The Mystic Marriage (63 page)

In a heartbeat Barbara knew what she meant. “No,” she said firmly.

“Challenge him in my name!” Elisebet demanded. “Make him defend his claim of innocence with his own body. The
duellum iudicialis
has yet to be outlawed entirely. Challenge him in my name or I must consider you among my enemies.”

“No. And three times no,” Barbara said, shaking her head. “Least of all, you know my stand against judicial duels. How could I hold my head up in council if I made a challenge now? Second, I don’t believe his guilt. It would be an offense against God if I took up my sword in the name of a lie. And last of all, he bears no obligation to accept the challenge and he’d be a fool to do so when the law will vindicate him on its own. Let someone else take up your useless quest; I will not.”

“You have made your choice,” Elisebet said coldly. “And I will not forgive you or those who stand with you. Razik may be able to shelter under his mother’s skirts, but others cannot.”

What have I done?
Barbara thought in sudden panic.

But there had been no other choice, no other path. It had always been likely that Antuniet’s name would be brought into the matter.

Barbara curtseyed stiffly, as if dismissed. “By your leave,” she said. “Doubt it if you will; I have Aukustin’s welfare in my heart.”

* * *

A soft voice, urgent in her ear, woke Barbara, with the sun streaming high through the windows where the curtains had been drawn open. “I’m sorry, dearest, I wish I could let you sleep,” Margerit said.

“What hour is it?”

“Just past noon.”

“Dear God,” Barbara said, throwing an arm across her eyes to cut the light. “I don’t know whether to call that late or early anymore. What is it?”

“We only just heard; I thought you’d want to know. Elisebet’s groom: he’s dead.”

That banished the last traces of sleep. “Dead?”

“An accident, so they say. With a carriage. It happened this morning but no one thought it of any importance. Tavit was out earlier and heard something on the street that caught his ear. He’s confirmed it as best he could.”

Barbara had vaulted from the bed and was reaching for clothing before Margerit even finished speaking. “No accident could be that convenient.”

But how? Who had even known he’d been identified? Feldin had never known the man’s name or even his employment. Annek knew everything but she had the most to lose from the man’s death. “But no one knew!” Barbara said aloud.

“You told Elisebet…” Margerit ventured.

“Only that Feldin had passed the stones to someone else. She couldn’t have any idea of the man’s identity. Certainly not that it was one of her own servants. I’m not sure I even said it was a man.”

“Perhaps she knew already?”

Barbara shook her head vehemently. “If there’s one thing I’m certain of in all this, it’s Elisebet’s concern for Aukustin. She never would have tolerated someone under the slightest suspicion—” She paused.

There had been someone else in that room. She saw again the way Elisebet had reached for that hand in comfort.
I know who my true friends are—the ones who stand beside me.

Who stood to gain from the rift between the Atilliets? From the division in Elisebet’s own house? In an instant all the fragments fell into place like a mosaic pavement forming one face. “Sain-Mazzi!” she said, as if it were an oath.

“What?” Margerit asked.

“Mesnera Sain-Mazzi. She was there. She heard. She’s always been there: dismissing Elisebet’s other ladies after the poisoning at the inn; allowing no rivals except silly young women like Tio and Elin. She means to control Elisebet by leaving her no one else to turn to. And through her, to control Aukustin.”

“But why?” Margerit protested. “What has she to gain?”

“What has anyone to gain? Power? Influence? They all play these games with people’s lives. What does it matter in the end? But she’s to blame, I would swear to it.”

“You can swear all you like,” Margerit reminded her, “but it’s an oath that won’t carry any weight unless you can prove it.”

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Antuniet

They came with no warning, as she’d always known they would.

Jeanne had been begging her not to leave the house, but only work could damp down the fear. And so they found her at the workshop and there was no need to invade the peace of Jeanne’s home. There were two in uniforms, aside from the palace guard for escort, and one in the dark robes of the city magistrates. The fourth was a clerkish sort, who intoned with no preamble, “In the name of the Dowager Princess Elisebet Atilliet, I raise a charge against Antuniet Chazillen of sorcery and conspiracy in an assault against Mesner Aukustin Atilliet.” As he continued reading the details of the charges, her mind grew numb and her eyes fixed on the absurd green buttons studding his chest. They clashed with the otherwise drab stuff of the waistcoat. An affectation? An attempt at fashion? Or perhaps his tailor had chosen whatever was to hand? Silence drew her mind back. They were all staring at her, as if expecting some response.

“Is my apprentice to be charged as well?” she asked sharply. Anna was pressed into a corner, trying to remain invisible.

“There are no additional names mentioned in the charges,” the clerk said.

“Then if you will permit me—” She crossed over to where Anna stood, daring any of them to stop her, and whispered quickly, “Go. Take the news to de Cherdillac. You know the direction? Take this.” She reached back to unclasp the pendant from her neck. She felt naked without it. “Give it to her for safekeeping. Take my reticule; there’s money to pay the fiacre. Then go home and don’t return here unless I tell you myself.”

“But Maisetra—” she protested.

“Go.”

When they led Antuniet out, she locked the doors behind her as if it were the end of an ordinary day and placed the key in the hands of the guard. He took it with a sheepish expression; his face was familiar, though she couldn’t have put a name to it.

So it had come to this at last. Sorcery. She could almost laugh. There was nothing but science in what she did, despite the odd trappings used to invoke the greater powers. Sorcery, but not treason. No, of course not. Although it was everywhere implied. And conspiracy. There could be no conspiracy without conspirators and without one conspired against. And who could that be except Aukustin Atilliet? Conspiracy against an Atilliet should be treason, but treason was a charge that could only be heard in the royal court. And they wouldn’t risk letting her slip through their fingers the way Efriturik had.

It was well on toward evening before she had visitors in her little cell. For hours she had wavered between expecting them to all come in a cloud as they always did and expecting no one at all. But in the end it was only Barbara, with her armin left outside when the guards insisted the rules allowed only one visitor each day. One visitor and ten minutes. Barbara looked worn and tired and fumbled through an unaccustomed apology.

“This is my fault, I’m afraid.”

Antuniet felt a laugh burbling up in her throat and suppressed it only because hysteria would waste precious time. “Your fault? Of all the people entangled in this, you are the last person who bears any blame. How could it possibly be your fault?”

“When I returned yesterday, I went to Elisebet—with Annek’s consent—to tell her that we’d traced the stones and could prove Efriturik’s innocence.”

A tiny flutter of hope sprang up in Antuniet’s breast, but it was not echoed in Barbara’s grim face.

“It was foolish, perhaps, to think she might back down now, but I hoped at the least to plant some doubt. To ease the way for her to save face. But justice means nothing to her now. She’s set on vengeance. She still wants to pursue Efriturik, even with his case in the royal court. She will claim that it’s favoritism and not truth that saves him. She demanded that I be her champion and challenge him in the
duellum iudicialis
. And when I refused, she took her revenge by charging you as well.”

Antuniet stood and began pacing. “Don’t flatter yourself so much, cousin. She would have come to this in any event. She needs blood, and if she can’t get his, she’ll have mine, because mine is the only blood that makes sense given the charges. What does it matter that I mean nothing to her? Pride must be satisfied. But you say you traced the stones past Feldin?”

Barbara hesitated for too long. Did she fear listeners? Well, no doubt they were there. “You needn’t mention names. Can you get testimony? Will it clear me?”

“The man is dead,” Barbara said. “Feldin worked at the bidding of a man in Elisebet’s household. I knew him from her description. He died this morning and it was no accident. I didn’t think…I never named him or described him when I spoke with Elisebet, but—” She dropped her voice so low that Antuniet had to stop and lean closely to hear. “—Sain-Mazzi was there. No one could have known who the traitor was except the one who gave him orders. It was her; I’m sure of it. From that moment, he was a dead man. I might as well have done the deed myself.”

Sain-Mazzi. Yes, that might almost make sense. “And Feldin?” she asked anxiously. Was it all slipping away?

“Safe, for now. She’s held at the palace. We can be sure of her testimony for Efriturik. That will still be given under the
veriloquium
, but you’re to be tried by the city magistrate. He bears no obligation to admit testimony from another court and he’s already refused the use of truth mysteries. There’s no telling if Feldin will give him the same tale.”

The fear curled in its familiar home in her belly. “Then I’m condemned.”

“No!” Barbara protested.

“Feldin doesn’t matter,” Antuniet said. “They have all the evidence they need for sorcery. When the stones are presented in court, the work of my own hands will condemn me. And Feldin? Even if she tells the truth, no one will believe her. They’ll say she lied out of fear of you or from loyalty to Annek. And all the light of Margerit’s pretty little mystery won’t penetrate the walls of that courtroom.”

“If we could get your case transferred to Annek’s court—”

“But you can’t. They’ve avoided all charges that would be heard there. Efriturik has the right of birth to appeal, but I don’t. I lost that with everything else when Estefen was executed. I have nothing except the law and the evidence. And the evidence will betray me.”

Surely Barbara had considered all these things as well? Antuniet had failed so utterly. Instead of redeeming the name of Chazillen, she had brought this additional stain to it. She ceased her pacing and sank to the hard wooden bench.

Barbara sat close beside her. “Antuniet, I won’t abandon you, even if all hope is gone.”

“And isn’t it already?”

“If there’s no other way, I will stand your advocate.”

Antuniet caught the meaning behind her words. “But you told Elisebet—”

“I wouldn’t betray my principles for Elisebet, but I would for you.”

For the first time since the whole matter had begun, Antuniet felt tears start in her eyes. She dashed them away with the cuff of her sleeve and turned her face away. “But why?” And when there was no answer, “I don’t know that I would be strong enough to forbid you. Thank you.”

“There’s a better way,” Barbara said, “though I don’t know if you would take it. If Annek agrees…But I don’t want to raise your hopes…”

* * *

After Barbara was gone, the hours ticked by, measured by the regular faint
tonk tonk
of a drip somewhere out of sight. A gutter pipe, from the metallic echo. No windows gave any clue to the sun’s passage but the chill of evening quieted the sound. Then she was glad for the lack of windows. Powerful friends could do that much at least: an interior cell where the cold could be kept off with blankets. Good food and plentiful, when it came. It could have been far worse. Higher friends could do more, of course. Efriturik had spent no time inside these walls. He’d been released on oath as soon as the charge was laid. If truth could not be held as constant, even less could justice. There had never been any possibility that a son of Atilliet would suffer worse than humiliation and count that bad enough.

What were the penalties for sorcery in the ordinary courts? Her imagination had never shied away from picking at wounds. Gone were the days when such a case would have been handed over to the church—not unless there were blasphemy involved as well. It was such an elusive charge, sorcery. So easy to believe; so hard to prove. And so rarely brought against anyone with standing. What penalty would Elisebet have sought had Efriturik not escaped her grasp by claiming privilege? It didn’t matter, except to guess what she herself might face. And even so, would Elisebet have been mad enough to demand the ultimate penalty? It wasn’t right or just to have one law for princes and another for such as her. And yet, justice be damned, if she had the same right to appeal her case to Annek, she would, so long as honor remained.

She slept in fits and starts with no dreams that she could recall. The nightmares that had preyed on her while waiting were satisfied with her waking fears now.

In the morning, Jeanne came. She hadn’t slept well either; that much was clear. Even paint and powder couldn’t conceal that she’d been weeping. She wept again now, held close while Antuniet found herself playing the awkward role of comforter. Jeanne’s voice came muffled, “I meant to be strong for you.”

“Hush, hush,” Antuniet found herself saying. “You needn’t be afraid. Barbara has all manner of ideas in train. Do you know? She even offered to bloody her sword in my name.”

“She would do that?” Jeanne asked in surprise.

“Well, I’m not as shocked as I should be,” Antuniet said in an attempt at humor. “For all her grand speeches about justice and law, I know she has few qualms about settling matters in dark alleys. I suppose I should be glad I’m under her protection. There was a time when I would have been on the other end of her blade. Though God knows why she’s taken me in. I’ve brought no honor to her house or lineage.” She was babbling and she knew it.

Jeanne wasn’t fooled. “I couldn’t bear to lose you. I couldn’t go through that again.”