Jeanne released Antuniet’s hand and stood to let Marien drape the gown over her head. “Why not? I should think you would appreciate the change. Even I could see the effects.”
“It worked well enough,” Antuniet said ruefully. “Oh Jeanne, I…I think it was wrong. Not wrong to influence her so, but to do it without her knowledge. To lie to her. You said it was a good luck charm.”
“You haven’t the same qualms about the rings you’re making for Annek.” Jeanne could hear a peevish tone in her voice and hastened to amend it. “I’m sorry. Of course I should have asked.”
“The rings are different. Those who receive them will know what is intended. And I know I’ve used amulets before for my own benefit. But those had only a passing influence on those around me. Jeanne, I can’t deny I wish Feldin were more pleasant, but she has the right to her own thoughts.”
“I’d grant her the right to her thoughts more gladly if she kept them more to herself!” Did she deserve even so mild a rebuke? “Don’t blame the others; it was entirely my idea. So did you tell her?”
Antuniet shook her head. “How could I? I told her it had been a mistake—a misunderstanding. That it had been a different stone I’d meant to give her. I offered her one of the layered stones: carbuncle sheathed in fluorspar. It should be harmless enough. It gives a blue light when heated long enough and the only enhancement was to increase the sensitivity so that even the warmth of a hand will set it off. It was enough to convince her it had power. But she thought I’d accused her of theft and I had much to do to soothe her sensibilities.”
It was not the best foot on which to start the evening. Antuniet had agreed to the invitation to the Alboris’ ball only because her schedule allowed it and she knew the usefulness of being seen in society. But Jeanne knew there would be little enough to entertain her. The balls held in the Grand Salle were the backbone of the season. Not public balls; nothing so gauche. Each had its different host and flavor. Each was held nominally in honor of some son or daughter standing on the brink of adulthood, though the true purpose was simply the business of society. Each had its own list of guests: old and young, established and fresh, from high to…well, to the middle, at least. And always that flower of Rotenek’s best families, without whom no affair could be considered successful. The balls flowed gently into each other like the renewed conversation of old friends. Maisetra Albori’s guest list leaned toward the artistic set and the old middle-class families that had produced her daughter’s school friends. For once, Jeanne hadn’t needed to hint for an invitation for Antuniet. Verneke had known her long enough that such things needn’t be said.
They arrived in the midst of the crush and their hostess passed them off apologetically to Count Chanturi, who had been making his own bows just before and who offered an arm to each of them for the slow promenade through the new arrivals to the rooms beyond.
“Rikerd, you must know Maisetra Chazillen, I’m sure,” Jeanne said, though it was impossible that they hadn’t met years ago.
“I’m quite familiar with the Chazillens of old.” There was an odd note in his voice. “And I’ve been hearing a great deal about you lately. The alchemy, of course.” He turned back. “Far more than I’ve been hearing of you, Jeanne. No parties, no pleasure drives or other schemes, no new flirtations. What have you been up to?”
She gave him a sharp look, but accepted his pretense of ignorance. “Why, alchemy, of course! I have a new pastime, you see.”
He gave Antuniet another speculative look, saying, “You always did have the knack for turning dross into gold.” But before Antuniet could do more than stare, he laughed apologetically. “Forgive me, Maisetra Chazillen! One might think I meant to slight you by that! It’s only my feeble wit seeking a target. Perhaps I should take it elsewhere and leave you to better company.” He released them at the door of the ballroom with a nod to both and a promise to claim a dance if they would allow.
They made their way at last to the edge of the dance floor where the press of the crowd was greatest. After some searching, Jeanne spotted Tio by the punchbowl. But for all her pouting at being neglected it was scarcely ten minutes before she exclaimed, “Oh! There’s Alenur!” and darted off across the length of the salle. Well, there was no value in what one had, only what one desired. Mesnera Arulik provided a space of entertainment, amusing them with bon mots from her most recent salon. “You really should have come,” she chided them both, though Jeanne could tell it was aimed more at her.
“Count Chanturi was right, you know,” Antuniet said as they worked their way slowly through the crowd.
“Hmm?”
“You haven’t been planning entertainments. I always loved hearing you talk about them, even if I would have been bored to tears to attend. I hope you haven’t given that up for me.” Antuniet paused where a delicate windowed bay jutted out, enclosing an indoor garden. “Let me sit here for a bit while you find some hapless hostess to draw into your schemes. Come find me when you want a spot of quiet, or when it’s time to go in for supper.”
“Are you sure you aren’t sorry you came?” At a shake of Antuniet’s head, Jeanne reached out and touched the heart-stone pendant, then pressed her finger to her lips. “You are always with me.” It was hard to accept that the merry crowds that were her lifeblood sent Antuniet fleeing into corners, but they were coming to a truce.
With that permission, Jeanne looked across the room and saw Maisetra Saltez watching the dancing from a cluster of other mothers and vizeinos. There was someone who’d be glad of her hand in things. Last year’s skating party had been a wild success. She made her way idly around the edge of the dance floor, nodding as she passed acquaintances, pausing to exchange a word with friends, until she came as if by chance to her goal.
“Mari Saltez, how lovely to see you again. I hear that charming son of yours has his commission at last. Will he be able to visit you before the end of the year or is he trapped in some dreary camp, drilling recruits?”
Maisetra Saltez turned with a little start. “Vicomtesse! I didn’t see you. No, we won’t be seeing him for months, I fear.” She glanced back at the dancers nervously.
Jeanne followed her gaze. Well, that was enough to make a mother anxious. Chazerin was dancing in the arms of Perrez Chalfin. And the glances and shy blushes that passed between them suggested it might grow to more than a passing entertainment. Quite a prize if she could bring him to the gate. “Such a lovely dancer,” she murmured. “Do you know the family well?”
“A little,” came the answer. “My husband was at school with his uncle many years ago. He died at the very end of the war, you know—the uncle. But young Perrez remembered he’d said some very kind things and procured an introduction on the strength of it.”
On such slender threads were alliances woven. Likely the uncle had done little more than mention a name, but Chazerin’s blossoming radiance was reason enough to stretch the truth. And what match couldn’t use assistance? “Your little skating party was quite the rage last year. What are you planning to surpass it, now that Chazerin is fully out?”
“Nothing more than the usual.” Her answer almost sounded as if meant to be quelling. But she was distracted, that was all.
“Oh, but it’s so dull with always the usual. And it’s really very easy to change this and that and be more memorable. If you wanted a few hints—”
“Vicomtesse de Cherdillac,” the woman said with audible hesitation, “you needn’t trouble yourself.”
“It would be little enough trouble. I must keep my hand in, you know.”
“Mesnera, please. I do not think your plans would do my daughter credit. I bid you good evening,” the woman said and turned away.
Jeanne stared at her departing back with her lips parted just short of a gape. She had still found no suitable reply when Count Chanturi came up behind her to whisper, “I do believe that was a cut.”
“It must have been. But whatever could have brought that on, Rikerd? I can’t thin
k of anything I’ve done to slight her.”
“Can’t you guess?” Chanturi asked. “There are some rather vulgar rumors floating about the city. About you and…”
An icy finger touched her heart but she brushed it away with a wave of her fan. “Oh, pooh! There are always rumors. And if you are any friend of mine you know better than to repeat them. No one cares about rumors.”
His expression remained serious. “No one cares when you amuse yourself with actresses, you mean. But it’s said that you’ve taken up with a young woman of good family—I do not name names. Someone they have known all their lives and received in their own drawing rooms.”
“The hypocrites!” Caution was lost in a sudden flood of anger. “None of them have received her at all since her return except for my sake!”
“Ah ah ah,” he tutted. “A little less heat if you mean to maintain denial. That is exactly what has given the gossip wings.” He took her by the hand and led her toward the edge of the dance floor to appear as if they were waiting for the music to change.
Chazerin Saltez was still circling through the figures, entranced by her admirer. “She’ll never win him,” Jeanne said sharply to purge the remnants of her bile. “He may dance with pretty young girls, but when he marries it will be to a hard-headed woman who can manage his affairs.”
The outburst failed to renew her balance. No one else had changed toward her, had they? She thought back on whom she had seen across the past month. It had been all her closest circles. She hadn’t arranged any entertainments since Margerit’s floodtide party in May, except for helping with the lectures, but that hardly counted. But the invitations still came: the dinners, the opera parties. She searched her memory for any coolness, any subtle slights. “Maisetra Saltez is a nobody.”
“And if a nobody dares to snub you…”
This was what Toneke had feared. She dared a glance toward the far end of the room, where Antuniet was sitting on a bench by the windows, talking to someone beside her. No, Toneke mustn’t hear about this. Not now, when the work was all-important. She gave a forced laugh to shake off the mood. “Well, I suppose I’ll need to find other amusements than organizing parties.”
“I had a thought about that,” Chanturi said. His voice turned more serious than his expression. “There’s a musician I know, a young woman I’ve taken on as a protégée.”
Jeanne looked at him crossly. “You may believe the rumors far enough to know I’m not interested in an introduction to your pretty little protégée. Not even as a misdirection.”
“Nothing like that!” he said with a smile. “I’ve seen what you’ve done with Sovitre’s lectures. She made them possible but you made them fashionable. If you find time weighing on your hands, you might turn your talents to launching the career of my young friend. She’s been so unwomanly as to take up the violin—scarcely a parlor instrument! And none of the chamber consorts will have anything to do with her, of course. She needs to be launched in the proper setting. You might take up the challenge.”
Even before he’d finished speaking, Jeanne found her mind measuring the likely reception, selecting a venue and thinking of other performers who might set off such a talent. “A challenge indeed.” He’d succeeded in distracting her and for that she was grateful.
The last strains of the cotillion had faded away and the musicians had struck up a promenade introducing the next set. Chanturi lifted her hand to his lips, saying, “And now, my dear, if you haven’t forgotten how, would you favor me with a dance? I make it a rule always to dance with the most enchanting woman in the salle.”
“Flatterer!” she teased, allowing herself to be led out to the forming set.
* * *
The workings were more complex now with half the stones completed and only a few layers left to add on those remaining. The roles had strained their limits today, even with the addition of the Perneld girl and with Barbara pulled in for symmetry. But the salamander had been roused and bled, the lion had devoured the sun and the king and queen wed under the sign of the pavonade and now two sets of stones were safely aligned in the furnace. They had been beautiful: one with a ruby core glowing under layers of sapphire and beryl, the other shimmering with a hoarfrost of emerald. She had learned enough of the symbols to tell that tonight’s ferment would cover them over with pure crystal. The next process would cloak the bright colors with lesser material that could not withstand the forces that had created the gemstone cores: sard, onyx, jargoon. Then at last the cutting and polishing would reveal the brilliant hearts again. How that could be done was a mystery, but it was the ordinary mechanical mystery of Monterrez’s craft. Four identical stones were made in each batch in expectation that half would fail in the finishing. Those remaining would be destroyed. It seemed a great waste but Antuniet thought it too much a risk to keep them. The layered gems were too closely aligned. Twin might call to twin with unknown effect. Only one must be left to do its work.
Anna and Valeir Perneld had been sent home already and the men were rousting the armins from their eternal game of cards in the alcove by the door. Jeanne didn’t hear the sound of the knock and looked over only when she heard Elin’s frightened voice exclaiming, “Oh! Forgive me. I didn’t mean to disturb—”
“It makes no mind,” Efriturik could be heard to assure her. “We’ve finished. You’re here to see Mesnera de Cherdillac?”
This was no social call—one look from Elin to Iaklin made that clear. Jeanne hurried over to where they still hung back in the doorway. “What’s to do?”
Elin glanced doubtfully at the men but Iaklin blurted out, “Have you seen Tio today? Has she come by?”
“Tio?” Jeanne said. “Good heavens no! Why would she have come here? I haven’t seen her since the Alboris’ ball. Shouldn’t she have been attending on Princess Elisebet today?”
“No, the princess is away from town until tomorrow. Tio came by this morning and then said she was going visiting, but I just thought…I hoped…” Elin’s voice faltered and Jeanne wanted to shake her.
Iaklin once again filled the gap. “Aukustin’s gone missing.”
That brought all ears in the room to attention except for Antuniet, who pointedly continued setting the jars of minerals in order. Efriturik was the first to speak. “Missing? Or is this just another of his mother’s freaks? No, Mesnera—” to Elin “—you needn’t look at me like that. I know what lies your mistress tells of me. But is there true reason for concern or are you only frightened for your position?”
Barbara followed on quickly with, “Have you sent for his mother?”
Elin quaked visibly. “No. She’ll know soon enough when she returns, but we need to find him before she hears he was gone. If Mesnera Sain-Mazzi hadn’t gone with her, we wouldn’t even have that reprieve.”
“And what have you done?” Efriturik’s questions came hard on each other’s heels. “Where have you looked? Where might he have gone?”
Jeanne could see that hysterics were near. She took Elin and Iaklin each by an arm and led them a few steps away from the others. “From the beginning.”
It came out in a confused counterpoint. Chustin had taken to his room after breakfast, saying he was feeling poorly and didn’t want to be disturbed. No one had questioned it until well past dinner and then he was nowhere to be found. One of the gardeners said he thought he’d seen the boy leaving with his tutor, but Maistir Chautovil had left town for a few days as well. “And then I remembered something Tio had said and sent for Maisetra Silpirt—” Elin started, with Iaklin continuing, “—and I thought of that masquerade of Tio’s at Carnival.”
Yes, that dashing young man she’d played at impersonating.
Margerit chimed in on the tale. “Aukustin was mad to see the ships down at the wharves. And I remember Tio telling us she’d helped him sneak out at least once.”
There was a long moment of silence broken only by the low crackle of the furnace and the steady click of the clockwork drive. “She wouldn’t!�
� Efriturik said in disbelief.
“She would,” Jeanne countered with a sinking heart. It was exactly the sort of foolish trick that would appeal to her.
Iaklin wailed, “She’ll be ruined! She can’t keep this one secret, not now.”
Barbara said what they all feared to think. “Ruined? She’ll be lucky if she isn’t dead, or worse. They only need to stray a few streets away from the Nikuleplaiz and the Strangers Market to fall into more trouble than she could imagine. If they haven’t returned by now…”
“Or been pressed.” It was Margerit’s armin. Jeanne had rarely heard him offer more than a few words at a time. When all eyes turned to him, he continued, “The barges need extra hands for the stretch down to Iser. It happens all the time. A few likely lads get lured on board, then offered a place on the poles as the only way to earn their way home. If they were down at the wharves showing an interest in the ships, that’s where I’d put my money.”
“No,” Efriturik said, still doubting. “Perhaps no one would recognize my cousin, but all Mesnera Perzin need do is tell them who he is. It makes no sense.”
“It makes no sense to a man,” Jeanne said briskly. “But if Tio’s discovered after all this, it isn’t only her good name that’s ruined. There’s her husband’s career, and no doubt the position of anyone thought to have helped her.” She looked pointedly at Elin. “She might easily think her only hope is to bluff it through.”
While they’d been debating, Barbara had begun to take action, sending her armin for the carriages and barking orders at the rest of them like a tyrannical housekeeper to the underservants. Only Efriturik bristled at the treatment. “Have a care, Saveze! You aren’t the only person in Rotenek capable of saving a reputation!”
And what is the story behind that? Jeanne wondered. What has she done to step on his toes?
Barbara stiffened in turn but her response was more mild. “What part do you prefer to take?”
The Mystic Marriage Page 42