“Murder?” The gravelly voice came from Eulalie’s father, speaking for the first time. “What makes you think Lord Arvis was murdered?”
“Well, he seemed to think so,” Esmond told him, “so I thought I’d better look into it. I sent samples of his blood and whatnot for testing, and while I was waiting for the results I found out that the Paskins had stopped by to see Father less than a bell before he collapsed. Seems they weren’t happy when they realized he planned to stop them taking over Glow-Mor . . . and since my brother was more sympathetic to their interests, the obvious answer was to get rid of the old Sagelord and set up a new one instead.”
“That’s a lie!” Mister Paskin burst out, and his wife shrilled, “He died of a bad liver! Everybody knows that! You can’t possibly believe that we—”
“Poured him a drink?” Esmond kept his voice light, but there was a tremor in it. “Just a friendly one, while you asked him to reconsider. And when you realized his mind was made up, you gave him another . . . with a little taste of poison to help it go down.”
“No!” shouted Mister Paskin. “That’s not true!” He turned wildly to Eryx. “Milord, please—”
“This is terrible.” Eryx sounded shaken. “How could you do such a thing, Sedric? And Laraine . . . how could you help him?”
The couple stared at Eryx with their mouths open. Then they shrank in on themselves like chastened dogs. “We didn’t kill Lord Arvis,” Mister Paskin whispered. “I swear it.”
Delicia rose and moved to Eryx, folding her fingers into his. They stood together, noble and tragic as two statues in a museum—until Civilla spoke up from behind them.
“Sedric’s right, they didn’t kill my father. My brother the Sagelord did.” She walked into the lounge, pulling the little envelope from her bodice. “In fact, he’d been poisoning him for weeks, with this.”
PROPO-SELTZER, read the packet in bold blue letters. It was torn down one side, a white crust clinging to its edge.
“My father took it regularly,” Civilla announced, “for headaches and a sour stomach. He almost certainly drank a glass on the night of my ball. If you have this analyzed, Deputy Fairpont, I think you’ll find it’s been laced with yellow-cap powder—the same toxin found in the samples Esmond sent for testing.” She turned accusingly to Eryx. “I found it in my brother’s spell-carriage.”
“You scheming—” Eryx started toward her, but Esmond stepped into his path.
“One of us is a schemer, all right,” he said flatly. “And if you touch Cilla, I’ll knock you down.”
“You set us up!” shrieked Missus Paskin. “You told us to talk to Lord Arvis and see if he’d change his mind. You murdered your own father so you could become Sagelord, and then tried to make it look like we’d done it!”
“Don’t be a fool, woman!” snapped Eryx. “Can’t you see that’s what my sister wants you to think?”
Esmond’s eyes met Isaveth’s, warm with relief and pride—but he also looked puzzled, and she couldn’t blame him. He hadn’t known about the Propo-Seltzer any more than she had, and he must be wondering why Civilla wasn’t showing everyone the documents instead. . . .
The same thought must have occurred to Eryx, because he put a hand to his eyes, his expression shifting to anguish. “Oh, Civilla. Accusing your own brother of murder? I knew you were jealous, but I had no idea you would stoop so low.” He drew Delicia close to him again. “No wonder you tried to keep the two of us apart. You knew Delicia would make a better Sagelady than you ever could.”
Su Amaraq’s lips tightened and her scribbling became so furious that Isaveth half expected to see sparks. But was she angry at Eryx, or indignant on his behalf?
“I was patient with Esmond because he seemed to be making a good case against the Paskins,” Eryx continued, “and I know how he feels about Miss Breck. But this allegation is preposterous, and I refuse to dignify it with a rebuttal. Any intelligent person can see it isn’t true.”
Deputy Fairpont shifted in his armchair. “Milord, it’s been a long day, and my wits aren’t as sharp as they should be. Perhaps you’d be kind enough to explain.”
Eryx sighed. “If I’d been poisoning Father’s Propo-Seltzer, why would I keep a packet of the stuff in my sportster where anyone could find it? Why wouldn’t I destroy it, and any others that might be left, as soon as I knew he was dying?” He shook his head. “It’s obvious what really happened. My sister and Miss Breck plotted together to break into my carriage and plant false evidence against me.”
Su frowned at Isaveth. “Really? Had you even met Civilla Ladyship before tonight?”
“No,” said Isaveth. Yet Eryx’s words troubled her, and she was beginning to wonder if she’d met the real Civilla at all. Was it possible that she’d only pretended to find the packet in Eryx’s briefcase? Could she be the murderer, accusing Eryx to avert suspicion from herself?
“I’ll admit Miss Breck has motive,” Su continued, “seeing as Lord Eryx’s been planning to cut her family off relief and leave them all to starve—pardon my bluntness. But I find this talk of conspiracy a little far-fetched.” She turned to Wregget. “You know Miss Breck better than I do. Does she seem like the type of girl to accuse someone she knows to be innocent? Especially after what her own father went through?”
“Not at all,” said J. J. Wregget.
“Su!” exclaimed Delicia, but the reporter only shrugged.
“Just doing my job,” she said. “Asking the hard questions. What do you think, Governor Buldage? You’ve been quiet this evening.”
“Oh, this is ridiculous,” exclaimed Esmond. He turned to Civilla and Isaveth. “Why are we wasting time? Show them the documents.”
Buldage shrank back as though trying to blend in to the upholstery. Even Eryx looked uneasy, until Isaveth spoke.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “They burned up when we opened the case. There’s nothing left.”
Esmond staggered as though she’d hit him. He leaned against the drinks cart, his good eye losing focus, and for once he had nothing to say.
“Documents?” asked Su.
Civilla raised her chin. “My brother’s secret hoard of blackmail letters and other papers that could destroy his reputation if they became known. Why else would he rig the case to burn them if anyone else opened it?”
“Documents of a sensitive and personal nature,” Eryx corrected patiently, “given to me in trust. Naturally I felt it my duty to protect them by any means possible, even if it should result in their destruction.” He spread his hands. “Your word against mine, Civilla. The tongue of a petty gossip against the best-loved politician this city’s ever known. Who do you think people are going to believe?”
Isaveth wrapped her arms around her stomach, feeling sick. Eryx was right: In such a contest there could be no doubt who would win. But it would never come to that. No ruling Sagelord could be charged with a crime unless there was clear and compelling evidence against him, and they had none. No way to prove that Eryx had poisoned Lord Arvis . . . or that he’d murdered Master Orien, either.
Buldage must have realized the same, because he relaxed as though a burden had rolled off his shoulders. The proof of his guilt was destroyed forever—and with it, the power Eryx held over him.
There was no joy for Isaveth, however. Her last hope had failed, and now she and everyone she loved were at Eryx’s mercy. She bowed her head miserably, wishing she could just go home.
“Well,” said Deputy Fairpont, “I can’t say this has been a pleasant evening, but it’s certainly been an interesting one.” He slapped the arms of his chair and rose, his voice turning crisp with authority. “Mister and Missus Paskin, I arrest you for kidnapping, extortion, and the murder of the man known as Lanzy. I’d advise you to come quietly, as I have a squad of Lawkeepers stationed outside.”
The Paskins didn’t even look at him. They sat listless on the sofa, slumped together like melting candles, as Fairpont picked the packet of Propo-Seltzer from the table and
turned to Civilla.
“I’ll start an investigation into your father’s death. If what you say about the test results and this packet are true, then we’ll catch the person who poisoned him, whoever that may be. But I’ll need more evidence before I accuse Lord Eryx of murder . . . or your Ladyship of conspiracy, for that matter.” He turned to leave.
“Wait.” Esmond straightened up, looking pale and very young, and crossed to the doorway. “There’s something you ought to see before you go.” Then he unhooked his half glass and handed it to Isaveth, revealing his scarred face and milky-blind eye.
Gasps rose from all over the room, and Esmond’s cheekbones flamed. But he kept talking. “Eryx did this to me with a fencing sword a year and a half ago,” he said. “Right after I refused to help him poison our father.”
Eryx opened his mouth to protest, but Civilla spoke first. “He claimed Esmond’s injury was an accident,” she said. “And my father believed him, so we all had to play along. But it was a lie.” Her gaze shifted to Delicia. “Eryx is my brother, and nothing will ever change that. But he is also a murderer, a deceiver, and the foulest hypocrite I have ever known.”
Deputy Fairpont looked as though someone had force-fed him a toad. It was a charge too serious to be ignored, yet how to prove it? He still had nothing but Esmond and Civilla’s word that Eryx was guilty, and they both stood to gain if their brother lost power. . . .
A throat cleared on the far side of the room. Governor Buldage rose from his seat, shoulders back and graying head held high.
“I have a confession to make,” he said. “I am guilty of murdering my predecessor, Governor Orien. A murder that Lord Eryx plotted and helped me to—”
His words ended in a splutter as Eryx grabbed him by the neck. He was shaking Buldage like a puppet, his face twisted to ugliness, when Wregget and Deputy Fairpont leaped to pull him away.
“This is monstrous!” Eryx shouted, struggling so wildly that even Delicia shrank away from him. His hair and clothes were disheveled, his elegance gone. “All the good I’ve done for this city—my great plans for reform—and you want to destroy it for the sake of your short-sighted—”
“Eryx?”
Lady Nessa’s voice wavered like a frightened child’s. She stood in the lobby, Perline Wregget by her side.
“It’s all right, Mother.” Civilla moved quickly to take her arm, as though fearing the older woman might faint. “Deputy Fairpont has everything under control.”
The Sagelady’s gaze swept the lounge, taking in all the details—Esmond without his half glass, and Isaveth at his side; Eryx slumped between Wregget and the Deputy Justice, sweating and ashen; the packet of Propo-Seltzer lying on the carpet, where it had tumbled out of Fairpont’s pocket in the scuffle. She clapped a hand to her mouth, eyes brimming.
“Mother?” Eryx strained toward her. “Don’t tell me you believe them! I didn’t poison Father, I swear—”
“It was Eryx, Mother.” Civilla held her gaze, reassuring. “It was him all along.”
The color eased back into Lady Nessa’s face. She laid her hand on Civilla’s, gripping it as though drawing on her daughter’s strength. “I hoped you would be better, Eryx,” she whispered. “But you are your father’s son.”
Then slowly she turned and let Civilla lead her away.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
THE NEXT FEW DAYS passed like a whirlwind for Isaveth as the city reeled from the shock of Eryx’s arrest and the downfall of one of its leading merchant families. At first many people refused to believe Eryx could be guilty, and put forth all sorts of elaborate theories in his defense. But once the Healer-General confirmed that the Propo-Seltzer Lord Arvis had taken was laced with dried yellow-cap, a poisonous mushroom known for its destructive effects on the liver, Deputy Justice Fairpont met with the city council and emerged with their final decision: Eryx would be stripped of his office and tried on several counts of corruption, conspiracy, and murder. Civilla was now the ruling Sagelady of Tarreton.
That same week J. J. Wregget, finding himself head of a smaller and meeker board of directors in the wake of the Power-Up scandal, announced that from now on the Glow-Mor scholarship would be offered only to commoners with a family income of less than fifteen imperials a year. That night he invited Isaveth and her family to dinner at his estate and told her that he and his wife had decided to personally cover all of her college expenses until graduation.
“Th-thank you, sir,” stammered Isaveth, too overcome to say more. But she was troubled all the way home, wondering if she could bring herself to accept Wregget’s offer.
She knew now that she could never have afforded to patent her own invention even if Esmond had been free to help, so she no longer blamed Wregget for offering her a lump sum instead. But the cruelty, callousness, and deception she’d seen among the wealthy folk of Tarreton haunted her, and she was reluctant to have anything more to do with them. Besides, her sisters were no less needy or deserving than she was, and it seemed unfair for her to have so many privileges they did not.
When she sat down to talk to Papa and Annagail about it, however, her sister was horrified. “You have to go back, Vettie,” she insisted, reaching across the kitchen table to seize her hand. “You’ve worked so hard and suffered so much for that scholarship, it would be wicked to ask you to give it up. I’m sorry for the things I said to you—I’m ashamed of them now. You seemed so happy I couldn’t help feeling jealous, but if I’d known . . .”
“I don’t blame you, Anna,” said Isaveth. “I did pretend to be happy, because I thought it was the best way to protect you. But I won’t lie to you and Papa again.” She turned to their father, sitting quietly by the stove as he smoked his baccy pipe. “Esmond’s going to take the tests he missed next week, and Mistress Anandri says I can take mine as well, if I want to. What do you think, Papa?”
“I think, my Vettie, that I’m glad all this sneaking about and keeping secrets from the rest of us is over. I can’t blame you for wanting to stand up to Eryx, but I’m not best pleased to find out the trouble my daughters have been getting into behind my back.” He frowned at Lilet, who reddened and sank behind her book. “Still, you did it for the right reasons, and that’s the main thing. If you want to stick it out at the college, I’ll not stand in your way.”
So the next Mendday, Isaveth went back to Tarreton College. She’d barely passed the gate before Eulalie came flying to meet her, hugging her so hard the two of them nearly fell over.
“You’re back!” she exclaimed. “I missed you terribly. But I’ve been taking lots of notes in Sagery, and you can borrow them any time. Isn’t it splendid about Mistress Anandri being the new governor, and Paskin and Betinda getting expelled? Nobody will dare bully you now.”
Isaveth returned the hug, but part of her was still uncertain. According to Esmond, Eulalie had not only coaxed her father to accept Civilla’s last-minute drinks invitation, she’d convinced him to bring a squad of Lawkeepers because a murderer would be revealed that night. It was obvious now that Eulalie hadn’t betrayed her—yet there were still a few things Isaveth didn’t understand.
“I thought you didn’t want to talk about the bullying,” she said. “It seemed as though every time I tried, you ran off or changed the subject.”
Eulalie’s smile faded. “I know,” she said. “I hated not being able to do anything to stop it, and I didn’t know what to say without hurting you even more. I’m sorry for disappearing on you, but . . .” She raised pleading eyes to Isaveth’s. “I didn’t always have a choice. I have terrible cramps in my insides nearly every day, and when I’m upset, they get worse.”
“Oh, Eulalie! Why didn’t you say so?”
“Because I hate talking about it, that’s why.” She scowled. “I have to sit on the toilet for ages, and who wants to hear about that? And every time someone finds out they tell me to try this diet or that exercise or some tonic they heard about on the crystal set, and it makes me want to scream. I don’t want
people to feel sorry for me or try to fix me. I just want to get on with my life as best as I can.”
No wonder Seffania thought Eulalie had been faking. It didn’t explain Miss Kehegret’s cryptic note, though. “Can I ask one more thing?” asked Isaveth. “Who is DW, and what did you tell him or her about S at the Harvest Dance?”
“That again! I should have known it would get around to you.” Eulalie sighed. “Darion Wellman is in third year with Seffania’s brother. He asked me if she liked him, and I told him she did, because I thought he meant to ask her to dance. But then he and her brother made fun of Seffania and embarrassed her horribly, and she’s never forgiven me. So now I’m the girl who can’t keep a secret, and nobody wants to be my friend anymore. Except you.” She looked up at Isaveth shyly. “We . . . are still friends, aren’t we?”
Isaveth smiled and squeezed the other girl’s hand. “Of course we are,” she said.
* * *
“I still can’t believe the council voted Eryx out so quickly,” Esmond said as he and Isaveth strolled around the courtyard after school. It felt strange to be talking where anyone could see them, but Civilla had no objection to their friendship, and even Lady Nessa seemed content to overlook it as long as Esmond was happy. “Apparently all those society meetings of Cilla’s were a lot more political than I thought.”
Isaveth wasn’t surprised. From what Eulalie had told her, Civilla’s volunteer work had earned her a high reputation among the council ladies and other leading women of the city. They didn’t see her as spiteful or prone to gossip, no matter what Eryx had thought.
“You never did tell me exactly what happened between you and Civilla before you came to rescue me,” said Isaveth. “What did she say that convinced you she was on our side?”
Esmond raised a hand to adjust his half glass, then smiled ruefully and let it drop. “She told me she’d decided to ruin Eryx as soon as she saw this,” he said, gesturing to his new eye patch. “But she couldn’t move against him until she came of age to inherit, and she couldn’t risk him finding out her plan. So she pretended to believe his story about the accident.”