Echoes of Betrayal (66 page)

“No,” Arian said. “I’ll be fine. If it’s too many pastries or whatever, it will go away in a few turns of the glass. I don’t want to be hovered over.”

“You shouldn’t take any chances now,” Estil said.

Arian saw the look that passed from Estil to Kaelith and back. She started to speak, when the pain returned, much stronger, along with nausea. She felt cold, sick—she struggled up from the chair, but her knees gave way and she fell into the table of pastries. She could just hear Estil’s exclamations, feel someone holding her shoulders, as her sight dimmed and pain racked her belly. Simultaneously, the taig cried out. She tried to reach for the little spark of life within her, but could not. Panicked, she struggled against the hands that held her. Her stomach heaved and she vomited; her bowels loosened, and even as she fought for the light, she fell into darkness.

I
t was no normal miscarriage,” Estil said to Kieri. White to the lips, he crouched beside the bed where Arian lay, cleaned now and put to bed with warm stones at her feet. “I’ve seen that … that’s belly cramps and bleeding and then the little lump—”

He held up his hand. She fell silent. Across the room, Aliam sat in the chair Arian had fallen from; the carpet still had a damp patch, though the smell had gone. He shook his head slightly. Well, then. She would not say more, but more must be said sometime. Soon.

Kieri lifted one of Arian’s hands and kissed it. She did not respond. “Will she live?” he asked without looking around.

“She is alive now,” Estil said. “That is the best sign.”

His head went down to the bedclothes, then rose again. “I … do not want to lose her.”

Estil could think of nothing to say.

“If childbearing is too much for her … I will find another heir.”

Estil glanced again at Aliam, who shrugged. “Kieri,” Estil said in the gentlest voice she could. “It is not her body.”

“But so much pain—”

“Kieri, this is important.” He looked up at her finally, and she sank down to the floor, where she could lay a hand on his arm, look him in the face. “This was not just a miscarriage. It is not any weakness of hers. I know women’s bodies as you cannot, even after knowing Tammarion. Arian should bear children as easily as any. This was treachery, Kieri. She was poisoned, or the babe was.”

“But she—how—who would—?”

“I don’t know. You don’t know. But what happened—the smell of it—was not natural. You have had warnings, she told me, from your sister’s bones, and she had one from her father.”

Color came back to Kieri’s face; he still held Arian’s hand, but he looked at Estil. “Warning, yes, but … but she has had Squires with her, or me, every moment. How could it have been done? Through magic?”

“Maybe,” Estil said. “But my guess would be in food. Something she ate.”

“Today?”

Estil shook her head. “Not today, or not merely today. Very likely food for the wedding feasts, though it could have been earlier. Something that would not kill her of itself, but would kill the child in her … any child she might engender. It would not have been done before your engagement was known.”

Kieri’s brow furrowed. “The announcement was at Midwinter, but people knew before that. The Lady knew … but I cannot imagine her doing this, and anyway, Arian left Lyonya immediately after that confrontation.”

“But when she came back …”

“The Pargunese had invaded.” He looked thoughtful now. “I suppose
 … when we came back to Chaya … the fourth or fifth day after the first invasion. I cannot now recall exactly, but we told the Council and I took her into the ossuary.”

“How did the ancestors react?”

“With joy. And with a caution. But everyone seemed happy, even the Lady. I sensed no resentment of Arian …”

“It may not be of her, Kieri. Think how much effort went into removing your mother and you and then keeping you away from the throne for so long. This is not a new menace. If it is elves—”

“If
what
is elves?” The Lady stood in the doorway, the elvenhome light shimmering around her. “What has happened to my daughter Arian?”

Kieri whirled to face her. “Did you kill the child?”

“What?”

“
Did you kill our child?
Were you lying when you said you wished us the joy of children?” His voice was harsh, a voice Estil had not heard him use before. “Do you now come to gloat over your success?”

“No!” A wave of elven power overwhelmed Estil; she felt herself floating on it, but Kieri, standing now, repelled it. He was alight, and so was the Lady, but their lights did not mingle. “I wished no harm to you, Grandson, or to Arian or to your child. I came when I felt the taig’s grief.” Kieri said nothing, merely staring at her. “I swear it,” she said. “On the Singer’s own name, I swear it.”

“Someone did,” Kieri said, “and I let a son of ours die through not protecting her.” The Lady moved forward, but he held up his hand and she stopped. “Though I believe you, I do not want you closer to her,” he said. “Not now.”

“Not to heal her?”

“Can you?”

“Perhaps. Perhaps the two of us. I know it will not heal her grief, but she is cut off from the taig now.”

“By you?”

“No, Grandson. I would not do that again. By whatever it was that took the child and by her grief. She needs its strength to heal.”

“Estil?” Kieri said.

Estil raised her head, realizing then that she had slumped to the floor. The pressure around her eased as Kieri reached down and
helped her up. She looked into the Lady’s eyes from the bubble of Kieri’s power and saw what she had not seen before, not even when the Lady had come to them at Halveric Steading. Deep, deep within, some fracture, some wound that had never healed. But not malice, not for Arian, not now. “Arian needs our comfort first,” she said. “And the Lady is right; she will need the taig, but later.”

“What would you do for her, if the Lady or I were not here, Estil?”

Love her. But that wasn’t what Kieri meant. “Sib when she wakes. There’s another root I’d add to the mix. Then the healing herbs. Strengthening foods. Sunlight.” Estil looked at the Lady again. “Gracious one, at this moment she needs a human’s care. Her taig-sense will return as her body recovers and complete the healing.”

A long pause, then the Lady bowed slightly. “As you are mother and grandmother, Estil Halveric, I trust you.” She withdrew.

Kieri turned to Estil. “And you think the poison came to her in something she ate?”

“It’s the easiest way,” Estil said. “Something she ate or drank.”

“So … someone in the kitchen?”

“Not necessarily. Someone supplying the kitchen. You’ve had guests, haven’t you, since Midwinter? And all those come for the wedding …”

“Yes … so the steward should know who’s supplied the kitchens—”

“She should not eat anything from anyone you cannot trust, Kieri. Food fresh from the ground, that you or she or someone you know has picked.”

“Who else might have been poisoned? She has eaten with others, I know that.”

Estil shook out her sleeves. “If this was put in food others ate, someone else may have lost a child. Have you heard anything?”

“No—but with the wedding coming up, they might not have told me.”

“I’m going to the kitchens,” Estil said. “I will be back shortly—less than a glass. Your cooks and other servants will talk to me when they might not to you.”

The news had already spread, Estil saw, as she hurried through the palace. Worried faces, whispering in corners. She overheard one
servant say, “It’s maybe spring fever … You know Perin just lost hers …” Estil slowed; the two servants nodded respectfully to her.

“Do you really think it’s spring fever?” Estil asked. “When my dairymaid lost hers, two years agone, we thought it was from eating sourgrass.”

“Sourgrass is up, to be true,” one of the servants said. “But Cook only uses sourgrass late in the year, when it’s safe, and not much then. Perin wouldn’t have touched it; she wanted that child.”

“How far along was she?” Estil said, leaning on the wall as if she’d been hoping for a good gossip, as indeed she had.

“Near half-term,” the other servant said. “Showing and kicking. And you know—” She turned to the other servant. “Maris, she thought she’d caught, and she had a terrible time just two days ago. All day in her bed or the jacks, she was.”

“Had there been other fever in the household?” Estil asked. “Or out in the city?”

“Nay. We’s been lucky this year, all year. Thought it was the king’s luck, him being the true heir. But then comes war and this … Maybe he’s not so lucky, after all.”

“The Pargunese would’ve come, king or no king,” Estil said.

“Yes, my lady,” they both said.

Estil saw at once she’d spoken too firmly; she tried again. “Forgive me. It’s that I’ve known him since he was a starveling boy; he was like one of my own.”

Their faces relaxed. The older one spoke. “Oh, my lady, tell us … We heard some tale of it but nothing specific. What was he like as a boy? Was he always so handsome?”

“No—he was just a ragged waif,” she said. Their faces softened with the same sympathy she’d felt. But she could spend no more time feeding their curiosity; her own might save Arian’s next child. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I must not stay here chatting. Where are Perin and Maris? I want to talk to them, see if there’s any connection between their loss and the queen’s.”

“I’ll take you, Lady Halveric,” the older servant said. “Gadlin, you’d best be at work when t’steward comes.” She winked. Estil glanced back and saw the steward hurrying down the passage.

“Perin’s my third cousin,” the servant said over her shoulder as
she led the way. “I’m Bettlan, milady. Perin’s that upset … she won’t likely talk to you unless I’m there, and she’s a cryer, Perin is.”

“I understand,” Estil said. “I lost a child once.”

“Ah. Be gentle with her, is all.”

“I will be.”

“And you think it’s not spring fever.”

“I think a fever would have taken more people,” Estil said. “And there’d be fever in Chaya, with all the visitors who’ve come.”

“So …?”

Could she trust this Bettlan? They were out in the west court now, heading to the row of cottages that backed on the palace wall, where some of the servants lived. Estil touched Bettlan’s shoulder; she stopped and turned. “Bettlan, if too much is known too soon, we may never figure out the truth. Can you keep a quiet tongue?”

Bettlan scowled. “I’m no blabber despite your finding me talking with Gadlin. If it’s a secret you want kept, I’ll keep my tongue behind my teeth.”

“Fine, then. I think these babes were lost to poison, poison their mothers ate in food here, in the palace. There’s been treachery in the air since the king’s mother rode away with him expecting an escort who never came. Do you understand?”

“But they said elves—” Bettlan rocked back on her heels. Her face paled. “You mean it’s them … they … they wouldn’t have … the Lady …”

“Say no more, Bettlan. We don’t know who; we’re not accusing elves or humans yet, and it would be dangerous to guess wrongly. But we know whatever it is began long ago and old malice is still active. The king’s escaped by the skin of his teeth again and again. His first wife and children were lost because of it. And now this—it cannot be coincidence.”

“You’ll be wanting to know if Perin ate anything the queen ate … and if anyone else did … you’ll be wanting a friend in the kitchen, milady. My tasks aren’t there, but my brother married an undercook.”

“Not yet,” Estil said. “Let me talk to Perin and Maris first. It may be there’s another connection besides food. Food is just the most obvious and easiest.”

Bettlan nodded without saying anything and walked on, Estil following.

Perin, wrapped in a knitted coverlet, was lying in the front room of the cottage, turning the heel of a sock. She looked pale but said she merely felt weak. Sure enough, when Estil mentioned the miscarriage, Perin began to cry.

“An’ they just tol’ me this mornin’ ’bout the queen’s losin’ hers. Makes us sisters of a kind, not that I’m claiming that.” Her sobbing intensified.

Estil asked her questions, the sort any Sier’s wife with long experience of births and deaths might ask, and Perin calmed. Finally, she asked what Perin ate and drank in the last tendays of her pregnancy, from Midwinter Feast on.

“Midwinter Feast … it was truly that, milady.” Perin smiled. “Same food for all and plenty of it. I was run off my feet, just about, carrying out the trays to the big tables. We took turns eating, same as the others.”

“And did the king and queen—?”

“Only a few bites—they had to make their way through the city, you know. And they started late—some kerfluffle about the king and the ossuary. How he found mud in there I have no idea, but everything started a turn of the glass late. They each grabbed a pastry or two, and then they were off.”

“I don’t suppose you remember which pastries.”

“Indeed I do, for I made sure I had some of those. Eating the king’s food on Midwinter’s good luck. Ham and mushroom and then a jam-filled one. I think the queen had two of those.”

So. Quite possibly it had started that far back, unless—“Perin, do the servants usually have the same food as the king’s table?”