Our Lady of the Snow

by Louise Cooper

  For perhaps three seconds there was absolute silence, as Kodor’s face froze into a look of shock that was almost comical. He stared fixedly at Marine. Then softly, incredulously, he said, “You are completely insane!”

  “No,” Marine countered resolutely, “I am not.” She thought he was about to lunge at her and stepped rapidly out of reach, though Kodor had not moved. “You see, I know where these confections came from. They were from you. She ate some of them. And tonight she was taken violently ill, as though with poisoning.”

  “Poisoning?” Kodor was utterly thunderstruck, but Marine was too agitated to notice or, if she did, to realize what his reaction implied. She rushed on, headlong and defiantly: “Yes, poisoning! And now, tonight, I return after only a short absence and I find you in her bedchamber, about to suffocate her!”

  Of course, Kodor thought, the pillow! “Nanta had pushed one of her pillows off the bed in her sleep, and I was merely picking it up from the floor!” he shouted. “God blind me, you madwoman, can you truly believe that I would do anything, anything, to harm her? I love her!”

  His last furious sentence made Marine recoil as if someone had thrown cold water in her face. “You—”

  “I love her!” Kodor repeated, as vehemently but with considerably less volume. “Damn you, Mother Marine, I’ve said the words aloud at long last, and it has to be you who bears witness to them!” He paced across the room like a caged bear, then spun on his heel and pointed a threatening finger at her face. “And if you ever repeat them to any living soul, then I swear I’ll tear out your tongue with my own hands!”

  Marine believed him. And in shock and confusion she believed, too, that his declaration was genuine. Kodor was not Nanta’s enemy. He was, instead, the most devoted friend she had. Suddenly all the whispers that were circulating in the palace, whispers which Marine had staunchly tried to ignore as being slanderous and wicked, slotted into place. The attentions Kodor paid to Nanta. The fact that the Imperatrix Pola was not yet with child. The rumors of friction, even bitterness, between her and the Imperator. And something that was no longer mere rumor but certain knowledge: that Kodor did not love his wife.

  No, Marine thought; Kodor did not love his wife. Instead, he loved Nanta. Loved her so much that he would do anything for her. Do anything to have her.

  Including killing his own brother…

  Suddenly the strength went out of Marine’s legs. She didn’t know how, but she found herself sitting on a chair, with the box of sweets at her feet and Kodor standing over her.

  “Mother Marine,” Kodor said, in a more controlled but still dangerous voice, “I will ask you one question, and I will have a frank answer. Why did you think that I—or someone—was trying to poison Nanta?”

  Marine’s mouth trembled. What could she say? What could she tell him? The picture she had been forming had been turned so suddenly and violently on its head that she was still floundering, unable to grasp at what could and what could not safely be revealed.

  “I thought…” she stammered, “I believed that…”

  “You said she was taken ill,” Kodor prompted curtly. “How? What happened?”

  Haltingly Marine told him. “And what did the imperial physician have to say about it?” Kodor demanded when she finished. “Did he share your suspicions?”

  “I didn’t tell him of them, sire,” Marine admitted miserably. “He said… he diagnosed exhaustion.”

  “Exhaustion. Just that?”

  “Yes…”

  “And how is Nanta now?”

  “Better, sire. The spasms passed, then she took a little food and was able to settle to sleep.”

  Kodor had seen the new physician for himself, when Pola had insisted yesterday on calling him in over some trivial feminine complaint, and thought him competent and intelligent. If he judged Nanta’s sickness to be caused by exhaustion, in all likelihood he was right. Kodor sighed. How this rainstorm in a puddle had come about he could not imagine, and he wanted to berate Marine for thinking, for having the impudence to think, that he wished Nanta harm. But on the credit side the woman had proved her own loyalty, however misguidedly. That counted for far more.

  “Mother Marine,” he said, “you have been extremely foolish, but under the circumstances I do not hold that against you. So we’ll say no more of this.”

  “Thank you, sire.” Marine’s hands trembled in her lap and he could not see her face.

  “Now that you realize your error,” Kodor continued, “I trust you will continue to care for the Dowager as you have done until now, but this time without letting your imagination run away with you.” Odd, he thought as a private aside; Marine did not strike him as the kind of woman who had an imagination… Appearances could be very deceptive.

  “Go to bed now,” he added, “and sleep this nonsense off.” Bending, he picked up the box of sweets. “When the Dowager wakes, you may safely give these back to her.”

  Marine looked uncomfortable. “Sire, the physician did say that she needs more nutritious foods, to build up her strength…” she ventured.

  “Oh, he did, did he? Well, I suppose we should bow to his superior wisdom. Give them to Dorca, then.” A faint, sly smile touched his mouth. “Though I wouldn’t mind wagering that she’s already sampled one or two when no one else was looking.”

  Marine started as she recalled something Dorca had said to her. Madam offered me several of them and they are so sumptuous… Dorca had eaten the sweets and suffered no ill effects. Oh, Marine, she admonished herself, you have been such a fool!

  But perhaps not entirely a fool. For tonight, she had come just a little closer to the real truth about Kodor.

  She curtseyed deeply, a tacit apology as well as the proper obeisance, and Kodor bade her good night. As he made his way through the outer room, he noticed that someone had left a tray on a side table near the door. The tray was piled with used dishes: a plate, a bowl, two spoons, a cup, and a pot that, when he sniffed it, proved to contain soup. Annoyance flicked through Kodor’s mind. Nanta’s servants were becoming lax and lazy. To leave this here was disgraceful. There was a coffin in this room—did they want Nanta’s food to be tainted by the growing smell of corruption? He thought of hammering on the door that led to the servants” quarters and dragging them out here in their nightclothes to put matters to rights, but the noise of his temper might wake Nanta. He would deal with it himself..

  The thought of what anyone who saw him would think of their Imperator carrying a tray of crockery through the palace corridors made Kodor smile. But at this hour there was no one to see. The soup would not be fit for Nanta now, so he made a detour to the royal kennels, where he gave the pot’s contents to a small hound, a favorite of his, which came wagging and snuffling to greet him. Leaving the dog lapping appreciatively, Kodor deposited the tray in a corridor leading to the kitchens, and returned to his own rooms. Pola, presumably, was asleep; no light showed under her door and no sound came from within the room. Not even bothering to take off his clothes, Kodor flung himself into his own bed, and closed his eyes.

  ****

  One of the grooms found the dog at dawn, and reported immediately to the kennel-master.

  “Dead?” the master repeated perplexedly.

  “And colder than stone, sir. It must have breathed its last some while ago. Yet there’s not a mark on it, so it can’t be that it was savaged by any of the others.”

  The master scratched his head. The dog had been quite a young animal, so the usual cause of a failing heart was unlikely. Still, if there was nothing to show, it must have been a natural death.

  “There are traces of slavering, sir,” the groom said. “But nothing else. No blood.”

  “Ah, well. There’s nothing we can do, so there’s little point speculating. Probably the cold got it; it was bitter last night. You’d best burn the carcass, though, just in case of infection.” He sighed. “It was one of the Imperator’s favorites, too. He looks his dogs over, most mornings; when he com
es today I’ll tell him.”

  “You don’t want me to send word, sir?”.

  “No, no. It’s not urgent, after all. Not really important at all.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Marine had had no more than three hours” sleep when she was woken by a vague and drowsy lady-in-waiting, who informed her huffily that there was someone to see her and they refused to be put off until a more civilized hour.

  In the outer office Marine found Sister Chaia, Beck’s messenger, waiting.

  “I’m sorry for the disturbance, Mother Marine,” Chaia said, “but Grand Mother wants to see you at once.”

  Marine knew Beck’s habits and was surprised and a little worried to receive such a summons at this time of day. She dressed hastily, and followed Chaia back to the Sanctum in the early daylight. Beck was at her desk, and as the two women came in she looked up. “Ah, Marine.” Her face was somber. “Sit down. I’m afraid I have some bad news.”

  “Bad news, Grand Mother?” Marine blanched, wondering what it could be.

  “Yes. I’ve just received a letter from the EsDorikye estate.”

  Nanta’s family… “What has happened?” Marine asked anxiously.

  Beck sighed. “There’s no point in trying to put it gently, I suppose; sadness is sadness however it’s disguised. The Dowager’s mother has died.”

  “Karetta?” Marine was stunned. “But she was young—no more than fifty-five! And in the peak of health!”

  I know. It was very sudden; a storm of blood to the brain. I gather these things can strike at any age and can never be predicted. Her family are in great distress—”

  “Of course!” And poor Nanta, Marine thought. All she has had to suffer, and now this.

  “—and they naturally wish us to break the news to the Dowager. Or rather, they say, to the Imperatrix.”

  “Oh,” said Marine uneasily. “Then they don’t yet know?”

  “It would seem not. A letter was sent, of course, but there has been no reply to it, and I suspect that it had not reached them before this new tragedy happened.” Beck gave another, deeper sigh. “One blow upon another…we must handle this with great delicacy, Marine; which is why I have sent for you.”

  “You wish me to tell the Dowager?”

  “No.” Beck steepled her fingers. “I’ve already spoken to the imperial physician, and he feels that in the Dowager’s present state of health it is advisable to keep the news from her for a while. The shock, he says, might cause a serious relapse.”

  Marine nodded.

  “However,” Beck continued, “we must in all decency respond at once to the EsDorikyes. I want you to go to them, Marine.”

  “To…travel to the estate?” Marine was appalled. “But the roads at this time of year—”

  “Are passable to a sleigh with a good dog team. You’ll get there as quickly as any letter; and in circumstances like these a letter, anyway, is not enough. Someone must go in person, to explain the situation at the palace and. to give them comfort. And you are family. You’re the only possible choice.”

  Marine shut her eyes briefly. Beck knew how much she hated traveling; the sickness, the fear of vast spaces. But she was right. Marine was family. It was her responsibility and her duty to go.

  She opened her eyes again and said weakly, “Yes, Grand Mother. I understand and of course I shall obey.” A pause. “When do you want me to leave?”

  “A sleigh has already been ordered for one hour before noon. That should give you ample time to pack.” Beck smiled a mixture of sympathy and reassurance. “You will have an armed escort, naturally, and the sleigh driver is one of the most skilled in the Metropolis. I’m sorry to have to burden you with this, Marine. But you see that it must be done.”

  “Yes, Grand Mother.”

  “Good. Then all is arranged. Give my regards and condolences to the family when you arrive. And tell them that both Father Urss and I will say prayers commending Karetta’s soul to the God’s care. I’m sure that will be a comfort to them.”

  Marine rose. Her legs felt weak. “Yes, Grand Mother,” she said again..

  “And remember, not a word or even a hint to the Dowager.”

  Marine nodded. “Of course, Grand Mother. I’ll do exactly as you say.”

  “That,” said Beck, “is why I have such faith in you.”

  ****

  At about the time that a dazed and dejected Marine began her packing, the Imperator was in the palace’s kennel courtyard, speaking with the kennel-master.

  The dog’s carcass had already been burned, but Kodor did not need to see it in order to work out how it had died. The empty bowl told its own story; the bowl into which he, in a misplaced act of indulgence, had poured the remains of Nanta’s soup.

  So Mother Marine was right. Poison. Not enough to kill a human being, at least not at once; but immediately lethal to a smaller metabolism such as a dog’s. Kodor even believed he knew what had been used, and it fitted perfectly with Nanta’s declining health over the past few days.

  But who? That was the question he couldn’t answer with certainty. Dorca in one of her chattering moments had told him that Marine personally supervised the preparation of all Nanta’s meals, but if Marine was the culprit she would hardly draw anyone’s attention to the suspicion that Nanta was being poisoned, as she had done last night. No; there was another agency behind this. Marine was just an unwitting pawn. And Kodor’s mind kept ranging back to Father Urss…

  The kennel-master was apologizing wretchedly and profusely for the hound’s death. Abruptly Kodor cut off his flow of words with an impatient gesture and said, “Enough! What’s done is done, and I hold no one to blame. Go back to your duties. The matter is closed.”

  Gratefully the man bowed his way out of the Imperator’s presence, and for a minute or two Kodor stood alone in the courtyard, careless of the snow falling densely and heavily on him. Then he turned abruptly and strode towards the door that led back into the palace.

  First he would find Marine. From her he would glean what information he could; clues that she did not even realize were clues. His second move would depend on what she told him. Whether or not he would entrust her with what he knew was another matter. He had no doubt, now, that Marine and he were fighting the same battle, but he did not know her well enough to judge her reliability under pressure. For if Father Urss was behind this, it would take someone a good deal stronger than a mere religious Mother to stand against him.

  Urss. Kodor repeated the priest’s name to himself silently and with increasing venom as he walked. It was easy to see his motive, and of course he was already an experienced player in the game of political murder. Tomorrow’s funeral bore witness to that. But this time Kodor could not hope to deceive Urss as he had done in Osiv’s case, for a pretence that he had suddenly turned against Nanta simply wasn’t credible. Another way must be found, then; possibly not using Urss himself but through one of his accomplices. Who were they this time? The old imperial physician was dead and the new one an unlikely candidate. Though Urss had never confirmed it, Kodor had deduced that Grand Mother Beck was a party to the plot against Osiv, so it followed logically that she was involved again now. Who else? He could think of no one in Nanta’s personal entourage; they were either too vapid and thus unreliable, or, like Dorca, too fundamentally decent.

  Duke Arec was here, of course. Arec was a distinct possibility; he must have known about the plan for Osiv, even if he had taken no part in it.

  And then there was Pola …

  Kodor stopped in mid-stride as the ugly speculation slid into place. Pola had more reason than anyone to want Nanta removed, for Nanta was the worm in her apple, the woman who, in her thinking, had stolen Kodor’s affection and usurped what should have been her own place in his heart. The fact that Kodor had never loved Pola made no difference. Nanta was the focus, the rival, the dissonant note in Pola’s personal symphony. If she died, Pola would shed no tears. Possibly, she was even foolish enough to believe t
hat with Nanta out of the way, Kodor would at last turn in love to her.

  Kodor looked down at his hands and saw that they were shaking. It was a reaction, nothing more, and when he exerted his will on it he was surprised by how swiftly it stopped. He did not want to believe that Pola was involved in this. His animosity towards her stemmed only from the fact that he had been forced into a marriage with her when his heart was committed elsewhere. In candid moments he admitted that that was not her fault, and he did not think that her nature ran to cold-blooded murder. Unless, of course, she was a great deal more cunning than he had ever realized.

  Well, he thought, time and some investigation would tell. First things first: find Marine, talk to her. Only then would he be in a position to decide how to progress.

  He walked on towards the imperial suite.

  ****

  “I’m so sorry, Your Majesty, but Mother Marine isn’t here.” Dorca looked up at Kodor, and her expression became uneasy as she saw, or at least sensed, something of his mood. “She’s gone to the Sanctum, sire, to pack and then to pray for a while in the chapel before she departs.”

  “Departs?” Kodor frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “For her family estate—oh, but of course, you’d not have heard, sire; Grand Mother Beck only received the letter a short time ago.” Dorca’s face became tragic and tears welled in her eyes. “Madam’s mother has died.”

  “The God blind me!” Kodor was shocked. “Poor Nanta! I must see her; I must offer her comfort—”

  He started to push past Dorca and into the suite, but she barred his path, flapping her hands in agitation. “No, Your Majesty, please! She doesn’t yet know—the physician says that the shock might harm her, and she isn’t to be told until she is stronger!”

  That made sense, and Kodor subsided. “Nonetheless,” he said, “I will see her.”

  “She’s sleeping, sire,” said Dorca nervously. She did not, dared not, tell him that Nanta had talked with Marine an hour ago and afterwards had given her servants the strictest orders that the Imperator was not, under any circumstances, to be admitted to the suite. “Perhaps when she wakes…” she dissembled desperately.