Lightborn (29 page)

“A
Lightborn
?” Kalamay said.

“For a woman,” Merivan said, sadly, “infidelity is a matter of the heart. My sister has been unwise, unwise in her marriage, and it seems unwise in her conduct. But I am certain that she would never be part of any conspiracy to harm the archduke.”

Kalamay and Mycene took their leave, wishing Telmaine a quick recovery and saying that they must attend to other matters. Their voices were respectful and dissatisfied; Merivan had, for the moment, bested them. Telmaine did not realize that Malachi Plantageter had remained behind until he spoke. “Lady Erskane, how much has Lady Telmaine told you?”

With a brittle laugh, Merivan said, “Superintendent, my sister tells me as little as she possibly can. I do know that, on account of some embarrassment of Balthasar’s, their daughter was abducted and held in captivity and Telmaine turned to other persons for help while Balthasar languished in bed. He does seem to have made quite a remarkable recovery,” she said, maliciously.

There was a brief silence; then Malachi Plantageter said, “I would not burden a lady with this, but I do not know whether I would have the opportunity to tell your husband or your brother in a timely fashion. . . .” He hesitated. “In confidence I tell you that the archduke’s condition is very grave. He is not expected to live.” Merivan caught her breath, audibly. Telmaine whimpered and began to rock again. The maid twitched toward the door. “Even if he does live, he may never be able to resume his responsibilities. The regency council has been convened for his son, under the leadership of Duke Mycene and Duke Kalamay. They have confined Lord Vladimer, considering his mental stability suspect.”

“And yet they—and you—give weight to Vladimer’s accusations,” Merivan pointed out.

“Lady Erskane, I have the deepest respect for your family and that of Balthasar Hearne. But over the past several days, Lady Telmaine and her husband have been repeatedly connected with bizarre and fatal events. I cannot ignore that, and still fulfill the responsibilities entrusted to me.”

There was a silence. “Thank you, Superintendent, for your candor,” Merivan said, her voice breathy. “Be assured I
shall
advise my husband and my brother of this conversation.”

“I ask that your sister remain here. She may keep her maid with her, and the household will attend to her needs. If she needs a physician—”

“I will arrange that our own physician attend her.” With an exchange of brittle pleasantries, the superintendent departed. The door closed; the room outside was utterly still. “What has she
done
?” Merivan said, in a low voice.

“Merivan,” said her mother’s voice, unheard until now.

“I must sit down; I feel faint,” Merivan said. Dresses and petticoats moved toward the armchair that Mycene had occupied; hems brushed Telmaine’s ankles; fabric whispered upon upholstery as Merivan collapsed into the chair. The dowager said, in a low voice. “You did magnificently, my dear.”

Merivan did not answer the praise. Her sonn rasped against Telmaine’s skin. “Telmaine,
what have you done
?”

“Merivan!” the dowager hissed. “Do not undo all your good work.”

Telmaine’s lips moved, soundlessly.
Nobody’s listening, Mama. I would know.

“Vladimer has gone quite mad,” Merivan said.

“Merivan,” warningly.

“He tried to kill Telmaine, Mama, and he did kill Sylvide. Now he is accusing Telmaine of—of
sorcery
.” Merivan’s teeth chattered on the last word. “I’m shaking,” she said, in an affronted voice, Merivan, who prided herself on her composure and propriety. “Thank the Sole God that the dukes don’t believe him, even if the superintendent—oh, I do feel unwell. . . .”

“Lord Vladimer,” the dowager said, slowly, “has made a great many enemies over the years.” And then she added, oddly, “Poor boy.”

The hard knock on the door, quickly repeated, startled Merivan into a blurt of sonn. The dowager said to the maid, “Answer that, please,” with admirable calm. Merivan cast around the room, and her mother said, “Don’t be ridiculous, dear. We can’t hide her, nor shall we be taking up pistols and pokers in her defense, given your condition and my age.
Yes?
” This sharply.

“Need t’talk to Lady Telmaine,” Kingsley’s voice said.

“Lady Telmaine is not fit to receive anyone,” the dowager said, “and this is most importunate of you.”

“I’ll be worse than importunate, if need be,” Kingsley returned, and cast his sonn over Telmaine. “M’lady, the dukes and the super are having their word in the halls right now. The super’s minded to arrest you for collusion with sorcery, if nothing else, though the dukes favor the Lightborn having done the archduke. The one thing they’re all agreed upon is that they want you caged up, the same way they’ve caged up Lord V. You’re best away from here now.”

“How dare—,” Merivan said, but the dowager said, “Go on.”

“Not much more to be said. It’s no more healthy for me here, now, for my part in—well, since I’ve taken the lady’s silver.” Kingsley abruptly took a long stride and dropped on one knee beside her chair. “Come on, m’lady, show some of that fine spirit of yours. I’m in no position to smuggle you from the asylum they want you in, but I can do my best to get you out of here. The baron would strip the hide off me if I didn’t.”

The dowager said, “What is your name?”

“Kip—Kingsley, your ladyship.”

“You have not been in service long,” she observed, “and certainly not in the archducal household. What is your
real
name, and how do you claim to be in my daughter’s service?”

Kingsley stood quickly up. Telmaine lifted her drooping head enough to sonn him, standing before her with closed fists, as though to champion her even against her family. “M’name’s Kip, your ladyship; none other, you can guess why. A fistful of days ago I was apothecary to the main prison. That job’s gone, the price of a good deed and hopes for vengeance. I lost a bonny child in the Rivermarch fire, your ladyship, and I want blood for my child’s life. Now another fire’s taken the archduke and maybe the lady’s mind. I won’t see her suffer more.”

“Thank you, Kingsley, that is satisfactory. Wait outside. We will not be long. Girl, help me out of my dress.”

“Mother,” said Merivan, in a strangled voice. Farther away the door closed, Kip retreating in some haste.

“Do take a moment to compose yourself, Merivan; this will all rest on you.” Fabric rustled and slithered, and buttons popped under hasty fingers, as the duchess divested herself of her outer dress. “Telmaine will wear my clothes, and the two of you will leave with that young man out there. I rely on you to decide where to go next, but I suggest it not be within the city. I will remain here. I am sure the good superintendent will be vexed, but I doubt he would turn the law upon the Dowager Duchess Stott. Though I do confess I have always wondered what it was to be on the inside of a cell. One should seek out new experiences at one’s time of life.”

“Mother,” said Merivan, an oddly weak reflexive bluster.

“But perhaps you should advise Theophile and Eduard, just in case.” The slithering and rustling ceased. “Now, Telmaine, you must put my dress on—”

“We’ll have to pad her. Come on, Telmaine, stand up.”

Hard fingers dug through the dressing gown into Telmaine’s right elbow, sending lancinations along her arm. Through the touch, she felt Merivan’s alarm, outrage—at Telmaine and the dukes, equally—nausea, and hurt. Over it all blazed the longing for the safety and order of her own household and the determination that the family reputation must be spared from the scandal of having a mad relative—or worse. Telmaine stood like a mannequin as they padded her torso, threw the petticoats and gown over her head, and buttoned the bodice. Padded into a semblance of her mother’s shape, she could scarcely breathe.

Merivan threw a thick cloak around her and tugged the hood down over Telmaine’s head until she felt its hem rest upon her nose. “There’s no need to make me fit for the road. The more raddled I seem, the better. You’d best stay with the duchess. Else someone might wonder why you’re going.”

“Yes, m’lady,” the maid said, in a small voice.

“Brave girl,” the duchess approved. “We shall do well together. Go now, my dears. We shall be along presently.”

Merivan spared no time for her own farewells, but forced Telmaine along the passageway, pulling her on when she balked on the stairs, remembering Ishmael sprawled chained and senseless over his captors’ arms. In the vestibule Kingsley supported her while Merivan swept forward, raising her voice to demand why the coach she had ordered was not waiting.

“The—the regency council—has ordered that no one is to go outdoors, m’lady,” the footman said. “There is a curfew—”

“I very much doubt,” Merivan said, with fine imperiousness, “it applies to
me
, or to my mother, the Dowager Duchess Stott. I am feeling most unwell, and I wish to be attended by my own physicians. Bring me a carriage.”

“My lady, the risk of further Lightborn—”

“My dear man, I am
well
acquainted with the harms of Lightborn magic, as you could observe if you chose to do so. I shall feel safer by far in my own home. Now, a cab, or we
walk
, and you may account of yourself to the master footman.”

Merivan’s bullying hauteur bore them past the footmen, down the steps. Kingsley and the coachman hefted Telmaine into the coach, leaving her to grope blindly up onto the seat. Merivan climbed in behind her, the sharp breath she drew as she seated herself suddenly reminiscent of Ishmael di Studier as they fled Balthasar’s town house, he suffering from burns sustained escaping the blazing Rivermarch.

“Meri—,” she croaked.

“For pity’s sake,” her sister rasped, “hold your tongue!”

Kingsley climbed up beside the coachman, ready to stiffen his resolve if need be. The gates that enclosed the entrance ground open; the carriage lurched forward and gained speed down the narrow driveway, throwing them against the side on the sharp turn. At the main gates, which were closed, Merivan renewed her argument with the guards—of course the archduke’s curfew could not possibly refer to
her
, wife of Lord Theophile, sister to Duke Eduard Stott, daughter of, et cetera. . . . The gates were swung open, releasing them; the carriage turned sharply and the pulse of the cobbles evened.

Suddenly stifled, Telmaine pushed back the hood. Merivan was wearing an odd expression, exhilarated, queasy, and triumphant all at once. Her left sleeve had been cut away and a bandage covered her arm from wrist to shoulder. Her coiffeur was a tangled relic of its former self; the curls on the left side had been singed to frizz and bristles. Telmaine, anguished, whispered, “Merivan.”

“Don’t
bleat
, Telmaine,” Merivan said tartly. “I’ve been brought to bed of six children; this hardly bears mention. Be thankful you’re completely untouched. The archduke was only a few steps from you.”

The dowager had been there when the archduke was carried out, arching his burned back away from the stretcher. When one of his bearers jarred a chair, he had screamed. Touch had given Telmaine that memory, too. Bile rose in her throat; she gagged against her sleeve.

“Pull yourself together!” Merivan said. “Be glad you’re still alive.”

Telmaine started to laugh at the bitter horror of it all. To laugh, and then to sob, crying through her sobs, “Be thankful! This is my fault!”

Merivan reached over and pinched her. “Not. One. Word,” she said. Telmaine hiccuped into her hands. “When we get home—,” she began.

<
Go away.
>

And then the night split open with a sound like thunder, but a thunder low to the ground across the river. She had heard that very sound—or she had not heard it, but she had imagined it—or Sachever Mycene had imagined it, and she had swept the imagining from his mind. Out of the reverberations came the great shells howling overhead. Barely, she heard Kip’s yell, and the carriage lurched into a gallop and a careening turn, crashing against a wall, rebounding onto four wheels with a rain of splinters. Merivan fell against her legs. She caught at her sister with one hand, striving to keep herself upright with the other, feeling her sister’s fright for her unborn child. The guns across the river boomed again, deafening her to the sound of the impact of the first flight, which she felt only as a shudder through the floor of the coach, almost lost in the jolting. Another flight of shells raved overhead. The near side of the coach ground against stone, and it dragged to a stop. The far door opened; Kingsley seized the sprawled Merivan around the waist. “
Come
,” he screamed, “or we’re all dead.” He dragged her out, threw her away from the coach. “In there!” Even as Telmaine started to follow, he seized her arm and hauled her out. Her skin was suddenly stinging, the stinging building up to a sear. She remembered, suddenly, the light that had burned her hand through the keyhole of Balthasar’s house. She struggled against his grip, sonning wildly around her. “Get in
side
!” he shouted, and thrust her into a dank-smelling doorway, following at her heels to grab and slam the damp-swollen door behind them. Cheek almost against the scarred, splitting wood, he sobbed, “Bastards. Lunatic crazy
bastards
. Every cursed one of them ought to be in an asylum!”

Merivan and the coachman were both there, as stunned as she. Kip turned on them. “What are y’standing there for like sheep? This door’s rotten and misfit.” He pounded it, a sodden sound. “We’ve got to go down.” All veneer of the genteel footman or educated apothecary abandoned, he grabbed Telmaine’s cloak and dragged her toward worn stone steps. They breathed damp and old sewers. “We’ll be—,” he started to say.