by C. M. Lind
Randolph grunted. Why couldn’t he have thought of the comparison? The most beautiful and rare of lilies was the ice lily, but it was also the most strong. Only it could break through ice and snow come early spring. Only it could survive late chills or unexpected snowstorms. Its translucent petals shimmered in the sun, but it was the late frosts that garnered awe. Randolph recalled seeing such a one his first year in Queensport. The leaves, petals, and stem sparkled, almost as if empowered by the cold, made stronger by adversity, and beautified where others would wither.
“I only wished to express how rare of a treasure she is. Like an ice lily, she deserves nothing but the best gardens, the kindest of keepers, and the most adoring of admirers.”
Randolph supposed that by kindest of keepers and most adoring of admirers, Balfour meant himself. Suddenly the wine tasted far too saccharine in his mouth, and he was struck with what he thought was a brilliant idea. “Yes, the best of gardens. I agree entirely.” He turned back to Balfour and smiled. “I suppose that’s why her and Etienne are getting along so fabulously. They are practically inseparable. All day and night by each other’s side.”
“You do not say!” Surprised, Balfour said the words like a curse. “I thought he was her patron!”
“The two went hand in hand, I’m afraid. There is a reason he bought out her other contracts—he just found himself too taken with her. You understand why you haven’t heard. It would be quite scandalous if people thought he was paying her for her affections. Think of her reputation as well.”
“No, I understand completely. They are being discreet in their love until the contract is through.” Balfour had a hard time saying love without hiding his disappointment.
“Exactly!” Randolph set the cup onto Balfour’s desk. “So you understand why she hasn’t approached the subject with you, also why she cannot tell you you’re out of luck—for a man like you she’d have to explain, which she simply cannot do for now.” Randolph, for the first time in a long while, thought himself as devilishly clever when it came to matters of love and deceit.
“I understand.” Balfour took another sip. “And thank you for letting me know. I will be discreet with what you have told me.”
Randolph put his hand on Balfour’s shoulder. “You’re welcome.”
Balfour walked to a nearby window and looked out into the courtyard, at the gallows. “What of Suchet?” His voice was serious.
Randolph was suddenly pulled back into the present. He had been able to forget about Rienne Suchet, Vitoria, and the whole affair while he had been dwelling on Soli—but, unfortunately, all people must eventually return to reality. “She lied.”
“That is no surprise to us. Details,” ordered Balfour.
Randolph told him the truth. Every detail of intimidation and violence was spoken as casually as the gossip of the day. Only one detail was absent from his candid report: Soli. He decided to completely remove her. He had gone alone (and found the Gilded Glove all on his own). He had questioned her alone. He had forced her to tell the truth alone.
Balfour sighed. “This is a problem.”
“I told her to tell the truth but she—“
Balfour cut him off with him hand. “No, not that. The part where she said someone paid Vaux to rob Delarue’s.”
Randolph was almost disappointed that Balfour didn’t care about what he had done to Suchet—whether it was condemnation or congratulation it would have been nice of Balfour to react somehow.
“It explains why we never found any of the goods on the market—someone kept them.”
“And the only one who would know—“
Balfour finished for him. “Is stiff on a table below.”
Randolph nodded. “What about Vitoria?”
“What about her?”
“She didn’t rob Delarue’s,” Randolph stated.
“We know that now, which does not help her. She killed a guard on her escape, and she somehow found out about Vaux, and she undoubtedly was his murderer.”
“But she only killed that guard because you locked her away—”
Balfour cut him off, “No. We locked her away.”
“And Vaux,” slipped from Randolph’s mouth. “Look what happened to him. Are you telling me that you’re upset she killed him?”
“No, I am not. It does not matter how I feel about it. She killed a man and then mutilated him in the street. That is a crime.” Balfour walked back to his desk.
“And what about Suchet?” asked Randolph.
“You beat her, but I cannot do anything about it. The Reinouts would make the charges disappear in moments.” Balfour set his empty glass on his desk next to Randolph’s. “This is the rare occasion were I find myself happy about that. The woman never should have lied. Are you not happy enough with the punishment you served her?”
“It’s not good enough.”
Balfour sighed. “I will have her fined for lying during an investigation. Her lies led to the incarceration of an innocent. Every year the victim spent in prison compounds the fine. Suchet will be ruined.”
“It’s a start,” Randolph said. “Unless Vitoria decides to take care of her like she did Vaux.”
“And if she does, then we will add that to the mounting charges she will face once we find her. I will be increasing the bounty to try to prevent such things. I will let you know when I hear anything new or if the priest contacts me.” Balfour extended his hand. “Until then, be cautious. If she knew about Vaux, she might know about you.”
Randolph hesitated, but took the hand offered. “That means she might know about you too, Baly.”
Chapter 23
As Soli walked away from Randolph, she was overwhelmed with sympathetic worry. As a child she would watch her father and mother dispense justice over the affairs of the province of Cragmar’s Mouth, and she saw the toll it took on them. She saw that burden on Randolph when he told her of his story and of his great regret over handling such a matter with reckless haste.
Lying on such a grave matter would have been an executable offense in the eyes of her parents. Soli herself, when she was only seven, recalled watching the punishment of such a liar. A woman claimed that he ex-husband stole several of her sheep. If found guilty, the man would have paid for the sheep at the moment his guilt was decided (an extraordinary fine for a simple shepherd) or be executed. The ex-husband denied the claim, and he called her a liar. A few witnesses backed up the accused. The missing sheep, it turned out, had escaped their pen one night and were eaten by varbergs. The woman knew of this, and she had attempted to bribe witnesses to her cause. She hated her ex-husband and thought it would be the perfect way to destroy him. Fortunately, the witnesses had more character than the lying woman had given them credit for.
Her parents ordered that the liar be chained to a pole high on the path into the Cragmar Mountains. Buckets of pigs’ blood and entrails were tossed upon her, and then they left her there. A week later, Soli’s parents brought her, along with her six siblings, to see the woman. All that was found were gnawed bones and some loose hair. One of her brothers, Bardi, found the woman’s marred skull and brought it home with them, turning it into a bowl for Soli.
Much like the wronged ex-husband, Vitoria could have died due to Rienne’s dishonesty, and so Rienne’s life was forfeit in Soli’s mind. When Soli saw Randolph take Rienne in his hands, she thought he would kill her—but much to her surprise, he didn’t. She still did not know why he had stopped, but there was much about Randolph that Soli did not presume to know.
At the door, she knocked. Guy and Val were there, and she, surprisingly, found herself happy to see their harmless, familiar faces. She walked in, greeted by the men. She turned as they closed the door to see one last glance of Randolph, as if seeing him for one more second might give her further insight into his actions, but he had already turned towards the stable, and all she saw was his backside.
“Out again?” asked Val as he closed the door. “More gowns to purchase, madam?”
While the question sounded ridiculous to Soli, she knew he was being sincere.
“No way, Val!” said Guy. “She has more pretty dresses than even we could carry! I’m betting shoes.” Guy was less sincere.
Soli turned her head to the men. “Neither, I assure you, gentlemen.”
“I suppose that makes sense, seeing that Irene has been here,” said Guy.
“Oh, yeah! She’s been looking for you!” exclaimed Val as if he had completely forgotten something dire.
“She has?” both Soli and Guy questioned in unison.
Val nodded to both of them.
“Where is she?” asked Soli.
“Currently with Jae, having a lovely lunch,” said Val with envy, as if imagining the savory, rich cuisine that they surely dined upon.
“Thank you,” said Soli, turning towards the dining hall.
Guy half-heatedly slapped Val on the shoulder. “I can’t believe you wouldn’t tell me that!”
“I forgot,” insisted Val.
Irene nearly leapt from her seat as Soli entered. “There you are!” she squeaked. “I was this close to alerting the guard of your disappearance!”
“I’m sorry,” said Soli, confused. “I have left before, and I didn’t believe it would cause any trouble.”
“Well, from now on—”
Jae cut off Irene’s reprimand. “Mistress Soli isn’t a prisoner, Irene, and she is not a servant you can boss about.” He smiled and tipped his cup of steaming coffee towards Soli in welcome.
Soli gave a nod of her head in reply to Jae.
“Well, of course!” backtracked Irene. “I do not mean to imply that—I would never think of you like that—I just had no idea where you had gone off too!”
“Of course not,” replied Soli as gracefully as possible (as if she believed Irene). “I merely decided to look for gloves.”
“Oh, how delightful!” squealed Irene again. “Did you find anything that you fancied?”
Soli took a seat. “No, nothing I liked.”
Irene looked as if Soli had just informed her that she had bought Irene a puppy and that the puppy had just died. “Terrible! Don’t worry! We will find you something today!”
Soli smiled as Irene rang a small bell on the center of the table.
The door to the kitchen flung open within seconds of the first ting. Out came Marguerite. Her eyes were down. Her hands were folded in front of her as she approached Irene, who still had the bell in hand.
“Yes, madam?” meekly asked Marguerite. She had new clothes on: a simple, long servant’s dress that was far too big for her. She was hunched over, making the dress look like a hanging bag. Even then, Soli was certain she had become plumper.
“A setting for Soli, of course!” Irene laughed as if it was obvious. She set the bell onto the table as if the silver thing was made of glass.
“Of course, madam. My apologies.” Marguerite shuffled back into the kitchen; the hem of her dress dragged along the floor.
“Are you hungry?” asked Jae.
There were platters of food in front of her, surely far more than Jae and Irene could ever had eaten on their own. White fish topped with a lemony sauce, slow-baked, buttered radishes, carrots cooked with rum and sugar, fresh strawberries and cream, rolls of wheat bread, and a dark soup. Soli had no idea what it was, but it smelled of beef and onion.
Soli seemed, ever since she was a child, to suffer from a boundless appetite, and she had always held her own against her brothers when it came to eating contests.
Soli turned her attention to Jae, grateful for the opportunity to ignore Irene’s rudeness. “That would be lovely.” Soli wanted nothing more than to grab a roll and shove it into her mouth, to take a handful of strawberries (covered in cream) and shove them all into her mouth at once, or to pick a piece of fish up by her fingertips, dip it further into the sauce, and then slap it into her mouth. Her stomach grumbled in agreement with her desires, but she thought it better to wait the little while longer for the tableware.
“Then you are in luck, my dear,” said Jae as he snatched a particularly fat strawberry with his fingertips and brought it close to his lips.
Irene’s smile faltered as Jae said dear.
“It is a pity that you were absent today. I was hoping you would have joined me for lunch.” His tongue slipped out of his mouth like a lazy snake, and he licked a bit of cream a little too slowly. “But Irene made a fine replacement for your company,” he added on as a hurried afterthought, with a touch of cream on his upper lip.
Irene laughed as she gently tapped him on the shoulder—in an entirely too well-performed display of “spontaneity.” “And your loss was my gain! Such a feast!”
Jae’s eyes flitted to her hand in annoyance for a brief second. “And what a gain it will be! I thought for a second there you were actually inhaling your food!” Jae laughed.
There was a mortified pause before Irene joined in the laughter.
Soli smiled the best she could.
“You must make time to join me tomorrow, mistress.” It was not a request, merely a statement of what would come. Jae was, after all, a man who got whatever he wanted whenever he wanted it
“Of course,” said Soli. She noted that she would have to have a word with Etienne about, what she assumed would be, the start of Jae’s demands from her.
“Excellent! I look forward to stories!” He popped the strawberry into his mouth. While his mouth was still full of the sweet, red deliciousness of the berry and the touch of cream was still on his lip, he bowed and gave them a sincere, “Ladies.”
Irene almost giggled. “Milord.” she replied.
Soli nodded back to him.
The door from the kitchen opened, and Marguerite shambled out with a tray of dining ware for Soli. Marguerite froze for a moment as she saw Jae, but, quickly, she sunk them to the floor as if she had seen a vengeful revenant or a bloody redcap. She continued towards Soli.
Jae finished his bow, and then he lingered to watch Marguerite walk across the room towards Soli. “Ah, mistress! Look here! You will not starve after all!”
Irene laughed as if he had told the wittiest joke in the world.
“The absence of it, milord, will make the food that much more pleasurable. Perfect timing, I say,” replied Soli. Normally she would have done whatever would have made her patron happy. What Jae wanted was her agreeing laughter, but she just couldn’t do it that time. Plus, she justified in her mind, Etienne was her patron—not Jae.
Jae’s eyes left Marguerite and traveled to Soli. “Well said, my jewel.” Jae’s face was decidedly blank. “I shall see you tomorrow.”
Soli nodded.
Marguerite tried to unload the tray, but Soli simply took it by the handles and set the whole thing in front of her. Marguerite looked surprised, but Soli waved her away. Marguerite curtsied, and then she headed back into the kitchen. Soli couldn’t help but watch her, as one might sadly and morbidly do when finding a broken bird attempting to take flight. Her steps were strained, and she waddled more than walked. She kept her hands at her abdomen, as if pushing in on it the whole way to the kitchen.
Jae watched her every step. As the door to the kitchen swung shut, he left the dining hall without any further words or smiles, leaving Soli and Irene alone.
Soli ladled the soup into the small bowl on the tray. As the film on the top broke, delicious, strong scents filled her nose. Her mouth salivated as if a freshwater spring had suddenly formed within, and her stomach begged for the soup. After the bowl was filled, she pulled two warm rolls from the bottom of the basket. She ripped the rolls apart, releasing steam, and she dipped them into the dark brown broth. After they were thoroughly saturated, she plopped them into her mouth. The taste of salty beef, wild mushrooms, caramelized onions, and sherry soaked into her tongue. She practically melted.
The only good thing about Aveline, she decided, was its food.
Irene watched her like an anthropologist studying a foreign culture. She s
at still, quiet except for the occasional quick sip of coffee.
Soli continued until the soup was gone. She fetched another ladle full while finishing what was left of the bread she had taken. As she returned the ladle to the serving bowl, she noticed Irene’s gaze.
“It’s delicious,” said Soli, unsure what to say to Irene, but thinking anything was better than silent staring.
Irene nodded. “Yes. You must like it a lot.” Irene sighed. “Soli, you’re not a prisoner here, but I do need you to tell me when you plan on disappearing—in the future. It’s my job to attend to you, and I cannot do that if you vanish.”
Soli had forgotten what it was like to have a handler. She removed a fillet of fish (one that was particularly soaked in sauce) with a silver plated spatula and set it on her plate.
“Lord Etienne came to me asking where you were, and I could not say. Lord Jae came to me asking where you were, and I could not say. Please, just let me know when you will be coming and going.” She paused. “I do not want to have to ask the guards to watch over you.”
Soli picked apart the local fish with her fork. She suddenly missed simple Northern Lake Trout. “Of course,” she forced herself to say.
“Thank you.” Irene smiled. “I’m so glad we can have these open talks!” She took another sip of her coffee, finishing the cup. “There is one other thing.”
Soli looked up at her, taking a moment away from the sundering of her fillet and the longing for a modest Northern dinner away from silvered forks and annoying handlers.
She smiled even brighter, as if they were discussing what cakes to have for a party. “No more fights in the street, and for that matter, no more trips around the city with…Randolph.”
“What?” snapped Soli. Her fork scrapped the plate.
“An artist, such as you, that is employed by the grand Reinout House must have a certain level of decorum. Etienne heard about that scuffle, so it is strongly advised that you do not travel with Randolph again.”
“I see,” said Soli, completely understanding the message. She regained her composure over her fork and stabbed a piece of helpless, delicious fish.