by A K Fedeau
Marcus feigned a smile. “I’m afraid so.”
“You get plenty of shooting practice with her.” The duke smirked. “I’d think you’d be an expert by now.”
Marcus cleared his throat.
Livia poured herself more juice. “Please, you’ll make him blush.”
A maid came over to Livia’s chair and murmured, my lady, let me pour next time. Livia shook her head and murmured back, no, no, I can do it myself.
“Marcus, have you heard from the high general?” The duke asked.
Marcus answered, “I’m sorry, no.”
“I have.” Hector took another bite of pheasant before he’d finished the last. “He’s been wounded.”
The duchess started. “Mira’s grace.”
Marcus lowered his fork. “What?”
“He was stabbed,” Hector explained. “They said something about an ambush at Hulder’s Rock.”
“‘Something’ like what?” The red-haired man asked.
“I don’t know.” Hector chewed as he talked. “They just said he was hurt. They’re treating him at the field hospital.”
“Oh.” The duchess avoided looking at Hector’s mouth. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
“You’re not the one who should be sorry.” The red-haired woman set her goblet down a little too hard. “This never would’ve happened if Carpathia had gotten involved.”
Four other guests around the table let out an inaudible, but visible sigh.
“I tried, Isidora. All right?” Hector answered in a defensive voice. “I had Camilla write letters, I went over there and asked her myself. You know how much I hate traveling?”
“Your Majesty, please.” The red-haired man rolled his eyes. “Pardon my wife.”
“He doesn’t have to pardon me, Oscar. I can speak my mind.” Isidora stabbed a mushroom with her fork. “And what’s on my mind is that if Carpathia had joined the war, Tiberius never would’ve been wounded, because we would’ve trounced them years ago.”
“Well, don’t ruin the morning over it.” Oscar took a bite of pheasant off his knife. “It’s not His Majesty’s fault Sibyl is an isolationist wretch.”
“I don’t know.” The duke shrugged. “She seemed to like me well enough.”
The duchess let out a nervous laugh. “Politics at the breakfast table?”
Isidora snapped, “If you don’t like it, you can go.”
A long, uncomfortable silence fell over the solarium, and Marcus and Livia studied the mushrooms on their plates. When they finally started talking again, Livia peeked across the table, and she noticed Isidora’s necklace - a huge octagonal diamond, draped with sapphires cut in five-point stars.
Livia tucked her chin and whispered, “Marcus?”
Marcus leaned in again. “What’s wrong?”
Livia blinked at Isidora’s throat. “Do you see that necklace?”
“See it?” Marcus furrowed his brow. “I could see that diamond from Jormunthal.”
“Does that look like the Falling Star to you?”
“The Carpathian crown jewels?”
“That’s right.”
Marcus’ eyes widened. “It does.”
“There’s no way Sybil let her have that.”
“Are you implying that she…?”
“Stole it?” Livia asked. “Of course I am.”
“Mira’s blood.” Marcus dabbed his lip with his napkin to hide his mouth. “Wearing another province’s stolen crown jewels? Is she out of her mind?”
“No,” Livia mumbled. “She’s surrounded by people who think it’s hilarious.”
Hector started small talk with the duke to pick the conversation up in earnest, and as Isidora served herself another pheasant, Livia raised her voice.
“Lady Isidora?”
“Yes?”
“Have you ever worn that necklace before?”
“No.” Isidora smiled all the way up to her gums. “I don’t think so.”
“Well, it looks very nice on you.”
Isidora picked at her plate. “If you like it that much, I’ll be auctioning it off next week.”
Livia raised her eyebrows. “Oh.”
Oscar licked his finger, then made a sour face. “That’s a fine way to treat something priceless.”
“We discussed this, you idiot.” Isidora shot him an equally withering glance, then smiled again. “I’m donating the proceeds to the Histrian Defense Fund.”
“Goodness.” The duchess raised her eyebrows. “That’s patriotic of you.”
“No, it’s not. It’s just gracious.” Isidora casually pushed Oscar’s napkin into his lap. “Hector’s been very kind to let Oscar and I stay in his court. The least I can do is commit some Carpathian coin to help his troops win the war.”
The other guests traded awkward looks, but didn’t say anything.
Isidora made an innocent face and took a bite. “If Sibyl won’t, I will.”
The conversation wandered off-track to something about the Carpathian royal guard, and Livia forced down another bite of her pheasant and tuned it out. She leaned toward Marcus one more time and gave him a knowing look - and Marcus pulled his lips into his teeth and gave her one in return.
CHAPTER 10
“Do you handle your auctions here, or should I speak to the owners themselves?”
Livia swished her skirt across the floor of the auction house, around the corner of the Grand Temple and down the road from the Proscenium. A bowl of frankincense smoldered on the curved reception desk, where the portly antique dealer steepled his ring-heavy hands.
“No, no.” The dealer shook his head. “We handle everything in-house. In fact, take a look around while you’re here. You might see something else you like.”
Livia paced around the room and sized up some of the displays, to satiate the dealer’s need to make her feel welcome. A jewelry box. A bust of Mira. A silver hand mirror, beside a gold astrolabe small enough to sit on a tabletop.
“What kind of clientele do you get here?”
The dealer looked innocent. “Why do you ask?”
“Just curious.”
“Well, last week, we auctioned off a gold statue of the Celestial Pair. The winning bidder was a friend of Queen Yasmina of Kaditha.” The dealer answered in a soothing voice and smoothed his thinning hair. “The principal actress at the Proscenium buys many of her jewels from us.”
Livia half-listened while she studied the vases on the shelves.
“If you’re worried about our credentials, don’t be. We’re the best in Histria. However you want to do business with us, your antiques are in good hands.”
Livia admired the diamond bracelets on a table with gazelles for legs, and beside a polished ebony elephant, she noticed a silver urn.
“Do you check their provenance, too?” She asked.
The dealer cocked his head. “What do you mean?”
“You know how it is. Once in a while, something a little too special turns up.” Livia’s eyes roamed over the room - the door, the shelves, her fingernails. “A little too rare. A little too valuable. You ask yourself, ‘Where did that come from?’ And sure enough, a month later, you find out it wasn’t yours to sell.”
The dealer stood up very straight, and still only came up to Livia’s neck.
“My lady, are you suggesting that we deal in stolen goods?”
Livia raised her eyebrows. “I’m just saying.”
“I’m offended at the thought.”
“So you don’t?”
The dealer turned red. “No, we don’t.”
Livia smirked like a fox and said nothing.
“What?”
“You’re a terrible liar. That urn went missing from the Grand Gallery three months ago.”
The dealer froze again, and looked at her like a cornered rat.
“Listen.” He folded his hands on top of the desk. “We can work something out.”
“Like what?”
“I can pay you. Give you a disc
ount on anything we’ve got in the shop.” The dealer squeezed his palms together until his knuckles turned white. “All I ask is that you don’t go to the prefects, and leave us alone.”
“Why would I go to the prefects?” Livia leaned across the desk. “It’s what I’m here for.”
The dealer’s face changed again - first to understanding, then to awe - and in one smooth move, he fished the keyring off his tunic belt.
“Well.” The dealer crossed the room and shut, then locked the door, then stepped over and lowered the drapes. “You’re in luck. I was just going to close up.”
•••
The dealer led Livia into a narrow, dimly-lit room, with a beaded valance over the doorway and red drapes on the walls. Brass lamps hung from the ceiling and cast a glow on the stolen goods, laid out like museum pieces on silky black tablecloths.
“Who do you work with?” Livia eyed the Kadithan rug under their feet. “The Syndicate?”
“Them, and sometimes the Black Hand, or the Kadithan Brotherhood.” The dealer closed the door, then scooted past the first table. “It’s a more than healthy living. You’d be surprised what otherwise clean-fingered nobles will buy for their country houses.”
“Oh, I don’t think I would.” Livia smirked and admired a crest-shaped hat on a wig stand. “What’s this?”
“Ah. A Severin headdress from the Stoyka Period.” The dealer turned the stand back and forth, so the beads shimmered under the light. “You can see the citrine and selenite beading. Whoever made this spared no expense. It’s fragile, but in excellent shape for its age.”
“And where did that come from?”
“Listen, I don’t ask questions.” The dealer chuckled and held up his hands. “At least no more than I have to.”
Livia chuckled, too. “Of course.”
“But, uh, between the two of us?” The dealer winked at the headdress and clicked his tongue. “Definitely from a princess’s crypt.”
Livia shot him a bemused smile. “All right.”
“Now. Let’s see.” The dealer gestured to a pale pink goblet in a glass case. “This alabaster piece was unearthed in western Kaditha. That shade of pink is natural. It only comes from the cliffs to the far south.”
Livia examined the goblet, too, to be polite.
“The people who sold it to us said it was from the period of Juban rule. The technique they used to carve the alabaster that thin has been lost.” The dealer tapped the side of the glass with his finger, then pulled away. “They also said the previous owner used to collect erotic art.”
Livia quirked her eyebrows. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“See for yourself.”
Livia stood up straight and peered over the goblet’s edge, and when she saw the carving at the bottom, she blinked and drew her head back.
“You never know.” The dealer shrugged. “For some people, that’s a selling point.” He paced over to a table with an open book. “Now, this one’s a little more interesting. It’s a hand-lettered Book of Mira. Gold and silver ink on midnight blue…”
Livia leaned into his personal space. “Come on.”
The dealer paused, and his eyes shifted back and forth. “What?”
“I’m not here for a book or a headdress.”
The dealer hesitated again. “You’re not?”
“I think you have something bigger coming, and you’re holding out on me.”
The dealer let out an uncomfortable laugh. “Why would I do that?”
“Because they’re Carpathian crown jewels.”
The color drained from the dealer’s face.
“I don’t know about that,” he murmured.
“Oh, I think you do.”
“How do you know?” The dealer stammered. “Who are you?”
“That’s none of your business.”
“If you’re a Carpathian spy…”
“I need to be a step ahead of them.” Livia advanced on him. “And if you slow me down…”
“All right! All right.” The dealer threw his hands up again. “Early yesterday, I had a woman come into the shop. Rich. Red hair.”
“I know her. Isidora Beauregard.”
“We don’t give names in this business. I couldn’t tell you that. But she had the Falling Star with her, and she wanted me to sell it off.”
Livia listened, still watching him like a hawk.
“I said, ‘I don’t care how much you pay me. I can’t move product like that.’ But she wouldn’t take no for an answer. I don’t know what to do once it’s in my hands.”
“Simple,” Livia said. “You sell it to me.”
The dealer balked. “Are you serious?”
“If I weren’t serious, I wouldn’t ask.”
“Do you know what you’re getting into?” The dealer cringed. “I mean, if you’re ever seen wearing it, you’re gonna have a hard time explaining yourself.”
“Don’t worry. I have other plans for it. And someone who can ‘move product like that.’”
The dealer gawked at her. “Who?”
“You told me. No names.” Livia drew back. “Now, write me a receipt. I’ll handle it. It won’t even make it to the auction block.”
“You sure you want it in writing?”
“It’s fine. I keep my own accounts.”
“Of course.” The dealer went to the farthest table and opened a lacquer lockbox. “I hope you know how much trouble you’re saving me by doing this.”
“Could say the same for you.”
As Livia fished in her coin purse, the dealer pulled out a parchment, ink, and pen - then drew some lines, wrote Goods and services, and numbered it at the top.
“All right.” The dealer set his pen down, then gave Livia the receipt. “Come back in a few days. She should’ve handed it off by then.”
“Thank you, I…”
As Livia stared at the number on the receipt, she trailed off.
Silence hung between them until the dealer tilted his head. “Something wrong?”
“No.” Livia blinked, then rolled up the receipt. “Everything’s fine.”
“Good.” The dealer closed the lockbox. “Pleasure doing business with you.”
“Likewise.” Livia planted a generous heap of coins in the dealer’s hand. “Oh, and, by the way - don’t tell anyone I was here.”
“I’ve never seen you, my lady.” The dealer’s eyes gleamed. “You have a wonderful day.”
•••
Outside the auction house, Marcus leaned against the marble wall, and fiddled with his purse strings until he heard a muffled noise.
He tucked his purse back in his cloak, then pricked up his ears and frowned, and the townspeople around him closed in, opened windows, and stepped out of doors. He craned his neck to see over them, then lifted himself off the wall, and he caught a glimpse of a gold lion standard, shining in the afternoon light.
“Excuse me?” He slipped into the crowd and tapped a woman’s shoulder. “What’s going on?”
“I don’t know, I can’t see.”
“Right.” Marcus shuffled by her. “Pardon me, coming through…”
As Marcus pressed on, he nudged prefects and curious clerics out of his way, and the mysterious noise grew louder, a thunder of boots, voices, and brass. He sidestepped a pair of merchants, and the noise congealed into a song. He inched around a cart, and spotted red billowing banners against the sky. And when he pushed to the front, he saw them, in a great sea of uniforms - Ciacco’s fifteen thousand new troops, marching in lockstep down the road.
Amid the rows of helmets, a lone soldier glanced aside, and he searched the crowd and locked eyes with Marcus as his unit passed. Marcus gazed back at him in horror, and stood rooted to the spot - and the soldier kept staring, as if he recognized him, until he had to turn his head.
And then an old man emerged from the other side of the crowd, and almost stumbled into the soldiers’ path before he bellowed,
“Stop!”
The crowd murmured and scattered around him, and the troops kept marching on.
“Stop marching!” The man cried. “Run now, while you have the chance!”
“Somebody get on him!” A prefect yelled from Marcus’ side of the road.
“Hector Portinari is a tyrant. He’s sending you to the snowfields to die!”
Before he could finish, three prefects shoved in and wrestled him to the ground.
The woman beside him gasped as other onlookers inched away, and the prefects whipped out their cudgels and smacked him at the head and arms. As the man groaned and choked up blood, someone elbowed Marcus aside.
“Stop that!” Marcus shouted in vain.
“What are you doing?” The man behind him yelled.
“Leave him alone!” Marcus shouted again.
But someone else jostled him, too - and the rising current of people beat Marcus further and further back, until he staggered out of the crowd and into a soft, familiar skirt.
“Marcus?!”
Marcus whirled around. “Livia?”
“Where have you been?”
“There’s a parade,” Marcus stammered.
“I see that!”
“Ciacco’s troops, they’re being sent off.” Marcus tried to catch his breath as his eyes darted to and fro. “There was a man there. An old man. He was trying to protest the war. The prefects got to him, they beat him, they…”
Livia gently cut in. “Slow down.”
“Mira’s blood, he was probably a veteran of the Cherry Orchard Revolt…”
“Marcus…”
“What if he served with my father?”
“Please.” Livia put her hands on his chest. “There’s nothing you could’ve done.”
Marcus took another deep, shaky breath and swallowed the lump in his throat, and regained his composure when he ran his fingers through his hair.
“Gods,” Livia grumbled, and pinched the bridge of her nose. “What a day.”
Marcus frowned. “Why?”
“We’ve got a problem.”
“What?”
“Isidora’s asking price is ridiculous.”
“How do you know?”
“The dealer wrote it down for me.” Livia opened her purse and unrolled the receipt. “If we let it go to auction, it’ll be even higher than that.”
When he read the number, Marcus made a startled face and rubbed his chin.