“I am at my wits’ end, D’argent,” Cecile said abruptly.
D’argent realized she was not talking about the rents. He gave her his full attention.
“How can I help, my lady?”
“In regard to the Duquesa de Plata Niebla.”
“Indeed, my lady,” said D’argent, sympathetic.
“I thought we had seen the last of her. She was merely an annoyance then. She is now becoming a nuisance.”
The two were in Cecile’s study, a room decorated with elegance and taste. Fine paintings hung on the walls. The heavy sky-blue velvet curtains had been drawn and the crystal lamps lighted. The salon, a large chamber adjacent to the study, was empty of those who either came to see the countess or to be seen.
Cecile rose from behind her desk, which was hand-carved oak painted white with gold gilt trim, decorated with the countess’s insignia, the bumblebee. She opened the door to the salon, making certain she and D’argent were alone. She shut the door and began pacing, her footfalls noiseless on the soft, thick blue carpet. As she walked, she absently twisted the small gold ring.
“I have been seeking to meet with His Majesty on a matter of the greatest importance. I have received information from Father Jacob of the Arcanum that the king needs to hear. Yet the king sends me word that he is not at liberty to see me because he is having a picnic with the duchess or he is playing at quoits with the duchess or going riding with the duchess. If they were having a love affair I could understand it, but Alaric is still sleeping with that blond, bosomy daughter of the Marquis de Cheauvat. Unless something has changed there?”
The countess stopped her pacing to cast an interrogative look at D’argent.
“No, my lady. His Majesty is said to pay nightly visits to the young woman’s bedchamber.”
“Then he can’t be having an affair with the duchess,” said Cecile, frowning. “This Idonia is playing a game and it is not quoits!”
D’argent said meaningfully, “The queen has been in an excellent humor of late.”
Cecile considered this remark. “Now that you mention it, D’argent, I have observed the same. And Her Majesty’s good humor is odd, considering the rumors flying about Alaric and the marquis’s daughter. Queen Annemarie would ordinarily be shrieking like a fishwife and breaking the royal porcelain.”
“The queen and the duchess are always together, my lady. Whenever the duchess is with the king, she makes certain the queen is in attendance. Some say the duchess is conspiring with the king to keep his affair secret from the queen. Whereas I believe…” D’argent hesitated.
“Continue, D’argent,” said Cecile. “I trust your instincts. What do you believe?”
“I believe the duchess is conspiring with the queen to keep His Majesty from you, my lady,” D’argent said.
Cecile resumed her seat behind the desk. Picking up the lorgnette, she thoughtfully tapped it on the stack of papers.
“I think you may be right. But why, D’argent? Why is this duchess of nowhere trying to prevent me from talking to the king? It can’t be political. The duchy of Plata Niebla is of no value to anyone, not even to the Estarans.”
“She is Estaran, my lady,” D’argent suggested. “Perhaps she is trying to persuade His Majesty to switch sides.”
Estara and Travia were both fighting over Braffa and its refineries. Cecile had convinced King Alaric to side with Travia in the dispute, whereas the grand bishop was siding with Estara. Freya was said to be neutral in the dispute, though Cecile suspected that Sir Henry Wallace was stoking the fire to keep the pot boiling.
Travia and Estara were not at war, probably due more to the shocking attack on Westfirth than the current peace negotiations. Travia and Estara had both been terrified they would be next. After a few weeks had passed with no more attacks, the two countries had gone back to their squabbling.
“If Alaric suddenly decided to favor Estara, it would be disastrous to Rosian interests,” said Cecile.
“Not to mention your own, my lady,” said D’argent.
“An investment in what may turn out to be nothing,” said Cecile with a shrug. “Money I have already counted as lost.”
She was still thinking about the duchess. “I believe it is time I took more notice of the Duquesa de Plata Niebla. I have had her investigated before, but this time I want you to conduct discreet inquiries about the woman, D’argent.”
Cecile paused, thoughtful, then added with a cool smile, “And if you should happen to run into the clever Monsieur Dubois, you might mention the duchess to him.”
“Dubois? The bishop’s agent?” D’argent was surprised.
“The little man is like a terrier when it comes to dragging rats out of their holes,” said Cecile. “I observed him watching her when we were in Westfirth. We should set him on her trail.”
“I will do so, my lady,” said D’argent.
Cecile held the lorgnette to her eyes and picked up the document related to the rents. She resumed her examination of the accounts. D’argent took up his pen and the conversation turned once again to more mundane matters of business.
* * *
The next day, D’argent attended the king’s levee, an informal reception held by His Majesty every morning. During the levee, gentlemen of the court conducted business, exchanged the news of the day, argued over their horses, bragged about their love affairs, and rejoiced in the latest scandals. No gentleman missed a levee if he could help it. It was said that once an ailing count had insisted on being carried to the king’s levee on a litter.
D’argent was always present. He greeted friends and was greeted, all the while searching the shadowy corners of the room where Dubois was known to lurk. D’argent eventually found the small, self-effacing man comfortably ensconced behind an enormous porcelain vase, watching, listening.
“Monsieur Dubois,” D’argent said.
“Monsieur D’argent,” said Dubois.
D’argent bowed gracefully. Dubois gave a little bob. He remained standing in his corner and D’argent joined him. Both gentlemen kept their backs to the wall, looking out over the room filled with men laughing, arguing, whispering, discoursing. His Majesty sat on his throne, discussing with several of his cronies the merits of his new hunting dog.
“The Duquesa de Plata Niebla,” said D’argent in a low voice that slid beneath the hubbub.
“Yes, monsieur?” Dubois glanced at his companion and raised an eyebrow.
“A beautiful woman,” said D’argent.
“Indeed,” Dubois agreed.
“And so fashionable,” said D’argent.
“I believe that to be the case,” said Dubois cautiously, perhaps not feeling himself capable of judging flounces and petticoats.
“You wouldn’t by chance happen to know the duchess’s dressmaker?” D’argent asked languidly.
Dubois cast D’argent a sharp glance. “I fear not, monsieur.”
“A pity,” said D’argent. “The countess admires the duchess’s style exceedingly. She was hoping to find out.”
D’argent bowed, and Dubois again gave his little bob.
As D’argent moved away, he heard Dubois murmur to himself, “Well, well, well…”
D’argent smiled.
* * *
Eiddwen had established her identity as Idonia the Duquesa de Plata Niebla years ago, at a time when Xavier, the leader of those known as the Bottom Dwellers, was starting to form his plans for war against those Above. A key part of those plans was to plant a spy in the royal court of Rosia. Eiddwen had been his choice. She had been groomed to play that role, as well as many others, from the time she was a little girl.
The first time Eiddwen had come to court over ten years ago she had stayed only long enough to establish herself as the queen’s dearest friend. Eiddwen had attached herself to Queen Annemarie, a vapid, silly woman with no taste, no discretion, and no interest in anything except finding a husband for her daughter and complaining about how badly her own husband treate
d her.
For the price of some flattery, a few sympathetic tears, and the willingness to listen with a smile to endless hours of mindless blathering, Eiddwen made the queen her boon companion. In return she received important information.
The queen cared nothing for affairs of state, being far more interested in catching the king in affairs of a different sort, and she was continually poking and prying, snooping and spying on him, trying to find which of the noble ladies of the court he was bedding. If along the way she happened to pick up secrets of a sensitive political or military nature she cast them aside or shared them with her friends like bonbons.
As the queen’s confidante, Eiddwen could go anywhere, talk to anyone, ask anything. Her own charm, wit, and beauty assisted her. During her current visit she had already gained valuable information about Rosian interests abroad, the king’s latest plots to confound Freya, and the movements of the royal navy, all of which she passed on to the Bottom Dwellers through intermediaries.
The same morning of the king’s levee, as D’argent was talking to Dubois, Eiddwen was in the chapel of the royal palace, sitting beside the queen, who attended morning prayers regularly. Annemarie was accompanied by her daughter, her ladies-in-waiting, and courtiers who wanted to ingratiate themselves with Her Majesty.
Eiddwen sat on the cold stone pew, absorbed in her own thoughts, paying no heed to the priest’s sermon. Despite a few setbacks, such as the failure to assassinate Sir Henry Wallace and Father Jacob Northrop, all was going well in her world. Matters were progressing.
When the time came for prayers, Eiddwen sank onto the kneeling bench. Dutifully bowing her head, she looked down on the marble floor to see if there was a message from her contact this morning. She was not expecting to hear anything because the plans were going well and she was surprised to find, beneath the kneeling bench, a small square of paper. Under cover of dropping her fan, Eiddwen picked up the paper and slid it in her prayer book. Once more seated in the pew, she opened her prayer book to read the note.
Usual place. 2.
Eiddwen shut the prayer book.
“Your Majesty,” said Eiddwen, as they were walking from the chapel, “I fear I will not be able to attend your stroll in the garden this afternoon.”
“And why not?” Queen Annemarie asked sharply, displeased.
“I have received news regarding my business affairs in Estara, which require that I go into the city to meet with my lawyers,” Eiddwen replied humbly.
“Nonsense,” said the queen. “Nasty creatures, lawyers. I quite despise them. They must get on without you. I cannot. I will be bored to distraction if you are not with me.”
The queen turned to her daughter for confirmation. “Won’t I be bored, Sophia?”
“Mama, you are being unreasonable,” said the princess with a sweet and understanding smile for the duchess. “Bandit and I will walk with you, won’t we, Bandit?”
Sophia asked this question of her spaniel, who was trotting along at his mistress’s side.
“Unreasonable! I am certain I am never unreasonable,” said Queen Annemarie querulously. “I am the most reasonable person I know. And as for you walking in the garden, you are far too unwell, Sophia. You will bring on one of your headaches.”
“I am feeling quite well today, Mama,” said Sophia. “The medicine Her Grace was kind enough to prepare to relieve my headaches has helped me.”
“Let us hope the medicine cures you,” said the queen with a sniff. “No man wants a sickly wife. As for you, Your Grace, if you insist upon soiling your hands with business matters, I suppose I must do without you.”
Eiddwen murmured her thanks to the queen and hurried to the guest chambers in the palace where she resided. She removed her silken flounces, feathers, jewels and petticoats, and her white wig. She donned traveling clothes, tied on a broad-brimmed hat with a long veil, slipped on her gloves, and sent word to her coachmen.
The carriage with the coat of arms of the duchy of Plata Niebla arrived, drawn by two wyverns. Eiddwen entered, gave the coachman directions, and the carriage began its descent from the palace to the ground.
Eiddwen looked up at the palace through the carriage window. The Sunset Palace, considered one of the wonders of the world, floated high above the city of Evreux.
The palace was a breathtaking sight, whether seen by day, suspended in the air above the lake and mirrored in the waters below, or by night, when its lighted windows, shining in the darkness, rivaled the stars. The palace was most beautiful in the twilight, when magical constructs set in the walls reflected the colors of the sky, causing them to change color from pink to orange, purple and blue.
Simple in design, the palace was a square with a tower at each of the four corners. The entrance consisted of another, smaller square constructed inside the first, with a smaller tower at each of those four corners. The palace’s beauty lay in the graceful magnificence of the towers and the fanciful construction of the one hundred chimneys, each of which was of a different design, so that the palace, from a distance, resembled the skyline of a city.
The palace was home to many hundreds of people, including the king and his family, the royal guards, servants, and retainers, as well as members of the nobility who kept privates residences in the palace, along with their guards, servants, and retainers. Also living there were the royal crafters, who maintained the magical constructs that kept the castle aloft. Multitudes visited the palace on business or pleasure. The palace teemed with life at almost all hours of the day and night.
Eiddwen hated the palace and the fools who lived inside its rotting decadence. She sank back in the comfortable leather seat to rejoice in the fact that for a few hours she was free of the stupidity of Her Majesty.
The coachman left her outside the gate of the vast enclave of the church of Rosia. Within the walls were the bishop’s palace, home of the grand bishop; the university; the grand cathedral; the Mother House of the Knight Protectors; living quarters for the students, the laity, and the nuns and priests. Eiddwen crossed the extensive and beautiful grounds and entered the cathedral through the great bronze doors.
The late morning sun illuminated the stained-glass windows, but did not venture inside, leaving the interior in perpetual cool and shadowy twilight. Few people were in the cathedral, for morning prayers were over and evensong was hours away. Some elderly nuns arranged bouquets of fresh flowers on the altar and trimmed the candles. Two priests walked the aisle, their heads together, talking softly.
The bells of the city were chiming the hour of two of the clock as Eiddwen made her way to one of the small niches in the walls dedicated to the dead; private, ancient chapels meant only for the family. Grilles of wrought iron screened off the chapels, kept out the curious. Only family members had the keys. And, in this instance, Eiddwen.
She removed the key from her glove, glanced around the nave to see that no one was paying attention, and inserted the key into the lock. Then she sat down on a bench that was in deep shadow to wait for her contact.
She did not have to wait long. A monk moved with a slow and solemn step toward the wrought-iron gate. He glanced about, as had Eiddwen, and slipped inside, shutting the gate behind him. The monk wore spectacles of tinted glass and he required a moment to adjust himself to the darkness.
“I am here, Brother Paul,” said Eiddwen, raising her veil.
The monk turned his head in her direction and came over to sit beside her. Eiddwen held a lace-edged handkerchief, ready to put it to her eyes. If anyone should happen to pass, they would see only a monk comforting the bereaved.
“How does your work progress?” Brother Paul asked, keeping his voice low.
“Slowly,” said Eiddwen. “But well.”
“When do you estimate you will be finished?”
“Within the month,” said Eiddwen.
Brother Paul frowned. “So long?”
“The work is delicate and exacting and I can move about the palace only after midnight,” Eiddw
en said irritably. “During the day I am required to dote upon Her Royal Stupidity. I must sleep sometime.”
“I was only asking,” said Brother Paul meekly. “You needn’t bite my head off.” He gave a sigh. “You think your patience is tried; I spend my days groveling to false priests.”
“Speaking of priests,” said Eiddwen, “what news of Father Jacob?”
“He recovered his wits, you know,” said Brother Paul.
“Yes, I heard that before I left Westfirth. I also heard someone tried to kill him.”
“He survived,” said Brother Paul bitterly. “That bloody Knight Protector of his saved him!”
Eiddwen’s dark eyes glittered in the dim light.
“You!” Eiddwen said. That single word was infused with such venom that Brother Paul rose from the seat and moved nervously away from her, nearer the tomb.
“Yes, me,” Brother Paul said defensively. “I had a chance to destroy our enemy and I took it.”
“You stupid, stupid man,” said Eiddwen, her voice cold with contempt. “You will bring ruin to us all. Did anyone see you?”
“No one saw me near the library,” said Brother Paul evasively.
“But someone saw you enter the archbishop’s palace. Who?”
Brother Paul shifted his feet. “What does it matter? The priest doesn’t suspect me…”
“Of course, Father Jacob suspects you!” Eiddwen returned angrily. “He has always suspected you because you were present at the abbey when the attack occurred and foolish enough to remain.
“I had to find the books of the saints. I should think you would want the priest dead. What if he comes to court? He knows you.”
“Only by the name of ‘the Sorceress.’ He has never seen me.”
“Sir Henry Wallace has seen you,” said Brother Paul accusingly. “He knows you by sight. He knows you are connected with the green beam weapon because you took his money to finance it. You tried to kill him and Father Jacob and you bungled it. I was trying to clean up your mess.”
Eiddwen jumped to her feet. Brother Paul flung up his arm and took a step backward, but Eiddwen had no intention of harming him. She flashed him a vicious glance and paced rapidly back and forth a few moments to calm herself.
Storm Riders Page 22