yes, Mistress?” Maricie looked inquiringly at her.
“Hello, Maricie.” She quietly closed the door behind her and walked up close to the Sareenian maid, who only reached her shoulder. Tyrran women were tall.
“Can I help you, Mistress?” Maricie’s eyes darted about.
She backed away, aware that she had been unconsciously aggressive, as if she were questioning a suspect. She didn’t want to frighten Maricie, who had worked for Anja for three years, since the age of thirteen.
The girl relaxed a little, and Draius said, “I’d like to hear what you know about Tellina, and where you went Hireday morning.”
Maricie kept her eyes down on the silver in her hands and her motions became more determined, almost frantic.
“I know you were upset by the news in the paper. You pleaded illness, then left the house by the back stairs, didn’t you?”
She reached out and stilled the maid’s hands. “Maricie, I want to help.”
Maricie dropped the silver on the sideboard and wiped her hands on the towel hanging from her apron. She kept her face turned from Draius so her words were muffled. “I wish that were true, Mistress.”
“Why would you say that? You know that I’ll never rest until the killers are found.”
“Because Tyrrans have been murdered?” Maricie looked at her directly, raising her chin in uncharacteristic defiance.
“It doesn’t matter to me who was killed. A murderer must be brought to justice. I should think you’d have more faith in me.”
Maricie looked down and twisted the apron in her hands. “They say he was tortured. Who would do that?” She spoke so softly Draius had to bend down to hear her. Tears started down her cheeks.
Draius wanted to ask her where she’d heard that, when the City Guard had tried to suppress that information. But that discussion could wait.
“How did you know Tellina?”
“He was my father’s cousin, in this lifetime.” Maricie gulped.
“Really?” Draius was surprised. Sareenians had different naming conventions and Maricie had no connection to Tellina by name, but she might have the same lineage.
“My father’s younger cousin, who had his weaknesses,” Maricie said. “My father hopes his cousin will continue along the Way into the next circle of life. We pray for Tellina, and expect to meet him again.”
“Why didn’t anyone claim his body?” asked Draius, not really interested in Tellina’s spiritual health. The Sareenian Church of the Way, which preached the Way of the Light, could ponder about his next life.
“My father was afraid to identify our family. After all, someone might be trying to kill our people.”
She opened the box to show Maricie the brooch. The maid put a trembling hand over her mouth and her eyes teared again.
“Tellina gave that to his wife when they married. After she died, he always kept it near him. He was never the same after her death—I think it caused him to shun the Way.”
Draius closed the box and handed it to Maricie. She pressed the maid’s hand gently over the box, holding it in both of hers.
“Maricie, if your father wishes to remain anonymous, I won’t identify him in my reports. But I need information to find Tellina’s killer. Can you answer some questions?”
Maricie nodded.
“Did you know anything about his recent dealings, personal or professional? What he was doing after he moved his offices to Betarr Serasa, for instance.”
“He would visit my father and they would talk sometimes, in the evenings. Since I visited on Fairdays, when I have the afternoon and evening off, I only saw Tellina once in a while.”
“Did you see him this last Fairday?” Draius asked, hoping.
“He stopped by on the way to his office,” Maricie said. “He was upset about something. He told my father he was breaking an oath, one he felt was ill advised. My father reminded him that keeping one’s word is the Way of the Light, and the only virtuous way out was to be released by those that accepted his oath. Tellina seemed agitated by his answer, but would say no more.”
“What time was this?” asked Draius.
“Hard to say, but I paid for a delivery right before he arrived and the carrier marked the time as half past four o’clock.”
“And your father’s residence is where?”
“On Palkka Street, several blocks into Keskil.” The location was quite a long way from the Sea Serpent, in a tidy working-class neighborhood of Betarr Serasa where many Sareenians settled.
“Why was Tellina going into his office so late on Fairday?”
“In Sareen, one doesn’t automatically get a day off from work every eight-day,” Maricie said, almost proudly. “Cousin Tellina was used to hard work. He said he was putting in a claim with underwriters—best to do such paperwork when it was quiet.”
Of course, Fairday night and Ringday morning would be quiet down on the docks. There would be no one around to hear the screams of a dying man.
“If you’re willing, Maricie, I can leave your father out of this entirely by having you give a statement to the watch. I need to establish your uncle’s whereabouts that evening.”
Maricie probably couldn’t write, but the watch could record her statement. Draius didn’t add that Maricie’s statement also removed Tellina from the list of suspects for the first murder. No one could have gotten to the Sea Serpent from Keskil in less than an hour, given the normal traffic on a Fairday afternoon.
“Did he mention stopping by the Sea Serpent earlier that day?” she asked the maid.
“No.”
“Can you remember any more specifics regarding his discussion with your father? About his oath?”
“No—he was always private about his business.”
“Did he ever mention the names of customers?”
“Never,” Maricie said. “He felt it a matter of honor to be discrete. He was truly a good man, Mistress.”
“Certainly, he was.” Draius tried to keep the doubt out of her voice. “Did he have any close friends?”
“He didn’t attend the Church, and I don’t know anything about his friends. We were his family; we were closer than friends.”
Yet his family apparently didn’t know anything about his activities. While Tellina hadn’t participated in the murder of Reggis, he was probably still a conspirator.
Maricie was tightly holding the box between her hands, almost like the supplicants that entered the Churches of the Way, of which there were many inside the sister cities due to the influx of Sareenians in the past ten years.
“On your honor, Mistress, you’ll find these murderers?”
This was no time for hesitation, with those young, pleading eyes upon her.
“On my honor,” Draius swore.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Toasts and Swords
Raise your drinks to salute those who gave their lives to protect Tyrra, and who go before us to shine in the Stars. May we earn our own place in the night skies by following them in glory and honor.
—Traditional Tyrran Guard Toast, Origin Unknown
“You look great, Ma!” Peri said from the doorway.
“Thank you.”
Draius had to admit the City Guard dress uniform for women did look good, even
if it wasn’t functional. In an attempt to be feminine, it had a green kirtle that extended down below the tops of her boots. A vest of supple suede, with vents about her hips, went over the kirtle. On her chest, embroidered in gold thread, was the stylized phrenic head and horn. Maricie had ironed and starched her collar and slashed sleeves to perfection.
“Get my ceremonial sword, will you?”
Peri was happy to have a chance to take her ceremonial sword out of its stand in the downstairs front parlor. He came back upstairs with it sheathed, but swaying above his head. She grabbed it before he smashed something. The sword was a light ceremonial saber, with a barely sharpened blade. It wasn’t intended for combat, but its length made it difficult for the boy to control.
She strapped the sword’s sash over her shoulder and remembered the only times she had used this sword: Master Arvo’s classes. He taught the fine points of Tyrran honor and swordsmanship.
“Never give point in a duel,” Arvo would call out as they sparred, “because that’s an assassination, not a proper contest. Always stop when first blood is drawn.” Master Arvo had been fanatical about the intricacies and rules of the duel—but it had only taken one fight with a Groygan, to the death, for Draius to realize that Arvo’s rules had to be thrown out in real combat.
Her rank and service medals were correctly aligned. Her unbound hair shimmered in silvery blond ripples down her back. When she looked in the expensive mirror that Anja had installed in her room, she thought she looked too young without her braids. There was no help for that; one didn’t braid one’s hair when wearing the dress uniform.
She twisted to the left and then to the right, watching the skirts swirl about her soft leather boots. After wearing breeches for so long, all that fabric twirling around her legs felt free and frivolously sensual.
“Da will be there too, won’t he?” Peri asked, ruining her good mood.
“Yes, he will.”
“I bet he’ll look real handsome.”
Yes, she couldn’t deny that Jan was handsome. It wasn’t his appearance that caused problems. He was exploitive and unreadable, unless one spent years studying him as Draius had. When Jan appeared to have a simple emotion, such as pleasure or anger, he could never be taken at face value. He was always manipulating, looking for the advantage and benefits for himself.
A Charm for Draius: A Novel of the Broken Kaskea (The Broken Kaskea Series Book 1) Page 18