I regain my breath slowly, watching the gray edges recede from my eyes.
Hugh speaks to Julianna in low tones, and she leaves to join her mother for dinner. I look up to find Hugh watching me. We regard each other for a few moments. “He’s called demons, hasn’t he?”
Hugh’s words punch a hole in my center, and I can’t breathe again. I reach out to grab him, anything, falling from the chair.
Hugh hurries to me, pulls me upright, cursing and trying to help me. “Lords all damn the man! What can he be thinking? The danger to — to everyone! All right, all right, you were right, I should have just let you poison him. Except a demon spell is notoriously unstable, and I don’t know if his death would stop it, whatever it is.”
He pulls me to the couch and then paces in front of me. “Damn everything. I have to get him out of here without setting it off. Or get everyone else in the castle out. Or the town. I don’t think I can move the whole town.
“Doubtless he’s been experimenting on those poor souls in the Inquisitor’s Building, as well. And the hospice. Damn him! This is monstrous.”
He stops pacing at the far side of the room, looks back at me. “I’ll get a message to my man, tell him he’s to leave immediately. We’ll lose an inside eye with Montmoore, but it can’t be helped. Bugger his cover. Cardinal Robere must change his route and come here. We cannot wait any longer.”
I slump back into the couch, curiously light. Someone knows. Someone who can do something knows. Hugh sits down next to me.
“We’ll work on some alterations to our spells later, to keep the demon magic at bay. I hope. And we need to adjust your barriers and your flow. You let too much of yourself spin out in the thread of your power. You could do yourself serious harm, weakened like that.”
He runs his hand over his face. “You were right, Rhia. I’m sorry I didn’t catch on sooner.”
I just shake my head. I can’t speak still, but for once, I don’t feel frantic about it.
“You should join Juli for dinner. Meet me in the library later, and we’ll work on those spells.” He stands and helps me up.
I feel that twinge as he takes my arm, pulling power again. I cut him off as he showed me, but it’s disturbing that I have to all the time. I sway a little. “Are you all right?” he asks as I waver. I firm my legs and brush his hand away, which helps.
“Yes, thank you.” I take a deep breath, and slip out the door and into the chill, dark hall. Dusk falls earlier now than even a few weeks ago, and the lamps are not yet all lit. I head downstairs for the blue salon, and dinner with Julianna and her mother.
～
I excuse myself early from dinner. Tension and unease seem to flicker among all the ladies, as Julianna and her mother either have determined smiles or grim visages. She must have told the duchess about the letter.
I catch Julianna’s eye, and she nods, so I quietly slip away as everyone is preparing to drink wine and play draughts, chess, or piquet. I am not in the mood for piquet.
There’s a man I don’t recognize in the entry hall, arguing with a young woman. When she turns, I see she’s pregnant, and younger than I thought. Her hair hangs in a wispy braid down her back, and her cloak looks bedraggled.
“What is this?” I ask. Both of them jump and turn toward me, their faces flushed and anxious.
“You, you are Lady Rhia, yes?” asks the man.
“I am,” I say, feeling confused and concerned. “Do I know you?”
“I know His Grace,” he says, still gripping the woman — girl — by the arm. “I am bringing, that is, there’s a situation I’m hoping you can help me with.”
“Is there something you’d like to explain?” I offer, gesturing toward the shivering girl.
She looks down, keeps her mouth shut.
“She is … well. This is … indelicate.”
“Pregnant, you mean.”
“Yes. Well.” Silence.
“Well?”
“I was charged by Prince Alexander to bring her to the duke, and leave her with him. She is, that is, His Royal Highness …” he says.
I begin to see. “Her condition is —” I hesitate to say it.
“The concern of His Royal Highness.”
I blink back dread. Julianna will be furious. “Is there anything else?”
“Her name is Mora, daughter of Sir Robert who was killed ten months ago at Serramonte. The prince tells His Grace that she is to be settled quietly and not linked to the throne. He — asks that the princess not be informed.” He releases the girl and bows to me.
“I see,” I say, but he is already gone, turned and left without another word. I sigh. The girl looks at me with dread and heartbreak.
“I —” she breathes, then is silent, worried.
“Mora, I am Rhia. I will take you to His Grace, but we must go quietly. Hurry now,” and I motion her to follow me. She hesitates, then keeps quick behind me as I head back up the stairs.
We walk swiftly through chill corridors. At Hugh’s door I pause, knock twice, and enter, motioning Mora to stay put.
“Yes?” Hugh looks up, wreathed in light from glowsand lamps at his writing desk.
“Your Grace, something has come up. I have a … delivery.”
His brow creases. “Delivery?”
I open the door and usher Mora in. Her hair is revealed as dark blonde, and her slouch hides her belly until she stands straight under Hugh’s confused gaze.
Then he stands, his eyebrows raised, stern. “What is this, Rhia?”
Mora’s lips tremble, and her shoulders cave again. I put my arm around her. “This is Mora. She is the prince’s concern.” I borrow the spy’s phrase.
Hugh’s eyebrows meet his hairline. “Ah. Earlier than I was told, and not the girl I expected.”
Mora visibly shrinks. I squeeze her arm for support, but she flinches.
Hugh walks over and circles us slowly, then stands before us, his face thoughtful. “Mora?”
She jumps. “Yes, my, yo—, your Grace?” She has a small voice, high and soft.
“Not to worry, girl. We’ll sort this out. Now then, how far along are you?”
She turns pink, then white again. “S-seven months, about, sir. Your Grace. I, he, I mean —”
“Yes, yes. That’s fine. Let’s see. Seven months ago, where was I? Oh yes. I was in Jervaulx. Do you know it?”
“No, your Gr —”
“Fine. I’ll tell you all about it. You’re from there. Can you cook?”
“Some, y —”
“Sing?”
“A little —”
“Sew?”
“Yes, your —”
“Good. You’re a seamstress then. A seamstress from Jervaulx. I’ll hire you for fancywork, and you’ll answer that the child has no father when anyone asks. We’ll let everyone think the babe is mine. No mention is to be made of the prince. Ever. Is that understood?”
Uncertain whether the duke asks her or me, Mora nods, glancing at me in confusion.
“Fine. Good. We can show her to the servant’s quarters in the morning. Tonight she can sleep in here.”
“That’s ridiculous!” We all turn toward the door. Connor stands in the doorway, framed by a black hall.
I feel a rush of relief that he is here, and fine. And a rush of other emotions to see him at all.
He closes the door firmly and stalks into the room. “We can’t add another unknown girl to your household, on top of those here, and the other coming. Everyone’s safety is compromised enough. You can’t possibly expect to explain her, and her — condition.”
Connor paces the length of the room, his lecturing tone causing Mora to become yet smaller. He doesn’t even glance at me, which makes me happy and sullen together.
“Now, Connor,” Hugh holds out his hands helplessly, “these are our prince’s orders. She’s his … concern.”
I wince. This won’t go well.
Connor’s pacing stops abruptly. When I open my eyes Connor stands in front of Hu
gh, his face hardening to stone and his hands twitching.
I flinch before the shouting begins. “Another? He sent another girl —”
“Now, Connor, you know how Alex is in a battle. And she’s young, and pretty. I’m sure he only meant to comfort her, and —”
“And he’s married to your sister! That rotten —! And how can you be so callous to Julianna?”
“How can either of you be so callous to Mora?” I ask through clenched teeth. “Here she stands while you talk as if she isn’t in the room!”
The men stare, disconcerted.
I realize I’m almost shouting, and my stomach boils: I want to throw something. “Mora, come with me. We’ll get you settled for the night in Connor’s rooms.”
Connor stands straighter. “What?”
“You can just spend the night here arguing with Hugh. You will anyway. And she’s not sleeping seven months pregnant on a couch!”
Hugh backs from my thrusting chin.
“And if you do continue arguing, I suggest you shield the room, your Grace. I’m surprised they can’t hear you in Jervaulx!”
I sweep toward the door, Mora in tow.
“I’d let her have the bed,” Hugh says, bemused.
“It would make more sense for her to stay here,” Connor snaps, irritated. “I suppose we are passing her off as Hugh’s lover. She should stay here.”
I look at Mora, who is shaking and starting to cry.
I spin to face him, Mora scampering behind me. “The pair of you are completely heartless. Can’t you tell when you’re upsetting someone? Don’t you dare come back to your rooms before morning, my lord. This woman will be resting and you can be the one to sleep on Hugh’s couch!”
I spin back around, hearing muffled snorts of disbelief — to find Julianna standing in the doorway.
“Why are we passing this young woman off as Hugh’s lover?” she asks quietly.
I freeze where I am for a moment, remembering only when Julianna glances at me tug Mora into a curtsey with me.
“Your Highness,” I murmur.
Julianna is not one for such formality, but her gaze demands it now. I glance at Mora, and see her face has gone a little gray. When I look over at Hugh and Connor, both of them look ill, as well.
“She just needs a place to stay, Juli,” Hugh says, his voice quiet and placating. “She’s very young, and made a mistake. You can’t hold that against her.”
Julianna’s expression, when I meet her eyes, bodes ill for us all. “Young and blonde, and very pretty. How far along are you.” She isn’t asking.
“S-s-s-, your Highness, I beg— I—” Mora’s voice quavers into nothing and I take pity.
“She’s seven months along, your Highness.”
“So many? It is a comfort he found companionship so soon after reaching the border. And she’s staying here for her confinement.”
Hugh takes a breath. “Juli, pet, we can’t let Alex’s child just disappear somewhere. I thought it best if —”
“You thought it best? Did you really? Or did Alexander ask you too sweetly to be denied, yet again? Might I remind you who his wife is, brother dear. He didn’t marry you.”
Hugh’s face drains entirely at her vicious tone, and he spins on his heel and stalks to his bedroom without another word, slamming the door behind him.
Julianna lifts her chin and leaves, closing the door quite carefully. Connor, Mora and I stand still, afraid of explosions.
Connor’s face seems carved out of rock, and I can feel the rage roiling in him. It overwhelms me for a moment, and I can See his desire to strangle his cousin, the crown prince, with his bare hands. The vision of Prince Alexander growing purple under Connor’s grip isn’t pleasant for either of us. Connor releases a breath, and I fall out of the vision.
Mora whimpers: I realize I’m crushing her hand. “I’m so sorry, dear. Let’s — let’s get you settled somewhere …” I trail off, no longer sanguine about taking her to Connor’s rooms. He looks at us both, and sighs again.
“I will arrange for a room to be prepared at the end of the hall. Wait here.” He strides past us and out the door.
Mora and I both sag a little in relief once he’s gone. I realize the girl is weeping silently. One hand on her lower back, her head lolls on her shoulders, and tears leak down her neck and drip onto her bodice.
I help her to the couch and sit next to her, patting her hand. “They’re not always like that,” I tell her. “I’m sure His Grace will find you somewhere inconspicuous, and you can start over.” I don’t know why I’m being so kind to her, except she seems so young and lost, and I know how that feels. Aside from the pregnant by the crown prince part.
When she breaks down and sobs, I understand why she feels so familiar. “Da is dead, and Mum died last winter, and I have no family. I have nowhere to go if His Grace turns me away. And I miss, I miss my mum. I miss her so much,” she sobs into my shoulder. I find myself starting to weep, too.
“I know how you feel,” I say. “I’m sorry,” I say. And I see a vision of Mum, smiling at me, that almost feels like the Sight, like she’s right here, and tears drip down my face, too. I haven’t been missing her, or Da. I’ve been trying not to. But a wave of loneliness sweeps over me, and I long for home.
But there isn’t any home any more. And when Linnet and I go there tomorrow, Mum and Da won’t be there, humming or arguing or scolding me for slouching too much. I know this, but it hits me again. I let us both weep while we wait for Connor.
～
When Connor returns, we are quiet, but a bit soggy. He blinks at us both, but is solicitous in helping to settle Mora into the south boudoir, at the end of the hall. When we step out of the room and leave her to herself, I catch Connor’s hand as he turns away. “Thank you for helping me,” I say.
He looks down at our hands, and I snatch mine away. He takes a breath. “I’m sorry if I was insensitive, earlier. I lost my temper.”
“I know,” I say.
His mouth quirks, fighting a smile. I stare at his mouth for a moment, thinking, I kissed the king’s nephew. The Duke of Torrence’s son. I kissed him. That’s probably some sort of treason of its own. His almost-smile widens, and I look up blushing. “Will they turn her away?” I gesture to the door.
Connor shakes his head, not smiling now. “Hers won’t be the first child said to be Hugh’s bastard, nor the last. One or two of them are even his. She will be cared for.”
I nod, glad she won’t be as lost as she fears.
Connor turns to leave.
“And Or—, um, about your errand?”
He looks back, nods his head. “The package is safe for now.” He gazes at me moment longer, then turns away.
I watch him walk down the hall to his own rooms in the flickering dark. Shivering, with a dark spinning in my stomach, I turn to the stairs to head to my own room, and Julianna. There are more storms to soothe tonight.
Chapter Twenty-Four
As I stayed up till nearly dawn with Hugh, working on spells, I feel entirely justified sleeping in today. Linnet makes noises getting up and dressed, but I ignore her and turn over toward the wall. I will let her deal with everyone’s chancy moods this morning. I’m not up for it.
Linnet wakes me in the afternoon. I groan, lift myself off of my side. My body aches from magic and sleeplessness, and I anticipate worse before the day is through.
She holds a lunch tray. “Her Highness wants you to attend her when Montmoore comes. So hurry up, you’re going to be late.”
“All right, all right, I’m getting up.”
She swipes bread from the tray and snacks as I pull myself upright. I smile a little, happy to see her snacking, and shove myself out of bed to wash from the pitcher. The cold water shocks my head to throbbing.
The heavy air tells me, correctly, that there’s a muggy and threatening sky. The trees in the garden outside shake their leaves in a sullen breeze.
I check my reflection in the mirror:
my hair corkscrews and tangles in knots that stand up from my head. Sighing, I work my comb through snarls with little patience, missing the weight of my long hair. The tangles weren’t better, but it stood straight up a lot less.
Linnet leads me to the great hall. When I walk in, the head table is covered in packages and jars, and Duchess Marguerite and her ladies are packing chests and rolling bandages.
“Good, Rhia, you’re here. Help me over here with the jars.” Julianna smiles and beckons me over.
Connor stands just below the dais, directing castle guards and servants to fetch full chests away. Hugh stands at the head of the table, speaking with the captain of his guard. I hear him say the chests are to be delivered to the hospice as soon as the carts are full.
Hugh and Julianna are pointedly not looking at one another. Connor’s stiff stance and everyone’s curious looks tell me that it hasn’t gone unnoticed. I sigh and stand at Julianna’s side.
I help pack simples into smaller chests, the stoppered jars cushioned by the rolled bandages and items of clothing the other ladies are rolling together. It seems a lot of bandages, but perhaps there is a higher need for them than I know. Sailors get in a lot of accidents.
When Montmoore arrives with Gantry, the bustle has reached its height. But everyone slows a little and lowers their voices when the kirche guard marches in, Montmoore and Gantry in their midst.
The archbishop is a medium man: his build is medium, as is his height and his coloring, but for gray in his brown hair. He’s not dark-or light-skinned, not skinny or fat: entirely unremarkable, but for the intelligence and watchfulness behind his eyes. His energy is all power and respect, as he strides into the great hall in his golden robes of office.
The kirche guards march smartly ahead and behind him in scarlet and black. Gantry beside him is an overgrown crow, his head cocking and twitching as he tries to see all the people in the room.
I let a little of my magic brush Gantry’s mind. A whirlwind of anger and madness beats at me, and I retreat, afraid to See further right now. Curious, I test the edges of Montmoore’s mind, but his is a steel trap, and I leap back before he catches me in it. I hold tight to the table to keep the leap from being physical as well as mental, and keep my gaze down, but I feel his eyes sweep across all of us, looking for the source of that brush. I hope my sweating isn’t too obvious.
A Ragged Magic Page 23