Azmus’s eyes lowered to his plump hands. “You have established a relationship with Lord Flauvic?”
I grimaced. “Well, let’s say I had the opportunity. But I suspect that even if I had continued talking to him, I’d be no more knowledgeable than I am now. He’s very good at deflecting questions and giving misleading answers.”
Azmus rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “We can assume, then, that he wishes this news of the family fight to get about.”
“I’m not telling anyone,” I said. “Not even about my visit to him.”
Azmus’s face went blank.
“But you knew,” I said, not even making it a question.
“Those who wanted to know, knew,” he said.
“So there is someone spying on me?” I cried.
“Not on you. On the Merindar House. I arrived two days ago and resumed some of my old contacts and found this out. I also found out that the Merindars have their own spy network, and not only here at Athanarel.”
“Spies! Did one intercept my letter to you?” I asked in alarm.
“I did not think a proper answer to your questions ought to be put on paper—though your letter did arrive at my home with its seal intact. I do know how to unseal and seal a letter again, and I know how to tell the difference when it’s been done,” he assured me. “It appears that the Renselaeus family never did release my name after they identified me, and so most folk believe me to be a retired goldsmith. The letter arrived unmolested.”
“Well that’s good to know.” I sighed in relief. “I hadn’t even thought about tampering. Maybe it’s best that I stay ignorant and foolish,” I added bitterly. “You know how successful Bran and I were with our revolt, and messing with politics is as likely to leave me mud-covered now.”
“If you so choose,” Azmus said, “I will return to Tlanth.”
“I don’t know.” I played restlessly with my fan. “I want to do the right thing, yet I can’t outthink Flauvic—I proved that recently, over a relatively simple question of social usage—and your reminder about the letters makes me realize I could stupidly do something disastrous without meaning to.”
“If you want information,” he said in his low tones, “I am willing to take up my old connections and provide it. You need write to no one or speak to no one. It’s common enough for people to summon their own artisans for special projects.” He patted his satchel. “You are wealthy enough to enable me to sustain the cover.”
“You mean I should order some jewelry made?”
He nodded. “If you please, my lady.”
“Of course—that’s easy enough. But to backtrack a bit, what you said about spies on both sides worries me. What if the Renselaeuses find out you’re here? Will they assume I’m plotting?”
“I have taken great care to avoid their coverts,” he said. “The two who met me face-to-face last year are not in Athanarel. And none of the family has actually seen me.”
Once again I sighed with relief. Then an even more unwelcome thought occurred. “If my movements are known, then other things have been noticed. Are there any I ought to know about?”
He gave his nod. “It is known, among those who observe, that you do not attend any private social functions that are also attended by the Marquis of Shevraeth.”
So much for my promise, I thought dismally. Yet Shevraeth hadn’t said anything. “So…this might be why Flauvic granted me that interview?”
“Possibly,” he said.
“I take it servants talk.”
“Some,” he agreed. “Others don’t.”
“I suppose the Merindar ones don’t.”
He smiled. “They are very carefully selected and trained, exceedingly well paid-and if they displease, they have a habit of disappearing.”
“You mean they’re found dead, and no one does anything?”
He shook his head, his mouth now grim. “No. They disappear.”
I shuddered.
“So whatever I find out must be by observation and indirection.”
“Well, if you can evaluate both sides without endangering yourself,” I said, “then go ahead. The more I think about it, the less I like being ignorant. If something happens that might require us to act, you can help me choose the correct thing to do and the way to do it.”
He bowed. “Nothing would please me more, my lady,” he promised.
“Good,” I said, rising to fetch my letter from the Marquise. “Here’s her letter. Read it—and as far as I care, destroy it.” I handed it to him, relieved to have it gone. “So, what’s in your bag? I will want something special,” I said, and grinned. “For someone special.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The unknown was not likely to wear the jewelry I sent. I knew that. Yet it gave me pleasure to plan the design and select the right gem.
It was a ring I wanted, a fitting return for my own ring, which I wore frequently. Around it Azmus etched laurel leaves in an abstract, pleasing pattern. Leaves, spring, circles—all symbols that complemented the friendship. The gemstone was the best ekirth that Azmus could find, carefully faceted so it glittered like a nightstar, so deep a blue as to seem black, except when the light hit it. Then it sent out brilliant shards of color: gold, blue, crimson, emerald.
Ekirthi traditionally symbolized mystery, but I didn’t think an old meaning so bad a thing. I sent it the night following Azmus’s second visit. After wasting much paper and time in fruitless endeavor to write a graceful note to accompany it, I decided to simply send it in a tiny cedar box that my mother had apparently brought from Colend and that I’d had all my life.
There was no response the next morning, when I rose early, which disappointed me a little, but I shrugged off the reaction and dressed swiftly. For I’d found out that Trishe was having a riding party before breakfast, and I intended to encounter it by accident.
Encountering a party by accident is a chancy business. You can’t appear at the party’s destination and affect surprise to find everyone gathered there, not unless you want to seriously discommode either the host or yourself. Probably Savona or Tamara—or Flauvic—were expert at managing such a thing gracefully, but I knew I wasn’t.
So I had to take a ride on my own, find their path, and see to it that we fell in together. That was the easy part.
The hard part was reacting with delight and no hint of embarrassment when I did find them, for of course most of them exclaimed in various kinds of surprise when they saw me, especially Nee and Bran. A quick glance showed me that Shevraeth was indeed with them, riding next to a young lady I had never seen before.
I reined in my borrowed mount and reached forward to stroke her braided mane, pretending not to notice Nee’s confusion. Trishe, the golden-haired hostess, rode on the periphery of the group. She smiled, but her eyes betrayed worry. I turned to my brother. For once, I hoped, his disastrous habit of loudly saying whatever he thought would be a boon.
“Bran! You’re up already. What a surprise to find you out here!” And of course for Bran it was a surprise. His usual habit on days when he had no engagements was to sleep in, or if he did rise betimes, he didn’t do anything strenuous.
Bran said in his clear voice, “Not as surprising as finding you here, Mel. We take a morning ride once a week, unless it rains. Trishe puts on a breakfast spread in some nice grassy spot—”
And here I was able to cut in and say in an equally jovial and penetrating voice, “‘Tis true I haven’t seen much of anyone these mornings, but I’ve been locked up studying for a special project. But I’m nearly done, and so I find myself free.”
Then Trishe had her opportunity to come forward and request that I join them, which I professed myself honored to do, and the awkward moment passed. I urged my mount in on the other side of Trishe’s and, in the friendliest voice I could assume, told her how they would all know about my secret project very soon.
I didn’t actually look at little red-haired Lady Arasa Elbanek or her skinny, long-nosed brother, but I cou
ld sense them both listening avidly. This meant, I thought happily as I dropped back to ride next to Nee, that my confidential conversation with Trishe would be all over Athanarel before the bells for green-change rang.
So I congratulated myself on a fine, subtle social save—until we reached Trishe’s picnic site. In the chaos of dismounting and tendering the horses to the waiting servants, I happened to catch Shevraeth’s gaze. Those gray eyes, always so accursedly observant, were now narrowed with humor, but his mouth was mock-solemn as he said, “I have the honor to introduce to you Lady Elenet Kheraev of Grumareth.”
I curtsied, wondering where I’d heard that name before. Elenet was a tall, slim young lady with a heart-shaped face and wide-set gray-blue eyes. Her hair was fine and somewhat thin, of a tint midway between blond and brown, dressed by a master hand; and her gown, though of sober hues that suited her subdued coloring, was as finely made as any of Fialma’s. She gave me a quiet smile, but there was no time for conversation because Trishe beckoned and everyone had to follow along a narrow path up a short hill, where we found blankets and baskets spread out invitingly on the grass overlooking one of the ponds.
A quick side-glance showed Trishe addressing a hurried question to one of her servants, which was answered with a nod. So they had enough cups and plates—probably carried against breakage. Good. Then I wouldn’t have to pretend I’d already eaten.
Next transpired the sort of flutter of well-bred activity attendant upon being seated and served with cups of gently steaming hot chocolate and light, flaky little pan-breads covered with fresh greenhouse berries. During the course of this I got a chance to scan the company and assess positions and attitudes. Not that I could believe everything I saw, I knew. Most of them were probably dissembling as much as I, and more successfully. But, determined as I was on eradicating negative gossip, I made myself wander from group to group, chocolate cup in hand.
First to my hostess, who sat with Lady Renna, her husband, and some of the other horse-mad people. We talked a little about horses, and the coming races, and who was likely to bet on—or against—whom. Then I passed on to Arasa, sitting with Geral and Tamara’s cousin, the Turlee heir. On the outskirts of this conversation hovered Arasa’s sour, clapper-tongued brother Lord Olervec, tolerated only because his sister was so popular.
Arasa, whose blue silk gown flattered her attractive, plump figure, seemed perfectly happy to share her two swains with me. She greeted me with a smile and complimented me sunnily on my gown. “Were you hinting about a special party?” she asked, hugging herself. “Oooh, I do hope so!”
“I was,” said I, watching Geral and Alcanad Hazhlee watch her. I dropped some hints about costumes and mysteries, and she giggled and shivered. I realized that I was very probably talking to the present-day equivalent of my forebear Ardis. It was hard not to laugh at the idea.
As I bowed to them and moved away, I wondered if she were in fact as empty-headed as she seemed. Everyone liked her, but with the sort of tolerant attitude one expresses when one admits to a taste for spun sugar. Her name was coupled almost constantly with this or that gentleman by those who liked that kind of gossip. Such as, for instance, her brother.
Next was the foursome I had been bracing myself to face all along: Tamara, Savona, the newly met Lady Elenet, and the Marquis of Shevraeth. Very conscious of Olervec’s pale eyes following me, I forced myself to greet Shevraeth first: “Good morning,” I said, as if we’d been talking the day before. “How much I wish to thank you for putting me in the way of finding the proper books for my project.”
Again that laughter was evident in his glance as he sketched a bow. “If you have any further questions,” he said, “it would be my pleasure to accommodate you.”
“I’d be honored.” I curtsied, my hands making the fan gesture of Unalloyed Gratitude. The shadow of humor in the corners of his mouth deepened.
Then I turned to the others. Savona grinned at me, one hand moving slightly in the fencer’s salute of a good hit. I fought the urge to blush as Tamara murmured, “You’ll be in the race tomorrow?”
“Of course,” I said, lifting my hands. “I have to prove whether my wins last time were chance, skill—or the kindness of well-wishers.”
Tamara smiled. “And once you’ve proved which it is?”
“Why then I either celebrate, commiserate—or fulminate!”
They all laughed at that, even the quiet Elenet, though her laughter was so soft I scarcely heard it.
I turned to Shevraeth and said, “Will you be there?”
“I hope to be,” he said.
“Riding your gray?”
“Is that a challenge?” he replied with a hint of a smile.
I opened my mouth, then a stray memory brought back our private wager before we reached Athanarel and nothing could prevent the heat that burned up my neck into my face; so I quickly bent over, making a business of ordering one of the flounces on my gown. After I had straightened up I’d have an excuse for a red face, or at least enough of one to pass the notice of the three who (presumably) knew nothing of that unpaid wager.
“I think, “ I said, retying a ribbon and patting it into place, then unbending with what I hoped was an expression of nonchalance, “I’d better find out if my win is due to skill or kindness before I make any pledges.”
“Very well,” he said. “A friendly race will suffice.”
When the conversation came to a natural close, I retreated to Nee’s side and finished the rest of the picnic with her and Bran.
The morning was chill and the sky steadily darkened. Trishe gave a signal to the servants as soon as the last plate was picked up; it was not a morning to linger.
Scattered drops of rain rustled the leaves overhead as we pulled our gloves on and resettled our hats. The sweetly chiming harness bells announced that the mounts waited below, and the company was in motion again. I rode with Nee and Bran, and despite the increasing cold and the strengthening rain I had that inner glow of satisfaction that comes with having attempted the right thing—and actually managing to carry it off.
When we returned to the Residence I decided I had better make the most of my virtuous mood. I sat down at my desk, drew forth the papers I had ordered, which resembled age-yellowed paper from the past, and in my very best writing, began my invitations. I would not insult my brother and Nee by foisting the job off on a scribe.
The historical period I had selected for my party was five hundred years before. The king, young and popular and handsome, had married a lady from the house of Noarth, forebears of the Chamadis family. Those two sterling historical personages would do for Bran and Nee. The king, Jhussav, had had a sister, whose guise I could adopt without causing any kind of political repercussions. She had departed on a world tour not long after she reached my age, and had settled somewhere else. It was a quiet time in our history—no wars or great changes—and there were no exceptionally villainous members of any of the families whose names were prominent now, nor were there any great fools. We could enjoy the masquerade, dress like our ancestors, eat food that was fashionable then, and everyone could find out the idiosyncrasies of their forebears without embarrassment, and come to the party to do some playacting.
I was thus congratulating myself on having successfully routed Flauvic when a chilling thought made me drop my pen and groan.
Flauvic! What could have possessed me to forget to look up the Merindars? I had checked on everyone else except the forebears of the one who had given me the idea.
No use scolding myself, I thought as I hurried out into the hallway. As I’d done my reading, pausing to run through names of friends, acquaintances, and neutral parties, the Merindars had somehow stood outside of this group. They did not spring naturally to mind, either, when I considered my guest lists. But of course I had to invite Flauvic, and his mother and sister if they returned.
Had I read their names as I did my research? I couldn’t remember, which made me fear that something distasteful had be
en done to them or by them, either of which would be disastrous to call attention to now.
My friendly guise of the morning notwithstanding, I had no wish to blunder into the memoir room if Shevraeth was working there. This time I will be more stealthy, I vowed…
The thought vanished when I happened to glance out one of the many arched windows lining the long hallway and saw two figures in one of the private courtyards.
The glass was old and wavery, but something about the tall figure made me stumble to a halt and reach to unlatch the window. As I did, my mind winged to another time when I stood inside a building with distorted glass and stared out at the Marquis of Shevraeth. And somehow he had sensed I was there.
I opened the window a crack, telling myself that they could see me if they chanced to look up, so it wasn’t really spying. He was walking side by side with Lady Elenet, his head bent, his hands clasped behind him. His manner was completely absorbed. I could not hear her voice, but I could see urgency in her long hands as she gestured, and intensity in the angle of her head. Then she glanced up at him and smiled. The expression in her face made me back away without closing the window. I had seen that look before, in the way Nee and Bran smiled at one another, and in the faces of Lady Renna and her new husband. It was love.
Almost overwhelming was the sense that I had breached their privacy, and instinctively I started for my room until I realized I was in retreat. Why? No one had seen me. And I would not accidentally encounter Shevraeth in the alcove where he kept the royal memoirs.
Still, it was with shaking hands and pattering heartbeat that I raced to the archive room and searched through the appropriate years looking for mentions of the Merindars. In one old, crumbling book there was a dull listing of everyone who attended formal Court functions, and the Merindars showed up there. The next book revealed the fact that the most prominent of them five hundred years ago, at the time of King Jhussav, was an elderly man. This was certainly innocuous enough.
I closed the book, carefully replaced it, and left.
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