The Mystic Marriage (19 page)

Today she couldn’t deny how much his presence smoothed her path. Mesnera Zuremin was greeted as an old friend, and Lord Ehing seemed far less likely to balk at her youth after Uncle Charul’s introductions. When they sought out Efriturik at the palace, Margerit felt suddenly shy, as if the presence of a
vizeino
suggested the need for one. And Efriturik traded the practiced courtesy he had always shown her in public for a teasing banter that threw her off balance for a few moments. Uncle Charul had the wisdom to stay quiet and stand back—a matching bookend for Marken—as she struggled to maintain the dignity of her office and turn the talk to business. This was her task to master and Efriturik would hardly be the worst of those she would need to impress in time. She turned away to lay out the text and diagrams of the ceremony on a table. Confidence returned with the familiar motions.

When they emerged again into the maze of palace corridors, still decked with garlands of the season and teeming with unknown errands, Uncle Charul asked, “Is that the last of it?”

“No. That is, there’s still Aukustin’s part to deliver and explain but Princess Elisebet hasn’t answered my requests for an appointment yet.”

“Ah.” And she heard in that
ah
an understanding of what lay behind it all. “As long as we’re here, we might as well see if she’s receiving visitors.” He leaned close for a conspiratorial whisper. “If you assume that her response has gone astray, she can hardly contradict you by admitting that she’s refusing to bow to Her Grace’s request.”

Now that was something she might not have had the nerve for by herself. “I was going to ask Barbara for help, but I think she would have suggested a more subtle and complicated approach.”

He laughed. “She does love the intrigue for its own sake, I think. Shall we venture into the dragon’s den?”

Elisebet was receiving and didn’t deny them, though she looked as if she wished she dared. There was a long wait while those who had come before them chatted and revolved slowly from expectancy to notice to dismissal. But when Margerit came at last to the fore and began explaining the order of the ceremony, Elisebet put out her hand to take the notes, saying, “My son is suffering from a slight chill today; I won’t have him disturbed at the moment.”

Margerit hesitated. There had been no acquiescence, no promise to see the matter done. “I hope he’ll be well recovered by the day. Perhaps I could return tomorrow to go through his lines with him.”

“Aukustin knows well enough the ways of a court. He doesn’t need your tutoring.”

Again, the turning aside, but it was clear she’d get no further at the moment. Margerit could feel the eyes of the other guests on her. This was not the place to make a stand.

There was no need to linger for the sake of courtesy. When the door had been closed behind them, Uncle Charul offered, “That was as well done as it could be, I think.”

Margerit sighed. “And yet I still have to hand the matter back to Her Grace incomplete. It was a test, you know,” she confided.

“Of course it was, but for whom? For you or for her?” He nodded back toward Elisebet’s apartments.

That hadn’t occurred to her. “Perhaps—” She felt her way through the possibilities. “Perhaps I’ll ask Barbara for advice after all.”

* * *

Margerit was not entirely disappointed when Barbara volunteered to approach Elisebet the next day on her behalf. That evening over dinner, she reported some measure of success.

“I think I’ve convinced her—she had an idea that the intent was to bind Chustin’s loyalty to his cousin.”

“To bind…you mean as a mystery? But I explained all that at the start,” Margerit protested.

Barbara glanced at Aunt Bertrut and Uncle Charul. It was only the four of them this once, but Barbara still seemed to be calculating the need for discretion. “I think you must forgive Elisebet for considering you to be Annek’s creature. You are her thaumaturgist; how could Elisebet not expect deeper currents? She takes these things very seriously, you know.”

“But she trusts you? Even knowing…” Out of courtesy for household harmony she left the rest unspoken.

“Not trust, but—” A hesitation. A moment of decision. “I think I told you she’s come to me a few times before. She’s concerned about Chustin’s safety. There have been some odd events…” She shrugged. “The first time was that hunting trip. She may have asked me, thinking I could put on my old profession again. Or perhaps she had nowhere else to turn. She has friends at the court but no true allies any longer, not outside her own household. And even there, I think Mesnera Sain-Mazzi is the only one of her old guard who’s still loyal.” Sain-Mazzi had presided over the princess’s household almost since the day of Elisebet’s marriage to Prince Aukust. It would have been something indeed if she were to turn away.

“But she thinks you’re loyal?” Margerit asked.

“I am,” Barbara said fiercely. “To the Atilliets: to all and each of them. And just now, Elisebet needs me and Annek doesn’t. But Elisebet doesn’t deal in nuances; to help her is to be her partisan. Someday I will need to disabuse her of that, but for now it means she listens to me.”

Margerit saw Uncle Charul hiding a look of amusement with a cough.
Intrigue for its own sake.
But she disagreed. Barbara had survived so long only by reading every hidden motive in the old baron’s circles. To stop now would be like ceasing to breathe.

* * *

For all that her responsibilities were complete, Margerit experienced the New Year’s Court only in briefly remembered glimpses between the confusion. The clothing—that was something to remember. The women’s gowns were glorious, as always: from the stiff, archaic robes of those closest to the royal family to the daring fashions of the young matrons to the more modest confections of the unmarried girls. But even the men turned peacock tonight: the older ones in the satin knee breeches of a previous generation and gaudy military uniforms wherever one turned. On an occasion such as this, every man of noble birth carried a sword, whether he had pretensions to any skill or not. Though it was all for show at the moment, it was said that before dawn came there would be more duels fought—in person or by proxy—than on any other day of the year.

Barbara had claimed the privilege of an Eccentric and sported her own blade as an accent to a gown braided and buttoned like a Hussar’s jacket. Though her aunt and uncle had chosen ordinary evening wear, Margerit had caught the spirit of the event and commissioned a creation evoking a scholar’s robes in wine-colored stuff. Not the sort of silken confection affected by the fashionable girl-scholars for gossiping at lectures, but more elegant and dignified.

And then there were the ceremonies: the endless parade of gifts and presentations. Margerit could later recall the details only of the one that mattered. Efriturik took the matter with proper seriousness now, and young Aukustin stumbled only once over his lines. Margerit let out a sigh of relief as Princess Annek proudly presented the new Baron Razik with the letters and signet that marked his rank.

Beyond that it was all confusion. Long waiting and chatting in the galleries, entirely too brief moments to snatch supper from the buffets laid out in the side rooms. And later, when all business was done, there was dancing for the young and more sedate entertainments for their elders and less mentionable delights for those who drifted away into the streets and across the Pont Vezzen to the south bank of the Rotein. Margerit tried to taste all of it as her path repeatedly crossed and parted from the rest of her party.

Only Marken was a constant presence through the evening, never close but never out of sight. It was odd how time had made her more, not less, aware of the armin’s presence. It had become second nature to pause in doorways and walk more slowly at corners to give him time to follow. She had enough experience now to appreciate his purpose and methods. Barbara had always been much more…present. But that hadn’t been the fault of her skill. And Barbara’s career at her back had begun more dramatically. Now she was conscious of how much trouble and annoyance was quashed before it even began by the message Marken’s presence carried.

Eventually Aunt Bertrut plucked Uncle Charul away to make an early evening of it, but Margerit lingered, tired though she was, until the dancing began to thin and Barbara suggested they make their best attempt to find their hostess for farewells and then be off before the streets became too rowdy. They had seen Annek moving through the corridors earlier, never settling for long but speaking with any who approached her, high or low. It took some searching to find her now. Finally Barbara caught the sound of her voice coming from an alcove at the end of the mirror gallery and they spotted the scattering of attendants standing by at their prescribed distances as if by chance.

They waited discreetly, hearing voices raised, but there was no mistaking Annek’s response. “This is not the place to speak of such things, but since you’ve chosen it, you may tell your emperor I’m disinclined. When my son is of an age for it, his marriage will be for the good of Alpennia and to bind his loyalties here, not to tie him to his past.”

Barbara turned with an eyebrow quirked and whispered, “Poor Efriturik! No sooner titled than they want to see him wed. No wonder he wants to sow his oats madly.”

But the interview was at an end and Margerit was unsurprised to see Mesner Kreiser coming past them with a scowl. What
was
his mission at the embassy? As far as she could tell he seemed to be minister of long noses, poking into all manner of wasp nests. On seeing them, he composed himself abruptly and paused long enough to ask, “And have you found that lost thing you were searching for?” But he continued on without waiting for an answer.

They went farther on then, curtseying and approaching when noticed and exchanging all the pleasant nothings one did on such occasions.

“It went well, don’t you think? The ceremony?” Annek asked.

Margerit nodded but deferred with, “If you think so, Mesnera.”

“Very well. It occurs to me on this occasion that I haven’t yet found a suitable way to show my gratitude to you for your work. Perhaps you could give some thought to that matter.”

“Now there’s an offer that requires careful consideration,” Barbara commented later when they stood on the porch near the palace gates waiting for the carriage to be brought. The pavement was crowded with arriving vehicles. Out in the Plaiz they could hear shouts and laughter and in the distance came the clash of metal where questions of honor were being settled in rings of torchlight. Barbara continued, “What will you ask for?”

“Nothing, I think. I’ve gained more simply from her notice and attention than I could have desired. Would she take it badly if I asked for nothing more than her continued favor?”

She could hear the grin in Barbara’s voice. “That sounds too much like empty flattery. Better to say nothing at all. But I—” She broke off, staring back at the doors. “Mother of God, what now?”

Margerit turned to follow her gaze as Marken shifted, concluded the matter was outside his notice and returned his attention to the Plaiz. A woman was hurrying toward them—one of Elisebet’s ladies—and there was no mistaking her goal.

“Mesnera! Thank God I’ve found you before you left. The princess needs you, come quickly.”

“For what?” Barbara asked with no movement to follow.

“Aukustin has gone missing.”

Margerit thought she saw some flicker of concern but Barbara remained rooted. “Am I his nursemaid? Surely there are many people at call who could search for one young man.”

“Please,” the woman pleaded. Margerit thought she seemed more fearful of bringing back a refusal than for Aukustin’s unlikely peril.

“Very well.”

They trailed after her one and all to where Elisebet lay sprawled in dramatic collapse on a chaise tucked into one of the small side parlors. Her normally florid face was pale and she clutched a vinaigrette offered by Mesnera Sain-Mazzi, her chief waiting woman. Elisebet raised a hand at their approach, saying, “Ah, you’ve come.”

Barbara’s response was more conciliatory now. “Mesnera, surely there’s no need for this fuss. Have you sent the palace servants out searching?”

“I don’t dare raise the alarm. Chustin was seen—seen leaving the palace with his cousin. It would mean to accuse—”

A little of the no-nonsense tone returned. “I can think of nothing less likely than that the new Baron Razik would choose a fourteen-year-old boy as a companion for his celebrations. And I can hardly go chasing all over the city at this time of night.”

The woman who had run to fetch them offered, “Aukustin was seen following Friedrich and some of his friends out to the Plaiz.” She glanced up at Mesnera Sain-Mazzi apologetically. “You know how boys are. They might not have known…”

Margerit could see a little of the tangle. Elisebet might be genuinely concerned for her son’s safety, but to suggest that Efriturik might be at fault, even through negligence? Even if she believed it, the insinuation would do her no good. And for whatever reason, she trusted Barbara’s discretion, hence the plea for assistance.

Behind them, the normally taciturn Marken spoke up, pitching his voice for Barbara’s ears. “Mesnera? I was talking with Maier earlier—he does for Count Mainek’s son. Said they were planning to go to the Black Bull later, or maybe the Barrelhead. And he would have been part of that party.”

Elisebet caught enough of the exchange to look hopeful. “Could you go—?”

Barbara and Marken exchanged a look. Margerit could guess that she was involved in some of the calculations and to forestall the possibility that she might be left in Elisebet’s care, she responded, “Of course we can go just to check.” To Marken, “I promise I’ll stay in the carriage no matter what happens.”

* * *

She could guess what sort of place the Black Bull was, simply from Marken’s tone and the gossip she’d heard of what sorts of New Year’s entertainments were popular among the young men. So it was no surprise the instructions grudgingly followed by the coachman took them across the Pont Vezzen to thread their way through the riverside streets toward the very edges of the wharf district. The festivities were well underway, if one could include as festivities a collection of bodies spilling out into the street in what resembled a small riot. Barbara gave one last admonishment: “Not one step outside the carriage, and the coachman knows to leave if it gets bad.” As she stepped out, she kilted up her skirts slightly through the fancy sword belt and commented, “A fortunate choice of costume tonight, eh, Marken?” If the armin replied, Margerit couldn’t hear it.