“My brother had taken to wearing it. A family piece, I gathered.” Vitus did note that didn’t specify whose family. “Not one I’m familiar with. I’m afraid you’d need to ask Sigbert if you wanted to see it. And I would not suggest that anytime soon.”
“I’m sure he has a great deal to tend to. No, this is trivial in comparison to everything else, but of course I do notice rings and such. A professional obsession, I suppose.”
Dagobert snorted again. “And may I ask, are you concerned about a curse, or do you carry talismans against such things routinely?”
That was a fascinating theoretical question, actually. “A bit of both. I do wear some of my own work, of course.” He pulled back one of his sleeves a hair, to show the cuff link. “That’s a fairly ordinary sort of protection piece, against the minor calamities of a day. I am less likely to trip on a step, risk having something dropped on my head from an upper story of a house, be nearly run over by a carriage. All handy on a day in a busy city. Less likely to be pickpocketed or otherwise taken advantage of, on a less physical level.”
“Ah, that does seem practical, yes. And I assume other pieces, more private.” Dagobert nodded. “I am certainly wearing half a dozen.”
“Just so. Nothing on me specific to curses, but I also have a theory, not properly tested, of course, about whether some curses are situational. Something that might be neutral or even welcome to one person being a harm to someone else, where it depends on perspective.”
“Huh.” Dagobert looked startled at that. “I should get home, actually, I hadn’t realised the time.” It wasn’t a smooth transition at all. “My regards to your family.”
Vitus blinked several times, and then nodded. “Of course.” He considered. “I’ll pay the tab if you need to go.” Dagobert disappeared as promptly as he could. Vitus sat in silence for several minutes, nursing the rest of his drink. It only occurred to him at the end of the glass that Dagobert hadn’t mentioned anything about why he’d come out for that particular lecture, one focused on healing rather than alchemy or even electricity, on a Saturday night.
33
MARCH 11TH AT ARUNDEL
“Sigbert.” Thessaly felt like she was repeating herself from just six weeks ago. Less than six weeks. Another death, on top of illness, on top of everything. Here she was, standing in the entry hall of Arundel, Sigbert in the arched door to the Great Hall. “I’m so terribly sorry.”
Now, instead of a bier with Sigbert’s father, it was Sigbert’s mother. This time, Thessaly had received a note in the morning, though apparently Maylis had died the previous afternoon. It had not suggested Thessaly come, but it had not said she shouldn’t. And whatever complexities she might feel about the Fortiers, or for that matter, her own parents, losing both parents inside of six weeks had to be a horror.
Sigbert didn’t move, not in any way Thessaly could see.
“Thessaly.” Then, slowly, he nodded his head once. “I’ll tell Grand-mère you observed the proper forms.” His voice was like nothing she’d heard from him before. It was stone, all the resonance drained out, no echo, no life, near enough.
“Is there anything I can do to help? Any preparations?”
Sigbert shook his head minutely. A negative. “Thank you, no.” His voice made her shiver now, even just three words of it. There was something wrong there, and Thessaly had no ideawhat to do next. “We have the lists in hand.” He might, a month ago, have managed a moment of dark humour, about having reviewed them recently, knowing where everything was. There was none of that.
“I hope some of the family are here?” Thessaly was thrashing around for anything. She didn’t want to stop, to be here for only a few dozen words. That felt wrong, too.
“Uncle Dagobert and Aunt Laudine and Garin. For the time being, at least. And we expect Aunt Bradamante in an hour or so. We will have enough to keep vigil.”
It would be a rather painfully small number for a vigil. “Let me know if I can be of any help, please.” Thessaly tried to keep the earnestness front and centre in her voice. “At any time.”
Sigbert didn’t soften, not exactly, but he nodded once. “The proper forms.” He repeated it again. Then he glanced over her shoulder. “Aunt Laudine.” A second later, he added, “Uncle Dagobert.”
“Might I have a word, Sigbert?” Dagobert was walking slowly, though perhaps slightly less painfully than sometimes.
Laudine followed it immediately with, “Thessaly, would you walk with me outside for a breath of fresh air? If you have a moment?”
“Of course.” Thessaly ducked her chin. “Sigbert, I’ll be thinking of you, all of you.” Sigbert inclined his head just once, taking a step or two back offering no touch, and waiting for his uncle to cross the hall and join him. Laudine turned for the front door, and Thessaly followed her out. Once they were outside— the day was at least not raining— Laudine turned to follow the paths out to the formal garden. She was visibly pregnant now, and walking more carefully herself. Thessaly let her set the pace and decide about the conversation.
It wasn’t until they were across the formal garden, well away from the house, that Laudine looked around for somewhere to sit, claiming a bench in the sun. “Do you mind?”
“Of course not.” Thessaly was dressed comfortably to be outside for at least a few minutes. “May I ask how you’re doing? Or the others? Sigbert was, ah, terse? Which, of course, I understand, it must be a terrible shock for him.”
“Ah, the question of how we are all doing is not easy to answer, either. It is a shock for Sigbert, I am sure. And Dagobert might be his Heir, but that does not mean they entirely trust each other. One challenge among many. I’d hoped that seeing you might be a little help, but I gather not.”
“He did not tell me in so many words to go away, but he might as well have. Would you write if there is anything I can do?” Thessaly glanced back toward the house. “I was thinking that it must be difficult indeed to lose both parents in such quick succession.”
“There is rather more gossip today about a curse, I gather,” Laudine said. “Father has his sources, and his sources have sources.” She looked Thessaly up and down. “Some of that is about you, as you know.”
Thessaly swallowed hard. She might still have doubts about whether any of Lord Clovis’s fate was due to the duel, but she had not interacted with either Lady Chrodechildis or Lady Maylis other than in the ordinary ways of this kind of family. She had disliked the pressures to marry, and some of how both of them had treated her, but it was an ordinary grumbling frustration, not some far-reaching deadly magic. “I suppose that’s inevitable. So much misfortune, all at once. It’s not been six months since Childeric.” She cleared her throat. “May I ask about Lady Chrodechildis? Would it be a help to have someone sit with her?”
“Ah, no. She’s not able to speak, but she is particular about who she tolerates. That does not include me or Dagobert. One of two maids is with her all the time.” Laudine looked out across the sleeping gardens. “An apoplexy, it was sudden. She stood up, then she fell to the ground, unable to move deliberately. The Healers have advised how to keep her comfortable.” Laudine cleared her throat. “They do not anticipate significant improvement, I’m afraid.”
