A Ragged Magic (23 page)

Chapter Twenty-Three

A
rchbishop Montmoore has arrived from Serramonte on his way back to the capitol. He comes here from the Fanthas border, where he was working with Cardinal Robere and Prince Alexander on new treaties with that neighboring country. Montmoore’s retinue arrived in the afternoon, and is settled into the Inquisitor’s Building. He is to present himself to Hugh and Duchess Marguerite tomorrow.

Julianna thinks he’s the one pulling Gantry’s strings. If there is a conspiracy against the throne, it’s likely Montmoore at the center of it. Although now I realize everyone thinks it’s the exiled duke — Connor’s brother.

Connor stole Orrin out of the castle this afternoon, and has yet to return. After midday a message came for Bishop Gantry from the Inquisitor’s Building, likely about Montmoore’s impending arrival. While he was gone, Connor took Orrin from his rooms.

When Gantry came back from the Inquisitors, I sat in the chapel, listening with my mind and my ears. I expected rage, shouting. I expected him to call for the kirche guards, who were curiously absent from their posts in his hall.

But instead I felt a spike of panic, abject terror, and he locked himself in his rooms. And now, even through his barriers and under the onslaught of the power well, I can feel magic, pulsing with the feel of demons. I fear he’s searching for Orrin, and I fear he’ll find him.

Hugh and Julianna are worried we haven’t heard back from Connor yet. I tried to See where they went, but I have trouble Seeing Connor most of the time, and Orrin has been a blank space for me since he returned from that trip with Gantry. I could feel Connor’s anger and his concern, and then I couldn’t.

I wasn’t able to keep track of him or Orrin with my Sight after they left the castle. My magic is more powerful than it used to be, but it doesn’t have a lot of range, which irritates Hugh. He’d like a nefarious spell that we’ve commandeered for ourselves to be more impressive in our favor.

Julianna rolls her eyes at his irritation and pats my arm. “I’m sure they’re fine,” she says, standing with her hand on her back. We wait in Hugh’s rooms. “Give me the letter, Hugh.”

Hugh has a message from his spy in Montmoore’s retinue, and Julianna wants to see it.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he says.

“Pish-posh. I will read what my husband has to say.”

“Juli, it’s in code.”

“Don’t worry, Hugh, I know this code. I made this code, remember?” She walks by him and grabs the paper from his hand, grinning at him. She opens it, and as she reads her smile broadens. “We have him! Well, one of them. Montmoore has made an error; there is a letter he sent to Guildmaster Aman that may have what we need to break this conspiracy. And news from Corat.”

Julianna’s face goes white and still, and I rush for a chair for her. She folds into it slowly, her hand on her mouth.

“Your Highness, what is it?” I ask her gently.

“Someone tried to poison Princess Eleanor. There’s a faction that is claiming I did it with my witch magic. The court is even more divided, and some are heading to their homes to prepare for civil war. If — if we can’t find proof of who did it, Alexander fears some will force Peter to try me for attempted murder.” She stares at the letter, but she isn’t reading anymore.

“Rhia, bring me the letter.”

I take it from Julianna’s unresisting hand and give it to him.

Hugh scans it quickly. “Alex wants proof of Stephen’s hand in this. He’s sure he is the one behind it.”

“Stephen,” I blurt, and Hugh glances at me.

“It could be Stephen, but poison isn’t really like him,” he says, and keeps reading. “More of the hospices have been forcibly shut down. There were some casualties.” He shakes his head. “We can’t let the hospices be the cause of more death, Juli. But closing them down will cause death, as well.

She slumps and sighs, wiping her eyes. “I don’t know either. I just don’t understand what the kirche wants with them, or what they get out of closing them. And what good does poisoning Eleanor do? She’s still just a child.”

“Poison,” I say. “Are you sure it was poison?” The room washes in and out in front of me, a vision spiraling down on me. “I think it was a spell. The same spell Gantry used to kill Queen Cecily.”

The vision pulls me in. Eleanor, a dark girl about Linnet’s age, drinks from a cup. But it wasn’t poison in the cup: the poison, the spell was on the cup. It latched on and began to eat away at her from the inside, like the Wasting.

Almost exactly like the Wasting.

Eleanor’s youth and health have kept her alive, and the many protection spells the king has laid on her. The king’s magicians have put her in a sort of stasis spell, until someone can Heal her. Peter is sending for Healers right now, but he’s afraid of the kirche. Julianna is too far away. Someone heads for the castle …

I tell Hugh and Julianna as I cling to a chair, blinded by the vision. It fades slowly.

“My Great Lord,” Julianna whispers. “That’s what he’s doing with his spell, all that power. He’s creating death spells. He’s creating death spells to use on … Hugh, we have to tell the king!”

“But someone told Alexander she’d been poisoned,” he said. “So someone is either lying at the king’s behest, or for another reason. We don’t know whom, and we don’t know which. I don’t trust anyone that we haven’t personally vetted, now. Someone could still make the case that a Healer would know how to create a death spell and tie you to that, too.”

“Gantry is a Healer. A poor one, but a Healer nonetheless,” Julianna says.

“We can’t accuse him without proof — Montmoore is too powerful, and I know this is his doing. He wants Stephen on the throne.” Hugh’s face is grim.

“We don’t know that Stephen ordered …”

Hugh closes his eyes. “We do know.”

I sit heavily in the chair, letting the vision drain away, catching my breath. “Gantry means to use that spell on you. Soon,” I say.

They look at me. “We took Orrin from him, which might disrupt things. But I will stay well away from him, don’t worry,” Julianna says.

Hugh doesn’t look so sanguine.

I think of the demons — there are other ways to get power, if one is crazy and desperate enough. Demon power when you don’t have the capacity — like my runes, or Orrin’s — will drive you mad, if you can’t barricade yourself. And if one wants that much power, I’ve learned from all my reading, barriers will get in the way.

I try to tell them, again. “D — de — de — d —” They watch me struggle, and I push myself to dizziness and nausea, but I can’t say it.

Julianna stands before me, touching my face. “It’s all right, just breathe. I know; there’s something else, something he did that has you frightened. I promise I won’t take any unnecessary risks. None of us will.”

I regain my breath slowly, watching the gray edges recede from my eyes.

Hugh speaks to Julianna in low tones, and she leaves to join her mother for dinner. I look up to find Hugh watching me. We regard each other for a few moments. “He’s called demons, hasn’t he?”

Hugh’s words punch a hole in my center, and I can’t breathe again. I reach out to grab him, anything, falling from the chair.

Hugh hurries to me, pulls me upright, cursing and trying to help me. “Lords all damn the man! What can he be thinking? The danger to — to everyone! All right, all right, you were right, I should have just let you poison him. Except a demon spell is notoriously unstable, and I don’t know if his death would stop it, whatever it is.”

He pulls me to the couch and then paces in front of me. “Damn everything. I have to get him out of here without setting it off. Or get everyone else in the castle out. Or the town. I don’t think I can move the whole town.

“Doubtless he’s been experimenting on those poor souls in the Inquisitor’s Building, as well. And the hospice. Damn him! This is monstrous.”

He stops pacing at the far side of the room, looks back at me. “I’ll get a message to my man, tell him he’s to leave immediately. We’ll lose an inside eye with Montmoore, but it can’t be helped. Bugger his cover. Cardinal Robere must change his route and come here. We cannot wait any longer.”

I slump back into the couch, curiously light. Someone knows. Someone who can do something knows. Hugh sits down next to me.

“We’ll work on some alterations to our spells later, to keep the demon magic at bay. I hope. And we need to adjust your barriers and your flow. You let too much of yourself spin out in the thread of your power. You could do yourself serious harm, weakened like that.”

He runs his hand over his face. “You were right, Rhia. I’m sorry I didn’t catch on sooner.”

I just shake my head. I can’t speak still, but for once, I don’t feel frantic about it.

“You should join Juli for dinner. Meet me in the library later, and we’ll work on those spells.” He stands and helps me up.

I feel that twinge as he takes my arm, pulling power again. I cut him off as he showed me, but it’s disturbing that I have to all the time. I sway a little. “Are you all right?” he asks as I waver. I firm my legs and brush his hand away, which helps.

“Yes, thank you.” I take a deep breath, and slip out the door and into the chill, dark hall. Dusk falls earlier now than even a few weeks ago, and the lamps are not yet all lit. I head downstairs for the blue salon, and dinner with Julianna and her mother.

～

I excuse myself early from dinner. Tension and unease seem to flicker among all the ladies, as Julianna and her mother either have determined smiles or grim visages. She must have told the duchess about the letter.

I catch Julianna’s eye, and she nods, so I quietly slip away as everyone is preparing to drink wine and play draughts, chess, or piquet. I am not in the mood for piquet.

There’s a man I don’t recognize in the entry hall, arguing with a young woman. When she turns, I see she’s pregnant, and younger than I thought. Her hair hangs in a wispy braid down her back, and her cloak looks bedraggled.

“What is this?” I ask. Both of them jump and turn toward me, their faces flushed and anxious.

“You, you are Lady Rhia, yes?” asks the man.

“I am,” I say, feeling confused and concerned. “Do I know you?”

“I know His Grace,” he says, still gripping the woman — girl — by the arm. “I am bringing, that is, there’s a situation I’m hoping you can help me with.”

“Is there something you’d like to explain?” I offer, gesturing toward the shivering girl.

She looks down, keeps her mouth shut.

“She is … well. This is … indelicate.”

“Pregnant, you mean.”

“Yes. Well.” Silence.

“Well?”

“I was charged by Prince Alexander to bring her to the duke, and leave her with him. She is, that is, His Royal Highness …” he says.

I begin to see. “Her condition is —” I hesitate to say it.

“The concern of His Royal Highness.”

I blink back dread. Julianna will be furious. “Is there anything else?”

“Her name is Mora, daughter of Sir Robert who was killed ten months ago at Serramonte. The prince tells His Grace that she is to be settled quietly and not linked to the throne. He — asks that the princess not be informed.” He releases the girl and bows to me.

“I see,” I say, but he is already gone, turned and left without another word. I sigh. The girl looks at me with dread and heartbreak.

“I —” she breathes, then is silent, worried.

“Mora, I am Rhia. I will take you to His Grace, but we must go quietly. Hurry now,” and I motion her to follow me. She hesitates, then keeps quick behind me as I head back up the stairs.

We walk swiftly through chill corridors. At Hugh’s door I pause, knock twice, and enter, motioning Mora to stay put.

“Yes?” Hugh looks up, wreathed in light from glowsand lamps at his writing desk.

“Your Grace, something has come up. I have a … delivery.”

His brow creases. “Delivery?”

I open the door and usher Mora in. Her hair is revealed as dark blonde, and her slouch hides her belly until she stands straight under Hugh’s confused gaze.

Then he stands, his eyebrows raised, stern. “What is this, Rhia?”

Mora’s lips tremble, and her shoulders cave again. I put my arm around her. “This is Mora. She is the prince’s concern.” I borrow the spy’s phrase.

Hugh’s eyebrows meet his hairline. “Ah. Earlier than I was told, and not the girl I expected.”

Mora visibly shrinks. I squeeze her arm for support, but she flinches.

Hugh walks over and circles us slowly, then stands before us, his face thoughtful. “Mora?”

She jumps. “Yes, my, yo—, your Grace?” She has a small voice, high and soft.

“Not to worry, girl. We’ll sort this out. Now then, how far along are you?”

She turns pink, then white again. “S-seven months, about, sir. Your Grace. I, he, I mean —”

“Yes, yes. That’s fine. Let’s see. Seven months ago, where was I? Oh yes. I was in Jervaulx. Do you know it?”

“No, your Gr —”

“Fine. I’ll tell you all about it. You’re from there. Can you cook?”

“Some, y —”

“Sing?”

“A little —”

“Sew?”

“Yes, your —”

“Good. You’re a seamstress then. A seamstress from Jervaulx. I’ll hire you for fancywork, and you’ll answer that the child has no father when anyone asks. We’ll let everyone think the babe is mine. No mention is to be made of the prince. Ever. Is that understood?”

Uncertain whether the duke asks her or me, Mora nods, glancing at me in confusion.

“Fine. Good. We can show her to the servant’s quarters in the morning. Tonight she can sleep in here.”

“That’s ridiculous!” We all turn toward the door. Connor stands in the doorway, framed by a black hall.

I feel a rush of relief that he is here, and fine. And a rush of other emotions to see him at all.

He closes the door firmly and stalks into the room. “We can’t add another unknown girl to your household, on top of those here, and the other coming. Everyone’s safety is compromised enough. You can’t possibly expect to explain her, and her — condition.”

Connor paces the length of the room, his lecturing tone causing Mora to become yet smaller. He doesn’t even glance at me, which makes me happy and sullen together.