Isaveth drew a shaky breath. “How long?”
“A week or two, maybe. The healer wasn’t sure.”
So it made no difference anymore whether Eryx had his father’s support or not. As soon as Lord Arvis died, Esmond’s brother would become the next ruler of Tarreton, free to bring his new relief plan to city council whenever he pleased. Worse, since it was Eryx, the council would probably agree with him.
Yet Isaveth knew what it was like to lose a parent, and this wasn’t the time to talk about her worries, no matter how pressing they might seem. “I’m sorry, Esmond.”
He gave a bitter laugh. “Then you’re the only one. I think half the city is already celebrating, including Eryx. Especially Eryx.”
“Because now he can do whatever he wants?”
“Because he’s the one who poisoned him.”
“What?”
“Why are you shocked? Remember what he said to me before he did this?” He flicked a finger toward his scarred eye. “If Eryx was ready to poison Father then, why wouldn’t he do it now?”
Isaveth could think of at least one reason: that by killing Master Orien to spare his father the trouble, Eryx had won the Lord Arvis’s confidence and the two of them had been working together ever since. Yet wicked as the Sagelord might be, part of Esmond plainly longed to believe in him, so revealing the truth about Orien’s murder now would only be cruel. After all, Lord Arvis would soon face the All-One’s justice, even if he’d managed to escape everyone else’s. . . .
“Doesn’t it seem a bit obvious for Eryx, though?” she asked. “Why would he poison him in the middle of Civilla’s party? Why not do it gradually, and make it look natural?”
“Maybe he was trying to,” said Esmond grimly. “I don’t know what happened yet. Father keeps babbling about being poisoned, but he doesn’t seem to know who did it—so far he’s accused the healer, the butler, half the guests at the ball, and everyone in the family by turns, including Civilla and my mother.”
Which was no help at all, and also raised a serious problem. If they could prove Eryx had poisoned the Sagelord, he’d be arrested for certain—but what if he hadn’t?
“Well,” Isaveth said slowly, “your father’s got no shortage of enemies. And there were a lot of people going in and out of the ballroom that night—”
“I know that!” Esmond snapped, then winced and passed a hand over his eyes. “Sorry. You’re right. But even if Eryx wasn’t the one who actually gave Father the poison, it still comes back to him in the end. He’s the motive even if he isn’t the means, if you know what I’m saying.”
Isaveth’s thoughts flashed back to Mander Ghataj clapping as the Lording took the stage, and his sister’s rapt expression when Eryx whirled her into the dance. “Did the healer say it was poison?”
Esmond sat down on an empty book cart, which creaked beneath his weight. “I told him what Father said, but he dismissed it as raving. Father’s been having liver troubles for a couple of months now, and he’d had at least two drinks that night, so Doctor Achawa says there’s no mystery about it.”
“Do you think Eryx bribed him?” After all, it wouldn’t be the first time the Lording had paid someone off to hide the evidence.
“Not Doctor Achawa. He’s not the sort to line his pockets at a patient’s expense. I did think he might have overlooked something, though, so I searched the gaming room and took samples before the servants could clean up.”
She’d heard all the same episodes of Auradia Champion he had: She knew what that meant. “And?”
“I don’t have the results yet, I only brought them to Master Robard this morning. But he said he’d get back to me by the end of the week.” Esmond stood up and started to pace. “I know he probably won’t find anything. But I had to try.”
Isaveth nodded.
“Father doesn’t seem to remember who came to visit him in the gaming room, or whether they offered him anything. So I’m going to talk to some of the servants and find out what they know.” He turned back to her. “You’re awfully quiet. What’s wrong?”
“It’s just . . .” She lowered her eyes, smoothing her robe self-consciously. “I keep thinking about those documents. I’d love to help prove that Eryx poisoned your father, but what if we can’t? That’s why I think we still need to find out what charms he’s using to protect his sportster. So we can find a way to counter them before he . . . does anything worse.”
Esmond looked crestfallen. “Of course. I’m an idiot. I’ll look into it tonight.”
Isaveth breathed out in relief. He’d seemed so obsessed with his new plan to stop Eryx, she’d feared he might be annoyed with her for even bringing up the old one.
“But counter-charms are tricky stuff, Isaveth.” Esmond stepped closer, regarding her seriously. “Even if we can find the right formula, we’d need a fully trained Sage to help us make one. I’m not sure even Mistress Corto—”
“If there’s a sage-charm to cancel out Eryx’s defenses, he probably knows about it already.” And taken all the precautions needed to guard against it. “What if we use Common Magic instead?”
Esmond’s brows shot up. “You think you can?”
“I don’t know, but I’m sure going to try. Only I’ll need sample copies of whatever charms he’s using, so I can experiment.”
A slow smile spread from one corner of Esmond’s mouth to the other. “You really are marvelous,” he said. “All right, meet me in the bell tower tomorrow. I know what to do.”
Chapter Seventeen
“WHAT’S THIS I HEAR about you questioning the servants?”
Quickly Esmond shut the book on protection-charms he’d been reading, turning it face down so Civilla couldn’t read the title. “Sorry?” he asked, doing his best to sound innocent.
“You heard me, Esmond.” Civilla shut the library door and sat down across from him, her eyes—the same uncertain blue-gray as their mother’s—holding his. “Olina tells me she heard two of the footmen gossiping about it, and I want to know why.”
Olina was the grimly efficient lady’s maid who dressed both Civilla and his mother, and she had no use whatsoever for anyone else in the family. Esmond had avoided the older woman for that reason, but he should have guessed he couldn’t keep her unaware.
“Why do you think?” he said defensively. “Doesn’t it seem a little odd to you that Father collapsed on the night of your ball, even though he’d been perfectly fine at dinner?”
“He said he was fine,” retorted Civilla. “That doesn’t mean anything. You know what Father’s like, especially when it comes to the public—I wouldn’t put it past him to dose himself with Pep-a-Tonic or even use an illusion charm to make sure nobody knew he was unwell. If he was healthy, don’t you think he’d have made at least some effort to mingle at the party, instead of hiding in the gaming room all night?”
Esmond squirmed deeper into the armchair. Frivolous or not, Civilla still had an uncomfortable knack for picking out the flaws in his logic. “Maybe, but he still talked to plenty of people. Including your friend Delicia—”
“Delicia!” Civilla sat up, startled. “Why?”
“Apparently he sent for her. After Eryx practically drooled over her from the platform, I can see why he might have been curious. Anyway, he also had a visit from an older fellow done up like a beaver—”
“Mister Gullinger,” said Civilla.
“And a couple in wolf masks. Do you know who they were?”
Civilla sighed. “No. I didn’t talk to them.”
“They talked to Eryx, though. That could mean something—”
“Esmond!” Civilla leaned forward, fists clenched as though resisting the urge to throttle him. “Enough blather. What is all this about?”
Did he dare tell her? At this point, it was more a question of whether he could afford not to. Civilla’s curiosity could be dangerous if she didn’t know what the stakes were, and Esmond couldn’t risk her getting in the way.
“I think Fat
her was poisoned.”
Civilla stiffened. She stared at him, her eyes ringed white with horror.
“If I can find out who went to see him that night and what they talked about, I might—”
“No.” Civilla’s voice was shaky but fierce. “Esmond, this has to stop right now. You’re alarming the servants, you’re accusing our friends, and you’re going to upset Mother terribly. I know Father keeps talking about poison, but he’s delirious—there’s nothing in it. You’re not Auradia Champion; you’re not even a Lawkeeper. You’re just a boy who fancies himself a detective, and you have no right.”
He should have known she wouldn’t understand. All she cared about was keeping up appearances and making everything pleasant for her and Mother and their silly society friends.
“I’m not a fool, Cilla,” he snapped. “I know what I am. But I also know when something fishy is going on in my own house, and it’s my father who’s dying.”
He hadn’t planned for his voice to crack on that last phrase, but it had an extraordinary effect on Civilla. Her face softened and she reached out to touch his hand.
“Oh, Esmond,” she said. “It’s awful, feeling helpless. I know. But calling it poison, and finding someone to blame for it, isn’t going to stop what’s happening to Father. All you can do is accept it.”
“Like my eye, I suppose?” said Esmond. “As I recall, you thought that just happened too.” He flung himself to his feet, careful to keep the book he held turned inward, and stalked toward the door.
“Esmond, stop.” Civilla drew herself up. “You need to promise you won’t pursue this any further.”
“Or what?”
“Or I’ll tell Eryx.”
His fingers clenched around the door handle. “You wouldn’t.”
“I will if I have to. You may hate him, Esmond, but he’s going to be Sagelord soon, and he doesn’t want a scandal any more than Mother and I do. If you won’t listen to me . . .”
So that was how things stood. He’d thought there was nothing between Civilla and Eryx but indifference, but now it was clear whose side she was really on.
“Fine,” he said flatly. “No more questions.”
* * *
“She might as well have threatened me,” Esmond told Isaveth the next afternoon. “No, what am I saying? She did threaten me.”
They were standing just inside the bell tower, chill seeping through the stones around them. Isaveth cast a longing glance at the landing, but Esmond, still warm in his woolen greatcoat and striped Tarreton-blue-and-white scarf, didn’t notice. He thumped the banister irritably as he went on. “As if it wasn’t enough for Eryx to own half the servants already, now he’s got my sister protecting him as well.”
“Do you think she knows you’re still investigating?”
“Well, if she does, she can’t prove it. I haven’t questioned anyone in the house since . . . but then, I didn’t need to.” He pulled a list from his pocket and handed it to her. “These are all the people the servants saw going in or out of the gaming room that night.”
The list was longer than Isaveth had expected, but that wasn’t all that surprised her. “J. J. Wregget?”
“Wregget’s wife is a friend of my mother’s, so they stopped by to greet him. They left the door open, and the maid heard everything they said—nothing suspicious there.”
That was a relief. It would be horrible to think that Wregget might only have offered Isaveth a scholarship because he was secretly working for Eryx. “Eagle mask,” she read. “Wasn’t that Eulalie’s father?”
“Ah. I thought it might be.” Esmond pulled a stub of lead-point from his pocket and scribbled the name out. “Never mind.”
Isaveth didn’t have to ask why. Deputy Fairpont was still an outsider and a relative newcomer, with a strong reputation for integrity. He might have come to report to Lord Arvis, but surely not to murder him. “Wolf couple?” she asked.
“One of the maids saw a man and a woman going to visit him halfway through the evening. She couldn’t describe their faces because of the masks, but the man was slim and dark-haired and the woman was fair.”
Perhaps theirs were the voices Isaveth had heard on her way to the garden. And if it was the same couple she’d seen with Eryx later, they hadn’t been too pleased with how the conversation turned out. Yet they hadn’t been the only ones to visit Lord Arvis before his attack. . . .
“Delicia Ghataj? What was she doing there?”
“I don’t know, but according to the maid Father sent to fetch her, she didn’t stay long.” His expression turned pensive. “I wonder what he said to her. I danced with her after she got back, and I could tell she wasn’t happy.”
Isaveth could have slapped herself. She’d forgotten to tell him. “I have an idea,” she said, and went on to relate the argument she’d overheard between Civilla and Eryx in the conservatory.
“So that’s why you asked me about charm-swearing,” remarked Esmond. “Well, it’s nice to know Cilla can stand up to Eryx when she wants to.” He made a face. “She just won’t do it for me, apparently.”
Isaveth had no answer for that. It seemed impossible that two people raised in the same house could be such strangers to one another, but perhaps that was what happened when you lived in a mansion instead of a cottage.
“Do you think it’s important, though?” she asked. “After all that fuss Eryx made over Delicia, it seems odd he’d give her up so easily. Unless he already knew your father didn’t approve.”
“Or she’d already served her purpose. You don’t see Eryx’s name anywhere on that list, do you? Of course not: He’d want to keep his distance from the actual murder to avoid suspicion. Just like he did with Master Orien.”
The thought of Eryx wooing Delicia to poison the Sagelord for him, only to abandon her as soon as the deed was done, made Isaveth feel queasy. She wrapped her arms around her stomach and gave a reluctant nod.
“It’s all guesswork at the moment, though,” Esmond said. “I’m still waiting for those test results. In the meantime—” He clapped his gloved hands together. “We have some charms to make.”
Isaveth cast a dubious glance around the tower, and Esmond laughed—the first real laugh she had heard from him in a long time. “Not here! I mean in the charmery. I’ll go and get everything ready, you wait a bit and follow. I’m sure the way’s clear by now.”
True, they’d stood here long enough that most of the other students had left the grounds, and many of the masters would be on their way home as well. But if anyone spotted the two of them, separately or together . . .
Esmond backed toward the door, tossing his scarf over his shoulder. “Come on. It’ll be an adventure.”
There was a feral gleam in his eye; all at once he looked more like Quiz the street-boy than the Sagelord’s youngest son. Isaveth relaxed, and smiled.
“All right,” she said.
* * *
Isaveth waited in the bell tower, rubbing her arms and pacing, until she felt sure Esmond had reached the charmery. Then she pulled her scarf up over her nose and slipped out after him.
Crossing the main drive and running down the steps to the valley made her feel horribly exposed, especially when she passed the Sporting Center and heard the thumps and squeaks of a ring-ball game echoing inside. But the doors stayed shut, so Isaveth pressed on.
When she reached the charmery, she found the front door locked. A quick scout around the building led her to a smaller entrance on the workshop side, where Esmond was waiting for her.
“I suppose you stole the key to this place too?” she asked, squeezing by as he held the door open. The doorway was narrow, and his breath stirred her hair as she passed. “Or did you pick the lock this time?”
“Neither. Master Orien gave me a key, back when he . . . when I was helping him.”
His voice wavered at the end of the sentence, and Isaveth was abruptly reminded what a dear friend Orien had been to Esmond. No wonder he found it so easy to b
elieve that Eryx had poisoned their father, when he’d spent a lifetime watching his brother destroy everything he loved.
“Anyway,” Esmond went on, “I took a look at Eryx’s sportster last night. He’s got a warding-charm and a sealing-charm on it, and probably another one of each on the case itself.” His mouth quirked ruefully. “It’s under the passenger seat, by the way. The night Eryx drove you home, you were sitting on it.”
The irony of that, after he’d caught her and Esmond in his study searching for those very documents, must have kept Eryx amused for weeks. Isaveth entertained a brief fantasy of her younger self pulling the case out from under the seat and bashing the Lording over the head with it as she took off her hat and coat.
“A warding-charm and a sealing-charm,” she repeated. “So I need to find a spell that will counter both.”
“That’s right. And if we make three or four of each kind of charm, you’ll have plenty to practice on.” Esmond led her to the table where he’d laid out their ingredients, along with an assortment of tools and a heavy leather-bound book titled A Master’s Compendium of Sagery, Vol. III.
“Right, then,” Esmond continued, rolling up his shirt-sleeves. “We’ll start with Sage Armus’s Ward, then, since that’s the one you set off when you touched the carriage.” He flicked the burner alight and handed Isaveth a pair of gloves to put on. “First you lay two strips of charm-silver crosswise, and twist the ends like this . . .”
Isaveth tweezed the strips into the earthenware bowl and nudged them into position as Esmond propped the book up for her so she could read the instructions. One by one he passed her the ingredients she needed, explaining what the unfamiliar liquids were and how to dispense them, and showing her how to use a few tools she had never seen before.
“This is a tricky bit.” He stepped behind her, so close she could feel his warmth against her spine. “Do you mind if I help? Because if the timing isn’t perfect we’ll have to start over.” He reached around Isaveth and pinched a fleck of red jasper in the tweezers with one hand, then folded his other around the dropper she held in her right. “Steady . . . the stone goes first . . . wait for the flash . . . now!”