Midnight Fire (A Jagiellon Mystery Book 2)

by P K Adams

  Zaremba stood in front of me holding a goblet of wine in his hand. Clad only in his breeches and a shirt, open at the collar to reveal dark blond chest hair, he appeared to be getting ready for bed. I lowered my gaze and willed my legs to remain in place, for a part of me wanted to turn and run back to my chambers.

  When he saw me, his face—which he had shaved, I noticed—registered a surprise that swiftly gave way to unease. “Signora Konarska.” A moment passed. “What an unexpected pleasure.” This time he forced a note of artificial cheer into his voice. He must have been drinking for a while, for he spoke rather too loud, his face had acquired a flush, and his eyes, despite the pouches of tiredness beneath them, had the glimmer that comes with too much wine. He must have had a rough day.

  He swung the hand that held the goblet in a parody of welcome. “Do come in.”

  I hesitated. As much as I did not want to be alone with him, I was even more worried that someone might see us together. I took a reluctant step inside. “You’ve shaved,” I said to cover up the awkwardness.

  He ran his fingers along both sides of his jaw. “I’m going to try the goatee style, it’s becoming very popular in Spain.”

  He closed the door and took a swig of his wine, and suddenly I felt thirsty. It had been a long day for me, too. My eyes lingered on his cup, and another awkward pause ensued, during which I wondered if he wished me gone. Finally, Zaremba cleared his throat and walked over to the sideboard.

  I could not help glancing around his chamber. It was in a state of disarray, not unusual in the lodgings of a man who occupied them alone, although there were maids available to clean. For a moment, I considered suggesting that he avail himself of their services, but I stopped myself in time. It was not my place to give him that sort of advice.

  Besides, my interest was caught by a round box resting on a divan that stood against the wall between two windows. It was powder pink and looked out of place among the masculine items strewn around the room—the dark red cloak he had worn at Gornitsa, thrown across the back of a chair; pieces of armor discarded on the floor; platters with crumbs on them; some papers on the table; and a pair of tan leather boots.

  And then that pink box from a milliner’s shop.

  When I turned to him, he was watching me, his face tense.

  “Have you been shopping?” I heard myself asking. It occurred to me that perhaps he was awaiting female company. That would explain his surprise when he opened the door.

  Zaremba’s gaze flicked to the hat box, and there was that discomfort again. “Yes. Uh … no. I brought it with me from Kraków.”

  I attempted a bit of humor. “It’s not for you, is it?”

  He laughed, but the sound had a forced quality to it. I was certain that he wished I had not seen the box. “It’s a gift.”

  “For whom?” I asked, before I could stop myself. I have always been too curious for my own good.

  He looked away. “For my wife.”

  “I see.” In the silence that followed, I looked intently into the cup he had handed me. It was less than half-full. It seemed like he really wanted me gone. The thought, along with this new revelation, made me vaguely disappointed where I should have been relieved. After all, he was deceiving Pani Zaremba, not me. “Where is she?”

  He looked embarrassed. “She stayed behind in Bar.”

  Finally, the truth was out. He was married, and he was a liar. Why should I be surprised? At least this would halt our strange dance. A fleeting fancy, nothing more, ended before we did something that we—or at least I—regretted. The thought made me feel better, and I took a draught from my cup. The wine was different from the Italian I was used to or the Malvazia served in the banqueting hall. It was not as sweet, with notes of cherry and plum but also a spicy aftertaste that was familiar, although I could not place it.

  “Interesting.” I lifted the cup for a closer inspection.

  “Do you like it, signora?” Zaremba asked with a smirk. He was in full control of himself again, and the inebriation had given his demeanor a subtly insolent edge. Still, he avoided using my Christian name, and I was glad. It put us back on a more formal footing.

  I ignored his tone. “I do. What is it?”

  “Spanish, from Castille. It’s one of the best to be found in the Habsburg domains. There are imperial envoys currently at court, and they travel with their own wine. I sat at their table last Sunday. Ambassador von Tilburg said they had gifted a barrel to the grand duke and have been sharing the rest with the courtiers. They are justifiably proud of it.”

  “That taste …” I took another sip and let the liquid roll over my tongue.

  “It’s black pepper.”

  I nodded, remembering. Pepper was a great rarity, brought by the Spaniards from overseas. It was so expensive I had only tasted it a few times in my life. “It hasn’t been served in the banqueting hall.”

  He shrugged. “Perhaps the duke doesn’t like it, or he likes it so much he drinks it only in private so it lasts longer.” He laughed and raised his cup, as if offering a toast. “Whatever the case may be, Castilian happens to be my favorite, and the ambassador sent me a flagon as a goodwill gesture. My maid delivered it yesterday.”

  My eyes strayed toward the chamber, which had not been subject to any maid’s attention in days.

  “She’s yet to clean,” he explained, as if guessing my thoughts.

  I finished the cup. The wine was indeed excellent. Who knew such a delicacy could come from a Habsburg land? I handed the vessel back to Zaremba. “We saw Doctor Nascimbene today, so we are free to go home,” I said. “I came to ask you to secure a spot for us in the convoy that leaves on Saturday.”

  “Saturday? We could leave earlier than that.” He seemed strangely eager. “There’s a merchant caravan departing on Friday morning.”

  “Even better.”

  Zaremba swayed slightly on his feet, his eyes narrowing, and, for the first time, I realized just how drunk he was. I decided it was best to leave, but before I could move he turned away, bent over the chair and, gripping its back for support, rummaged under his cloak, the color of an autumn leaf. When he straightened again, he held a leather-bound book in his hand, a fine edition with pages edged in gold leaf.

  “This is for your son.” He offered me the book. “It’s based on the legend of King Arthur and his Knights.”

  “Oh.” I hesitated. “That’s very thoughtful of you. But why?”

  “A long journey away from home must be tiring, and he’s probably bored. I thought he might find this entertaining.”

  I opened the book and read the title page: La morte di Arturo, the Italian translation of The Death of Arthur by Sir Thomas Malory. It must have been expensive. And hard to come by in Vilnius, or even in Kraków.

  “Thank you.” I felt warmly toward him again and chastised myself for it. If I had not just found out that he was married and likely had a mistress, I would have thought he was again looking for a way to seduce me. “I’ll start packing first thing in the morning,” I added by way of taking a leave.

  I left his chamber with the book and a lighter heart than I’d had in weeks. I looked forward to a good night’s sleep and to leaving in less than two days.

  But, as it turned out, neither of those things happened.

  CHAPTER 9

  Thursday, September 10th, 1545

  I donned my nightdress, but as I bent to blow out the candle, a loud, urgent knock broke the silence of the midnight hour. I froze. What if Zaremba’s lady companion had not shown up, so he got even drunker and decided to come to my chamber? I hastily wrapped a dressing gown around me and rushed to the door before Cecilia could open it; Rasa had already retired to the servants’ quarters. The last thing I needed was for anyone to see Zaremba visiting me so late at night.

  In the sitting room, I nearly collided with Cecilia. I hoped the low light from the embers of the dying hearth fire prevented her from seeing how flustered I was. “Go back to your room,” I said in a
loud whisper. “I’m sure whoever it is has mistaken our door for someone else’s. I’ll take care of it.”

  I waited until she disappeared before opening the door. The rebuke I planned for Zaremba died in my throat when I saw Chamberlain Opaliński outside.

  “Signora Konarska.” He made a small bow. He carried a candle in an iron holder, and in its flickering light his face looked anxious. “I apologize for disturbing you at this hour, but His Grace requests your presence. I’m afraid it’s urgent.”

  It took a moment for me to grasp what he was saying, but when I did, my chest contracted painfully. “Of course, but … has something happened?”

  “He’ll explain everything. I’ll wait for you out here,” he said, politely but firmly.

  I left him and set about getting dressed with the help of a perplexed Cecilia, whom I roused out of bed again. I had to be quick but also look presentable before Zygmunt August. I selected the same crescent headdress I wore for the first audience—my most expensive one, with a single ruby among the seed pearls that edged it. Fifteen minutes later, I was hurrying to keep up with the chamberlain as he walked briskly through the dim and eerily quiet palace corridors. I felt rattled, and however hard I tried to keep my mind blank, my thoughts kept going to the obvious place. Had the duke found out about my association with Bona? Had someone told him about my mission for her? To my knowledge, only Zaremba had that information, and he wanted me to succeed. Had he found a way to speak to the duke? Done what I should have? Yet in the last few days, he had seemed more interested in romance than in politics.

  And what would Zygmunt do? Would he throw me out of the palace in the middle of the night and expel me from the capital? Would he have me reimburse him for Nascimbene’s services? Fortunately, I had the money to pay him back. I could also find accommodations in a nearby village and wait until Friday for the merchant caravan to leave for Kraków. The worst he could do would be to confiscate my bag of herbs, although that, too, would be a temporary setback. Then, with a sinking feeling in my stomach, I realized that he could, in fact, do far worse: he could throw me in jail. He was, after all, the absolute ruler of this land.

  After what felt like hours but could not have been more than ten minutes, we arrived at the duke’s private apartments, where he had received me three days earlier. Neither courtiers nor servants filled the antechamber; there were only two stone-faced guards standing sentinel on either side of the inner door. My sense of foreboding increased. Surely, the duke would not take such precautions, act in such secrecy, solely to punish me for my inartful and unintentional deception?

  Zygmunt August stood gazing pensively into the fire in his private sitting chamber. His doublet of black velvet and bronze-colored brocade and splendid coat trimmed with sable fur suggested he had not yet changed from his evening attire. At first I thought he was alone. Then I spotted Barbara Radziwiłł propped up on the silk-covered cushions of a chaise longue at the opposite end of the chamber. Her long, slender fingers stroked the head of a white cat, yet the tension with which her other hand gripped the fine woolen scarf wrapped around her shoulders revealed her disquiet. In the light of the candles burning in the sconces around the chamber, her dark eyes, wide and alert, shone with ill-disguised fear as she shifted them from Opaliński to me and the duke, then back.

  In the corner closest to the fire two black hunting dogs lounged on a large pallet. I guessed they were Sybilla and Gryf, the duke’s favorites, who always accompanied him to his hunting lodge at Knyszyn. They lifted their heads when we entered, their noses rising to sniff the air, but they laid them back down in response to a restraining gesture from Zygmunt. Despite the charged atmosphere, the whole tableau had a cozy air of intimacy and domesticity.

  “Pani Konarska.” The duke turned his head, although the rest of his body remained motionless. His expression was grave. “Rest assured that I didn’t relish disturbing you at this hour, but the matter is of utmost importance.” He spoke in Polish, no doubt for Barbara’s benefit.

  “I am at Your Grace’s service.”

  He paced in front of the hearth, his steps heavy and his shoulders slumped. In fact, his entire body appeared weighed down by a great burden. “There is no easy way to say this,” he spoke at length, “so I’ll be direct. There has been a murder in the palace tonight.”

  My breath caught. “A murder?”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  There was a moment of silence, during which I wondered why he would call me so late at night to tell me about it. Unless …

  My stomach dropped painfully. Unless it was someone I knew. My mind flitted immediately to my son and his nurse, whom I had left in our lodgings. They were safe, so that left Zaremba, with whom I had spoken less than two hours earlier, and Maria …

  “Is it the Marchesa del Vasto?” I asked, my mouth dry.

  He shook his head. “A kitchen maid was found dead in my private kitchen around ten thirty tonight.”

  “Last night,” he corrected himself, for it was almost one in the morning. “It seems she was poisoned.”

  I shivered, although I could never have met the maid in question. I wondered what her death had to do with me, but I saw no way to inquire directly. Instead, I asked, “In your private kitchen, Your Grace?”

  “Pani Barbara and I”—Zygmunt paused his pacing, his open palm indicating his mistress—“keep a separate kitchen from the rest of the court. For safety reasons.” A grimace twisted his lips.

  I felt light-headed. I knew about the grand duke’s suspicions of his mother’s supposedly murderous intentions for Barbara. A surge of dread tightened my chest. If he blamed the queen for this murder, and he somehow found out I was in Vilnius on a mission for her—a mission to stop his marriage, no less—he would throw me in jail as a traitor and a murder suspect, and what would happen to Giulio?

  A rivulet of sweat trickled down my spine, and my clenched palms were damp. My heart pounded against my ribs, pumping pure fear through my veins, and despite the chaos in my mind, one clear thought emerged: I had to run away. The moment this audience ended, if I still had my freedom, I would take Giulio and Cecilia and leave the palace at first light with just the clothes on our backs.

  The duke continued, seemingly unaware of my turmoil. “Pani Barbara takes half a cup of wine at night to help her sleep.” His eyes rested on her, full of tenderness and concern. “Normally the kitchenmaid brings it upstairs between ten and eleven o’clock, but last night she was late, so the chambermaid went to check on it and found the girl on the floor showing signs of a poisonous agent.”

  He began pacing again, and I waited for the ax to fall. But the silence stretched, and my anxiety subsided. If he believed me responsible, surely he would have ordered my arrest by now. But if he did not, why had he summoned me at all?

  He stopped again and looked straight at me, his face strained. “We believe the poison was meant for Pani Barbara.” He stated what I had already guessed. “She was the one who was supposed to die tonight.”

  Barbara brought her hand to her throat, and her eyes turned liquid with tears, although she held them back. From up close she looked more vulnerable than in the banqueting hall; fear replaced the air of confidence she’d had about her before. I now saw a woman who understood fully the precariousness of her position, the danger that threatened her. She also looked unhealthy: her face had a sallow tinge, and dark shadows under her eyes made her look older than her twenty-five years. Unbidden, Maria’s words came back to me, repeating the rumor that Barbara suffered from the French disease. I pushed the thought back. Whatever the case, anyone who had narrowly escaped a terrible death could be forgiven for looking ill.

  “Who would have done such a thing?” I asked, swallowing hard in expectation of a grave accusation. I steeled myself.

  “Many people oppose our love,” he said with raw honesty. Then his tone turned petulant. “They would see me marry some dull foreign princess with a limp or a jutting jaw and spend the rest of my life chaf
ing at so unappealing a bond.”

  I had little doubt that by “they” he meant his mother and her faction. The passion with which he delivered that statement told me I had done the right thing in not mentioning her plea to him. I would have achieved nothing and damaged my own standing.

  I tried to think of a response, but nothing seemed appropriate or safe. I wanted to avoid angering him further so that he would release me. I would leave Vilnius as soon as possible. If he did not intend to accuse me, I still had no idea what he wanted with me. To hasten my dismissal, I tried flattery. “I have no doubt Your Grace will find the culprit and punish him quickly.”

  “I will!” he said fiercely. “That’s why I summoned you here.”

  So there it was. He would call his guards to haul me away to some dark, stinking cell where they would torture me to extract a false confession, then execute me. I saw it all so clearly that my hand flew to my mouth to stifle a sob rising in my chest.

  I was on the brink of falling on my knees to plead innocence when the duke spoke again, sympathetic but determined. “I know it’s been a long time since you were involved in something like this, but I believe your skills will be helpful. Solving this crime is a matter of utmost consequence for the state.”

  For a few heartbeats I had no idea what he was talking about. Then it became clear: he was referring to Helena’s case. But how did he know of my involvement in it?

  As if answering my unspoken question, he said, “After our audience on Monday, I directed Secretary Mieleski to find out more about you. Your name sounded familiar, you see. He informed me about your service to my mother”—that grimace again—“and how you tracked down the person who killed two courtiers at Wawel in the winter of 1519. That was before I was born, but I heard the story many times growing up, although it always referred to you by your maiden name—Sanseverino.”