Guardians of the Keep: Book Two of the Bridge of D'Arnath (17 page)

Why would Maddy have taken her own life? The malady Nellia had described seemed no violent

mania. Could those with failed reason feel the pangs of despair that precipitated self-murder? Had they

enough calculation left to accomplish such a horrific deed?

When Nellia and Nancy were done, Maddy looked far less fearsome. Nellia wanted to know if we

should send for some of the men to carry the body downstairs. Though I hated the thought of it, I knew

Gerick should be told before we buried his friend.

“Nellia, when was it that the young duke took on his present . . . moodiness?”

“About the same time as Lucy took ill. I’ve oft said to myself as maybe he took her being dismissed

from the nursery as hard as she did. Though, since she didn’t have to go away, and he came here to see

her, you might not think it would come to that.”

“Then this will be difficult for him, her dying like this.”

“Aye. Poor child. Losing the two who ever loved him so close together—his papa and his Lucy.”

“Then someone will have to break the news to him before the word gets out. Keep it to yourself for

now. I’ll let you know when you may tell everyone and have her taken care of. And when the time is

right, the staff may have a wake for Lucy if they wish. I don’t think it would be seemly to do so until all is

settled with the duchess and her daughter.”

“I understand, my lady,” said Nellia, and she wagged her finger at Nancy, who nodded, wide-eyed.

After a brief visit to my room to wash the sleep from my eyes, I hurried to Philomena’s bedchamber.

Voices from the adjoining room were arguing, quietly but vehemently.

“... dragged me away from her like I was a piece of rubbish. I’ve never been so humiliated. I’ll have

the witch arrested.” Lady Verally.

“But what she has done, madam, for which you would have her arrested, is save your niece’s life.”

The rumbling bass voice was Ren Wesley’s. “Her Grace’s labor was of such poor effectiveness that it

could have lasted for many more hours. Having experienced hands to deliver the child was the difference

between a tragedy and a double tragedy. If your authority had been allowed to prevail, your niece would

be dead from it, and you would find yourself responsible for the death of a special friend of King Evard.

In short, you should thank the Lady Seriana for saving you from a murder charge of your own.”

I walked in and greeted my defender. If Lady Verally had been possessed of a weapon, I might have

ended up in the same condition as Mad Lucy.

The physician returned my greeting with robust gravity. “Good morning, my lady. It seems my timing

was abysmal, and the very thing we hoped to prevent has occurred, but as I was just informing the good

lady here, you’ve saved her ladyship’s life by your good judgment in summoning the midwife.”

“How are they?” I asked.

“You know it well, witch,” snarled Lady Verally. “You didn’t want my precious girl to die. It would

have spoiled your evil fun, wouldn’t it? You want to watch her suffer.”

Ren Wesley turned his back on the seething lady. “Thanks to you and the most excellent midwife, the

mother is resting comfortably and will soon be on her feet, none the worse save in her sorrow. It grieves

me to say that the child has not survived the dawn. There was nothing to be done.”

“I feared as much,” I said, ignoring Lady Verally’s haughty departure.

“I’ve given the duchess a sleeping draught, and now I am on my way to find some breakfast.”

“I was hoping to speak with you for a moment,” I said. “I’ve a great boon to ask.”

“At your service.” The physician poked his head into Philomena’s room to let the maids know where

he could be found. Then he took my arm, and we walked through the upper corridors to the galleries that

overlooked the great hall.

I told him of Mad Lucy and how she had been found, and that Gerick had not yet been told. “He

shouldn’t have to hear such news from me,” I said. “I’m too much a coward to face his wrath. I’m

worried . . .”

“. . . that he’ll blame you.”

“With Lady Verally’s constant harping on revenge, it seems certain.” And how could I face the child,

withholding the fact that I knew his Lucy and had ample reason to despise her?

“Perhaps it would be well if I saw the dead woman first, then spoke to the boy. I’ll remind him of the

dangers of age and senility, and also that his mother bore two dead children long before you were in

residence.”

“I’d be most grateful. It grieves me to be unable to comfort him. He is such a sad child.”

“You’ve become quite attached to him.”

“I suppose I have.” Somehow, what had begun as a challenge had become a work of affection I

hadn’t thought possible. Yet, even after so many months, I scarcely knew the child.

Ren Wesley shook his massive head. “I wish we’d been able to speak with this nurse before she

chose to withdraw from life. Perhaps she could have explained the boy to us in some fashion.”

The physician took his leave, following Nancy to Maddy’s room. Meanwhile I sent a message to

Gerick, requesting him to meet Ren Wesley in the small reception room in half an hour.

A short time later Gerick’s young manservant sought me out with a worried look on his face. “The

duke is not in his rooms, my lady,” he said. Then, with concern overshadowing discretion, he added,

“And what’s more, his bed has not been slept in this past night. I asked the guards as were on duty

through the night, and none’s seen the young master since yestereve.”

Thinking of my own troubled sleep, and the evidence I had found of Gerick’s disturbance of mind, I

wasn’t surprised. “Yesterday was a very trying day for him, James. My guess is that you’ll find him

curled up on a couch or chair somewhere. Take two others and search him out. We must speak with

him.”

No sooner had James left than Nancy skittered into the gallery, saying that Ren Wesley respectfully

requested my presence in Lucy’s room. I hurried along the way, leaving Nancy to intercept James should

he return with word of Gerick.

Ren Wesley stood contemplating the still figure that lay on the pallet in the cluttered room. His arms

were folded across his wide chest and he was twisting the end of his exuberant mustache with two thick

fingers. When I came in, he whirled about, scowling.

“What is it, sir?” I asked.

“My lady, there is something you must know about this woman’s death. There is foul play here.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You must pardon the vulgar description, madam. There is no pleasant way to phrase it. Look at the

depth of these gashes; they pass not only through skin and sinew, but right into the bone.”

He expected me to understand, but I shook my head.

“What it means is, she could not have done it to herself.”

“But she was a strong woman.”

“Look here.” He picked up Maddy’s hands and showed me her swollen joints and crooked fingers. I

had seen such in several old servants, the painful inflammation that robbed strong and diligent men and

women of their livelihood. One who had shod wild horses could no longer grip the reins of a child’s

pony. One who had carried the heaviest loads or sewn the finest seams could no longer lift a mug of beer

or grasp a sewing needle. “She may have had the strength to do such injury, but never could she have

applied it with these hands.”

“Then you’re saying—”

“This woman was murdered.”

I was speechless . .. and appalled ... and my skin flushed with unreasonable pangs of guilt. If anyone

learned of my connection with Lucy—Maddy—the finger of accusation would point directly at me.

“Who would do such a thing? And for what possible cause?” Ren Wesley demanded in indignation.

“She was mute,” I stammered, shamed that my first thought had been of myself and not this poor

woman. “And, from what I was told, a gentle soul. It doesn’t make sense.”

People were murdered because of passion: hatred, jealousy, fear. Lucy had neither physical beauty

nor the kind of attractions or influence that could generate such emotions. People were also murdered for

business: politics, intrigue, secrets. She had been involved in such things, but what could she know that

could provoke murder? And why now? For ten years she had been out of sight; for five of those she had

rocked in her chair and puttered about with children’s toys.

Ren Wesley was looking at me intently. Waiting. “What am I to tell the boy?” His words were

precise, his voice cold.

“It would be difficult enough to tell him that she did it herself, but this . . .” The temptation to hide the

truth strained my conscience. What if the woman had somehow let Gerick know of her connection with

me?

“He has to be told,” I said at last. “However painful it is, hiding the truth will only compound the hurt.”

Someday he would know, even if he figured it out for himself. “And when the duchess is well enough,

we’ll have to inform her also.”

The physician nodded. I thought I saw a flash of relief cross his face. “I was hoping you would say

that.” My reputation was wicked. If even so liberal-minded a soul as Ren Wesley had felt it reason to

doubt me, I couldn’t blame him.

By late afternoon, Gerick had not been found. With my permission, James had started inquiries

among the other servants, but no one had seen the boy since he had taken his cloak from his room the

previous evening. I directed the servants to start at one end of the castle and search every nook and

cranny, inside and out, high and low, no matter how improbable.

Meanwhile, the day dragged on, and we had to take care of Lucy. I dispatched a gardener to

prepare a resting place in the frozen hillside beyond the family burial ground at Desfiere. As Nellia,

Nancy, and I rolled the dead woman in her blankets so the men could carry her out, Nancy picked up

something from the corner and laid it on top of the grim bundle. “She must’ve kept it since summer,”

whispered the girl. “Nice for her to have a flower, even if it’s old.”

I looked at what the girl had found and touched it, not quite believing the evidence of my senses. It

was wrong, jarringly wrong, like so much I had seen and heard in the past two days. But like a catalyst in

an alchemist’s glass, the wilted blossom drew the pieces of the puzzle together: Philomena, whose womb

could carry no children to full term ... a firepit with no trace of ash or soot, yet bearing a lump of molten

lead ... a child who would allow no one to know him, not a tutor, not a kind physician, not even the father

he loved ... a child who lived in terror of sorcery ... a woman who was living where she had no reason to

be ... And now, a lily ... in the middle of winter, a lily, wilted, but not dead, its soft petals still clinging to

the stem ... a lily that had been fresh not twelve hours earlier. I knew only one person who loved Maddy

enough to give her a flower, as he had given her straw animals and a reed flute and a hundred other

childish creations. But where in the middle of winter would any child find a lily to give the woman who

had tended him . . . from the day of his birth . . . ?

“Nellia,” I said in a whisper, scarcely able to bring words to my tongue. “What is Gerick’s birthday?”

The old housekeeper looked at me as if I were afflicted with Mad Lucy’s malady. “Pardon, my

lady?”

“The young duke ... on what day and in what year was he born?”

I knew what she was going to say as clearly as I knew my own name.

“Why, it’s the twenty-ninth day of the Month of Winds, ten years ago, going on eleven in the coming

spring.”

It was as if the world I knew dissolved away, leaving some new creation in its place, a creation of

beauty and wonder that crumbled into horror and disaster even as I marveled at its birth. How could I

find my place in such a world? What could I call truth any longer, when that which had been the darkest,

most bitter truth of my life was now made a lie? To none of those questions could I give an answer, but I

did know who had murdered Lucy and why, and it was, indeed, because of me.

Darzid had never expected to find me here, had not believed I could ever find out. When he

discovered his miscalculation and my laughable ignorance of the truth sitting in my hand, he took swift

action to remedy his mistake. Lucy had never been feebleminded, but brave and clever and devoted,

feigning a ruined mind in order to keep the child she loved safe. She had taught him to hide what he could

do. When she was told that she was no longer needed in the nursery, she knew better, and she did what

was necessary to make sure she was close by to watch him, to be his friend when he dared not let

anyone close enough to discover his terrible secret.

Ten years ago on the twenty-ninth day of the Month of Winds . .. two months to the day after

Karon’s burning ... the day the silent, gentle Maddy had helped me give birth to my son.

From my breast burst a cry of lamentation that would have unmanned the Guardians of the Keep,

making them snap the chains that bound them to their sacred duty. I ran like a madwoman through the

corridors of Comigor, knowing as well as I knew the sun would set that Gerick would not be found in

any corner of the world I knew.

CHAPTER 9

Karon

The forest was dense, shady, and incredibly green. The bearded mosses hung down and tickled

my face as I fought my way through the thick underbrush. No trail lay before me, only a distant