Daughter of Mystery

by Jones, Heather Rose

  Margerit saw Barbara glance in her direction as if looking for permission. “I thought perhaps…” She reached into the neck of her shirt and pulled out the chain and the ring threaded on it. She hadn’t worn it for months, Margerit knew, but she’d put it on at the start of their journey. To keep it safe while traveling, she’d said. “Can you deliver this ring to the Vicomtesse de Cherdillac? Tell her nothing else, but see what she answers.”

  LeFevre took the ring and examined it. “This will take some thought. Going up to the north side of town is exactly the sort of thing that attracts my watchers. And we can hardly entrust the errand to just anyone.”

  “Perhaps Iannipirt…” Barbara suggested.

  LeFevre scowled in thought long enough that Margerit wondered aloud, “Do you doubt he—”

  “I don’t care to have him thrust into the middle of my intrigues!” he snapped with an uncharacteristic flash of anger. But then he passed a hand over his face and took a deep breath. “I’m sorry. This matter entangles us all and there’s no way out except forward. I’ll ask him.”

  How tired he looks. What had these last months been like for him? Treading carefully to keep her people and possessions safe from her own folly. Uncertain what the end would be or even what the beginning had been. And then as if to mock her new-wakened sympathy, a great yawn overtook her.

  “Margerit, go rest,” Barbara urged. “I have a few matters of law to discuss still, but there’s no need for you to wait up.”

  Chapter Fifty-Six

  Barbara

  Barbara poured herself another cup of tea and nursed it while she waited until Margerit’s movements in the next room quieted. LeFevre sat waiting for her to break the silence.

  “I learned a few things at Saint Orisul’s,” she repeated at last.

  “Indeed.”

  It was little encouragement, given that she hardly knew where to start. “I learned that my mother was Elisebet Anzeld.” There was no response. “And I learned that my mother’s husband was Efrans Arpik, Count Turinz.”

  “A curious way of phrasing the matter,” LeFevre commented.

  Barbara found that her hand was shaking and she set the cup down. Not even facing down an armed opponent had ever unnerved her this much. “I learned that the spring before my birth, she accompanied her old school-fellow on a pilgrimage to Saint Orisul’s. But she didn’t stay at the convent, she spent her nights visiting a…friend in the area.”

  LeFevre’s silence hung heavy in the air.

  “Damn it man, is there nothing you can say? Wasn’t that part of why you sent us to the Orisules? In hopes I might learn what you couldn’t tell me?” She kept her voice low. The last thing she wanted was to have this conversation with Margerit in the room. The quality of LeFevre’s silence had changed. There was an expectant feel to it, as if he needed only the right word to release him. Barbara tried again. “Did the baron leave…a letter, a document? Anything? Something you were to give to me?”

  LeFevre let his breath out in a long sigh. “That’s close enough. Wait here.”

  Barbara heard his footsteps down the back stairs—not the ones to the street, but those passing directly into his offices. Long minutes passed. She would have sworn it was hours. Finally the steps returned, a door closed and LeFevre stood before her holding out a thickly folded document, bound about with ribbons and seals.

  “I was to give you this only if you knew to ask for it. I don’t know what it says. It was important that I not know. But I have eyes and wits and I was with the baron a very long time. I would wager that my conclusions are the same as yours.”

  Barbara turned the packet over in her hands. She had been wrong about the seal. It hadn’t been sealed with the baron’s signet ring—the ring itself was embedded in the wax, wound about with the scarlet ribbons that tied up the packet. She had assumed that ring had either been broken or buried with him. Sealing this document was the last act he had taken. And he must have written it with his own hand, since LeFevre clearly hadn’t done so. That would have been a great effort for him at the end.

  “Do you plan to open it?” LeFevre asked.

  “I think it will carry more weight if I present it still sealed.”

  “You’re that certain?”

  “If I’m right,” Barbara answered, “then everything makes sense. If I’m wrong, then nothing ever made sense. I’m willing to risk it.” She tucked the packet away and stood, finally admitting how exhausted she was. “LeFevre,” she said quietly. “Thank you. For everything.”

  He made a bow of a depth she hadn’t seen from him in some time. “My pleasure, Mesnera.”

  * * *

  Barbara woke at a soft but insistent tapping at the door and for a panicked moment couldn’t remember where she was or why. Only the presence of Margerit’s warmth, curled against her, reassured her that all was well. Then memory returned and she called an acknowledgment. Margerit stirred beside her sleepily. Barbara looked over at the window. The curtains were drawn, but from the angle of the light she thought it must be past noon. So late! But LeFevre would have woken them if there were any need…and then her mind came around again to the tap at the door and she pushed back the covers.

  There was no help for it but to put on the same ragged scholar’s garb she had worn the day before. At least there was a basin to wash in. LeFevre’s apartment suited him: well-ordered and tidy, with a sufficiency of comforts but no luxuries. The home of someone who had spent his life in a great man’s shadow and preferred to go unnoticed in that work.

  Margerit had woken at her absence and sleepily said, “Someday you and I will spend an entire day in bed with no one coming and going about us.”

  Barbara crossed back to her and kissed her long and lingeringly. “I’m not so worried about the coming as the going. We have work to do.”

  It was Iannipirt who met them when they emerged, bringing out food and filling in the morning’s events. “I saw your friend the vicomtesse,” he said. “Not at first, of course, but since the ring was her own I thought there’d be no risk to sending it in to speak for me. She knew the message, right enough. I think she’s been half-expecting something since you disappeared. I didn’t discuss details—only that you needed help and was she willing.” He poured out cups of tea for each. “René—he’s gone to speak with her somewhere safe. But he said it was best if I got you ready to move, if need be.”

  * * *

  It was evening before LeFevre returned again, carrying parcels of assorted sizes as if he’d spent the day in the market. “I thought you might like a change of clothing,” he said, hurriedly laying out several of the largest on the table. “I suggested to Maisetra Pertinek that she choose something plain but suitable for a formal occasion. I haven’t had a chance to see how she interpreted that.”

  “How is my aunt?” Margerit asked eagerly. “Does she know I’m here?”

  “She knows I requested clothing for both of you, so she can guess as much as there would be to tell.” He drew out another, longer bundle, wrapped up in oilcloth.

  Barbara grinned appreciatively as she took it from him and felt the outline of a blade within.

  “I thought it might give you some comfort,” he said. “Particularly as you will be repeating your role of armin tomorrow, in the service of the Vicomtesse de Cherdillac. And you,” he turned to Margerit, “will be a waiting woman. It seems the simplest approach, though one that brings her into the same risk we run if you aren’t successful.” Barbara frowned in concern. “The plan was all hers,” he assured her. “I think, perhaps, I have misjudged your friend.”

  Perhaps I have too, Barbara thought. Unless all this is simply for the thrill of the danger.

  “I was followed,” he added abruptly. “I think Estefen had a watch set at Tiporsel because I didn’t see them before that. You should assume he knows you’re here.”

  “Here?” Margerit asked anxiously.

  “In Rotenek. He may guess you’re here in this house, but I don’t
think—”

  “We should move elsewhere,” Barbara said immediately, gathering up the bundles of clothing.

  “When it gets a bit darker,” LeFevre agreed. “He’d overplay his hand if he moves against you here but there may be more watchers by morning. There’s a small caretaker’s room in the warehouse hard by Chapil Nikule—you know the one? I’ll give you the keys. The vicomtesse will attend morning services at the chapel. Three will enter; three will leave.”

  His estimate of Estefen’s caution missed the mark. Before they could sit to dinner there came a pounding on the door below. Without a word, LeFevre led them to the back stairs as Iannipirt hurriedly cleared away the evidence of guests.

  “Take the right-hand door at the bottom,” he said, pressing a small ring of keys into her hand. “No lights, I’m afraid. Lock it behind you then follow the wall around to the left until you find the trap down to the river. You should be able to walk the riverwall up to the Nikuleplaiz.”

  * * *

  That night stretched on forever. The illusion of safety that had let them rest so long the night before was gone and even the locked doors of the caretaker’s office couldn’t prevent every distant shout and every creak of the old walls from banishing sleep. Dawn came slowly through the cracks in the shutters and they gave up on sleep entirely, changing into the provided clothing and cleaning up as best they could. Another hour and there was enough traffic on the street to slip out and join the morning worshippers at Saint Nikule’s. Another even longer hour before the right set of carriage wheels was heard outside and Jeanne arrived with her attendants. Three entered and three left.

  When the carriage disgorged them at the steps of the great hall of the palace, Barbara expected at every moment to be stopped by shouts and drawn weapons. Were there more of the palace guards about than she remembered from the baron’s time? Were they more watchful than their usual formal scowls? Her face had once been familiar in this place—as much as any servant’s face would be noticed. The chilly weather gave them an added layer of disguise for Jeanne had thought to provide a heavy greatcoat and hat for her and a hooded cloak for Margerit. They would be well inside before anyone would find it strange that they still wore them. Barbara had fallen easily into her place and role but Margerit had to be advised in haste on how to play the waiting woman. Her attention wandered too easily as they entered the crowded assembly room and edged their way slowly through the mere hang-abouts toward the dais where the long debate played out among the titled and powerful.

  Barbara scanned the ornate chairs set apart from the ordinary benches. Prince Aukust, of course, in the center, worn thinner than she remembered. At his right hand, Princess Elisebet and young Chustin. But at his left hand, in curious symmetry, sat a slightly older woman and a youth just on the edge of manhood. That would be the Austrian party: Aukust’s daughter Annek, Duchess of Maunberg. She had the gravity one might expect from a prince’s daughter, with dark hooded eyes that spoke of the long weight of cares but missed nothing in the room. And at her side…but which of the prince’s grandsons would that be? Weren’t there two? She left the thought for the moment and searched further. Perhaps back when the sessions began there had been some order among the attending nobility but it was clear that many had now sorted themselves out by allegiance. She spotted Estefen with others of like mind standing back along the walls to the princess’s side, his eyes darting here and there among the crowd. That habit that had once looked arrogant now seemed anxious. So: everyone was in place and now she must act before the opening of the session…and before there was any chance they could be recognized.

  She waited until Estefen had turned away to speak to someone then signaled to Jeanne. Slipping off the overcoat and hat, she strode out into the empty space before the dais, judging precisely the distance at which she would command attention but not appear a threat.

  “Prince Aukust of Alpennia,” she called in ringing tones that excited first a ripple of comment then a fascinated hush. “I stand before you to raise and lay a charge of conspiracy and treason against Estefen Chazillen, Baron Saveze, that he has conspired to attack the house of Atilliet and do harm to those of your blood.”

  A stunned silence ruled. She saw the prince turn questioningly to the clerk who stood always at his elbow and of the latter’s answer she could make out only “Lumbeirt’s duelist.”

  Estefen pushed his way to the front of the crowd, glaring furiously at her, but the charge had been made in his presence: raised and laid. She had succeeded in seizing the upper hand.

  The prince rose on unsteady feet and replied in a still commanding tone, “You no longer speak in Marziel Lumbeirt’s name. I don’t believe your new mistress has the right of birth to lay charges in my court.”

  “I come in my own name and by right of my own birth.” She took the sealed packet from her coat pocket and held it up.

  Estefen said scornfully, “A name so disgraced by your father that it’s been unspoken for twenty years. A name you never dared to claim before today. I will not stand here to be slandered by the long-lost Arpik.”

  “Be silent,” the prince commanded. “This is not your time to answer.” He gestured for her to approach and she bowed and knelt before him. At another gesture the packet was delivered. He examined the ring for what seemed like eternity before breaking the seal and unfolding the letter within. The contents may have been brief but she suspected the hand was difficult. He was a long time reading while the crowd grew restless once more. At last he looked up at her again and said, “Marziel’s death came at a most inconvenient time for you.”

  She couldn’t resist responding, “I’m sure he found it inconvenient on his own part as well.” A titter of laughter ran through the room.

  The prince handed the document to his clerk but Barbara noticed that he kept the ring. “Record it: Marziel Lumbeirt, late Baron Saveze acknowledges this woman as his natural daughter. Barbara Lumbeirt, you have birthright to bring suit in my court, but have you evidence?”

  Barbara took a deep breath to steady her nerves. She longed to see how Margerit had taken the revelation but now was not the time. Only the first two steps were passed and a long walk still stretched before them. “I call as witness to my charge Iohennis Lutoz. And I stand prepared to uphold the charge with my body as well, if need be.” She watched Estefen’s face carefully as she spoke. At Lutoz’s name he looked startled, but at what followed there was a trace of fear. Good. She might not be certain of victory, but if he feared to meet her it made the rest easier.

  “And you,” the prince said, turning to Estefen as well. “How will you answer?”

  “Unless my dear friend Hennis has regained his wits, the charges seem to be lacking in substance. I will gladly stand by your judgment and forego crossing swords with a professional murderer.”

  He was trying to goad her but he’d moved his piece to the square she’d intended. “Mesner Lutoz isn’t mad,” she hastened to respond. “He’s been touched by the saints, a punishment for his part in this plot. But there is one who can win forgiveness for him and restore to him the power of speech.” She paused until the prince signaled her to continue.

  This was the next chasm they had to leap across. Margerit couldn’t testify to Estefen’s guilt directly, but she would need to confess her own to make sense of what needed to be done. She turned and gestured to her to approach. The concealing cloak was shed and she came forward. One wild glance spoke of the questions roiling in her mind. Barbara gave her hand a hidden squeeze. “Your Grace, this is—”

  Estefen broke in accusingly, “This is the real villain! That Sovitre woman I raised the charge against!”

  “Raised, but not yet laid to her face,” Barbara countered quickly. “And you cannot lay it until your own charge is settled—that’s the law.”

  Estefen sputtered and protested but Barbara knew her ground was solid. For the first time in the proceedings, Princess Elisebet spoke up. “Is there another who could lay the charge in your pl
ace, Saveze?”

  As Estefen looked around, she held her breath and once again touched Margerit’s hand for reassurance. How many others in the guild had been privy to the plot? And were any willing to risk themselves? Estefen’s game had nothing to do with the succession, after all—it was purely his own vengeance. And there was the example of Lutoz to urge caution.

  All eyes watched as he first approached Filip Amituz, then Mihail Salun, and was met with stony silence. He searched around for other members of the guild’s inner circle but they were suddenly absent. He crossed at last to where Antuniet stood with their mother. The words that passed between them were not audible but Barbara could see that his hand had closed tightly on Antuniet’s arm. It was not until a sharp word from Mesnera Chazillen that he released her and returned to his place empty-handed and trying to cover his embarrassment with bravado. “It seems that justice against this woman will need to wait. But I won’t stand by while she corrupts and bewitches the witnesses brought against me. If Lutoz can testify, then let him testify. But if he cannot, then don’t allow her to put words in his mouth by sorcery!”

  Barbara could feel Margerit trembling. It had been many years since charges of sorcery had been taken seriously in a secular court and she doubted Estefen had meant them as an accusation. But there were ancient fears that could be stirred up.

  “And what do you say to that,” the prince looked to his clerk for prompting, “Maisetra Sovitre?”

  Margerit remembered to drop a low curtsy before answering. “These past two months I have worked performing mysteries with the Sisters of Saint Orisul. I think they can be trusted to know the difference between the works of God and those of the devil.”

  He nodded. “A fair answer. And how is it that you alone know how to dispel Mesner Lutoz’s afflictions?”

  Then Margerit plunged into her story. There were, perhaps, more details than needed to be told but the attention of most in the hall was caught and held. Her inheritance, the university, the discovery of her talent as a vidator, the guild, the castellum and finally the extra tower whose seeds Lutoz had planted for her. “I was ignorant,” she confessed contritely, “and didn’t know what meaning those symbols had. And I was too full of pride in my skill to wonder why it seemed important that only we two should work on the rite. It wasn’t until after…after I fled the city that I learned what I’d been a party to.”