Our Lady of the Snow Page 25

  Nanta was still awake, but drowsy, her eyes vague and her movements slow and not well coordinated. Marine sat down at her bedside and balanced the tray carefully on the covering.

  “Here, my dear.” She smiled fondly at Nanta, dipping the spoon into the soup and holding it carefully out to her. “Drink some more of this. It will do you good.”

  ****

  High Sister Ludia had not expected her first visitor that evening, but the second was even more of a surprise. For Grand Mother Beck to call in person on a subordinate was highly unusual. Her accustomed form was to summon others to her. But Beck, it appeared, was simply passing by on her way to the Sanctum chapel, and rather than trouble Mother Marine, who doubtless was very tired at present, thought to look in on Ludia and enquire after the Dowager’s progress.

  Beck expressed her sorrow at the news of the Dowager’s relapse, then cast a detached eye over the work Ludia was doing and which she had interrupted.

  “An experiment, High Sister?” she asked mildly.

  “Oh—this, Grand Mother? Yes, of a kind. In fact it is for Mother Marine.” Ludia indicated the box of sweets. “She came to see me a little while ago and asked me to examine these for her.”

  Beck picked up a sweet and examined it. “Not Marine’s taste at all, I would have thought.” She made to nibble the sweet, and Ludia said hurriedly,

  “Grand Mother, I think it would be better not to eat them!”

  “Oh?” Beck’s hand paused halfway to her mouth. “Why?”

  “Well…” Marine had said that the examination was a private matter, but of course no Sisters or Mothers had secrets from Grand Mother Beck. Ludia smiled a little sheepishly. “Mother Marine thinks they might have been adulterated. That is why she brought them to me; to find out what, if anything, is wrong with them.”

  “Well, well.” Beck put the sweet back in the box. “And what have you discovered?”

  “Nothing as yet, Grand Mother. In truth I don’t believe there is anything amiss. But Mother Marine was a little concerned.”

  “I see. I wonder who gave them to her?” Beck chuckled, but her eyes were like flint. “Someone, I imagine, who does not know her very well.”

  “I had the impression that they were not given to her but to someone else,” said Ludia innocently. “Though she didn’t say who.”

  “Or who the giver was?”

  “No, Grand Mother.”

  “Mmm. Well, if they’re innocuous, as you surmise, I’m sure she will be grateful to know it, High Sister. I will leave you to your analysis and bid you good night.”

  “Thank you, Grand Mother. Good night.”

  ****

  Beck had had no intention of wasting her time at the chapel; the excuse had merely been a ruse to allay Ludia’s suspicions. She had come to gain information. And she went away with a

  good deal more than she had anticipated.

  Sweets. It took little ingenuity to guess how such lavish confections had come into Marine’s hands. A gift from the Imperator to his beloved sister; and tonight Nanta had been stricken with sickness. Beck knew perfectly well what the real cause of the sickness had been; and knew that the sweets were utterly harmless. But that was not the point. This development was a clear indication that Marine suspected something. So far, she was looking in completely the wrong place. But when that avenue proved fruitless, it could not be long before she began to look in the right one.

  Beck pondered for a few moments, then made a decision. It was a breach of propriety to interrupt Father Urss without a prior appointment, but for once propriety could be damned. This was too urgent to wait for requests and replies. She needed to see him now.

  With a swish of her skirt she set off at a rapid walk towards the Seminary.

  While behind her, unnoticed, a patch of air shimmered and an ice-cold breath skimmed through the corridor. The frost sprite did not fully materialize. But, briefly, a pair of strange eyes watched Mother Beck’s hurried departure, and the mind behind the eyes registered and considered what it had learned. Then the shimmer faded and was gone, and nothing more disturbed the stillness.

  Chapter Seventeen

  There was no reply to Beck’s knocking at the outer door of Urss’ quarters. In one sense Beck was relieved, for it must mean that Urss had dismissed his secretary for the night, which was all to the good. But if Urss himself was not there, finding him might be difficult.

  She went in.

  The outer room was unoccupied and unlit. Beck looked around, and saw a thin bar of illumination under an inner door. His office…Relief rising, she crossed the room and rapped sharply.

  “Father Urss!”

  No reply. Beck nibbled her lower lip, hesitated a bare moment, then opened the door.

  Father Urss was there. He was on his knees by the imposing desk, his hands clasped and his head bent as though in prayer. At the sound of the door latch his head came up in quick surprise, and Beck started as she saw his eyes. They were utterly blank, as though they were seeing something far, far beyond his immediate surroundings. His features were twisted into a tight, grotesque rictus, like a madman’s grin. And behind him stood a tall, wavering shadow that had no visible source.

  Then in the space of a heartbeat the shadow vanished and the bizarre expression fell away. Urss’ eyes snapped back into focus, and he scrambled angrily to his feet.

  “Beck! What is the meaning of this intrusion?”

  Beck held her ground, though she was still recovering from the shock of what she had seen. “I must ask your pardon, Father,” she said hurriedly. “But this could not wait. It concerns the Dowager—and Mother Marine.”

  A second furious reprimand was bitten off as Urss took in what she was saying. He stared at her, an extraordinary stare that she couldn’t interpret. Then he replied, quite matter-of-factly, “Yes. I know.”

  “You know?” Beck was so astonished that the words came out as a thin squeak.

  Urss smiled with a cold joy that quite unnerved her. “The God,” he said, “has seen fit to speak to me again.”

  ****

  It had happened without any warning. Urss had been at his desk as usual when suddenly the room darkened, as though a great shadow had been cast over it, and he felt a tingling sensation that seemed to start at the core of his body and flow outwards, until he was shivering uncontrollably. Then, as it had done in the chapel, the great, silent voice spoke his name.

  Urss did not reveal to Beck the exact words that the God had spoken to him as he knelt in awed reverence. But the message, and the warning, were explicit. Urss’ scheme, for which he had already been granted the God’s supreme sanction, was in jeopardy. Someone was meddling, and was in danger of uncovering more of the truth than the God wished them to do. That someone was a woman, a religious, close to the fair child, and her meddling must be put an end to. She must be put an end to. And as the God’s faithful and devoted servant, Urss knew the consequences of failure.

  Urss had been repeating a fervent thanksgiving and pledge of his obedience when Beck entered the room. The sense of the God’s presence had vanished instantly, shocking him back to

  earth and momentarily unhinging him. Now, though, as he listened to what Beck in her turn had to say, equilibrium was restored in full and his mind worked efficiently and rapidly.

  “The simplest answer,” Beck said, “is to remove Marine from the palace—indeed, remove her altogether from the Metropolis. I can send her back to her old Sanctum in the east.”

  Urss shook his head. “It’s not good enough, Beck. The God has made his wishes clear: Mother Marine is to be dealt with irrevocably.” His gaze slid towards the window, though in the darkness outside nothing was visible. “Even at a distance she could still stir trouble, and we would have the disadvantage of not being able to keep her under surveillance.”

  “But four sudden deaths, Father—there’s danger in that, surely?”

  “Not necessarily. The Dowager’s decline will be slow, remember; and in Moth
er Marine’s case, we need not even resort to an apparent illness or disease.” He turned to look at Beck again, his eyes steady and rigorous. “She could, as you suggest, be sent back to her Sanctum, or at least on a journey; a reason will be easy enough to find. And meet with an accident on the road. At this time of year, such a thing is perfectly feasible.”

  Beck considered the idea. Though she was careful to hide her feelings from Urss, she was more than a little uncomfortable at the prospect of conniving in Marine’s murder. Marine was her protégée; and despite her piety and the tiresomely upright attitude that she had never learned to modify, Beck was fond of her in a way. Whereas Osiv, Nanta and the late physician were virtual strangers, Marine was not. As far as could be permitted in a subordinate, she was a friend.

  But a friend who could, if left unchecked, be the death of her. And the God had given an unequivocal command.

  She met Urss’ eyes with a cold candor that matched his own. “Very well, Father,” she said. “What do you wish me to do?”

  ****

  “No, Mother, I could find nothing at all.” In the Sanctum infirmary High Sister Ludia stifled a yawn and smiled apologetically at Marine as she handed her the box of sweets. “As far as I can tell, they are quite harmless. Although of course my knowledge is far from perfect. Perhaps the imperial physician could—”

  “No, no,” Marine interrupted. “I don’t want to trouble him with something so trivial. Your word is good enough, High Sister. It was merely a whim on my part, something strange that I thought I detected in the taste. Thank you for your efforts. You’ve worked long into the night, and I’m grateful.”

  She was turning to go when Ludia spoke again. Grand Mother Beck’s visit had aroused her curiosity and, seeing no harm in. asking, she said, “Were the sweets a gift to you, Mother? They are very fine.”

  “No,” said Marine pithily. “They were not a gift to me. I wish you a good night, High Sister Ludia.” .

  She shut the door behind her with a force that rattled the jars and bottles on Ludia’s shelves. Ludia stared at the door for a moment or two, then shook her head and thankfully prepared to retire for what was left of the night.

  Marine’s annoyance turned on herself as she hurried back towards the palace and Nanta’s apartments. There had been no need to be sharp with Ludia; her curiosity was understandable and the question she asked had been innocent enough. But Marine was on edge. She had been certain in her own mind that Ludia would find something awry with the sweets, and the fact that she had not had thrown Marine’s deductions out of kilter. Still, Ludia herself had admitted that her knowledge was flawed. And Kodor, as Imperator, had recourse to far more skilled help if he chose to use it. So her theory still held. But where to go from here?

  She yawned, as Ludia had done, and shook her head vigorously to clear the weariness that was creeping over her. The hour must be very late; it had been well past midnight when she left for the Sanctum. Dorca and the other women would doubtless be sound asleep by now, and Marine longed for her own bed. She would just look in on Nanta and make sure that all was well, then she would try to have a few hours” uninterrupted rest.

  She had instructed Dorca to leave the outer door of the suite unlocked for her return, and on arriving she slipped quietly in and padded towards Nanta’s bedchamber, trying not to look at the catafalque with the glowing candles like sentinels around it. Through to the unlit office, and across the plush carpet to the bedroom door. Marine turned the handle with great care, anxious not to wake Nanta, and looked in.

  Two candles burned on a bedside table. By their small light Marine saw the hummock of Nanta’s sleeping shape in the bed. And she also saw the dark, unrecognizable human figure that

  was bending over her.

  The gasp of alarm was out before she could stop it. The intruder heard, straightened with a jerk—and Marine found herself staring into the face of Kodor.

  “Mother…” In a single chaotic moment Marine registered the fact that Kodor was holding a pillow in his hands; then he flung it aside and strode towards her. Horrified and frightened she backed rapidly away, back into the office. A flame flared and Kodor followed her, carrying one of the candles. In her first shock Marine fully expected him to attack her, but he only set the candle down on a nearby shelf and said ominously,

  “What are you doing prowling around at this hour, Mother Marine?”

  “I—I—” Suddenly Marine’s fear turned to anger, and for the first time she utterly forgot his rank. “I might ask you the same question!” she hissed back.

  “I came to see my sister. Not that that’s any concern of yours!”

  “I think—sire—that it is my concern,” Marine countered. “Nan…the Dowager is in my care, and it is not only my duty but also my desire to protect her!”

  Kodor’s lip curled. “Thus far, your “protection” seems to be doing her little good. She looks as pale as a frost sprite and as weak as a kitten. In short, good Mother, her health seems to be worse now than it was when you began your ministrations. And I for one would like to know why!”

  Marine’s lips turned white, and two spots of hectic color came to her cheeks. The sheer cunning of it—she had come upon him at his mischief, caught him in the act, and he had the cold-blooded boldness to turn the accusation against her.

  “I believe, Your Majesty,” she said savagely, “that you are better placed to answer that question than I am!” With a dramatic gesture she held out the box of sweets.

  Kodor stared at the box. The gift he had sent—what in the God’s name was it doing in Marine’s possession? He didn’t comprehend; didn’t know what the woman was talking about, and abruptly the dark mood that had bedeviled him since early evening, and which had driven him to come here in the first place, started to rise again.

  He and Pola had dined with Duke Arec tonight, and the occasion had not been pleasant. Sandwiched between his wife and her father, Kodor had felt like prey caught between two hunters. On the one side Arec’s blustering arrogance as he outlined what he now expected from the Vyskiri-Sekolian alliance, as though he and not Kodor were the Imperator; on the other side Pola, with her long face and longer silences, toying with her food and radiating discomfiture heavily laced with nervousness. Kodor had wondered if she had said anything in private to her father about their marriage, but decided it was highly unlikely. For one thing, he doubted if Pola would dare, and for another, if she had complained at his treatment he would have known about it from Arec by now.

  He had managed to get rid of his father-in-law at last, but then had followed an argument with Pola, who for once was not prepared to meekly buckle down under Kodor’s ill-humor. Kodor had drunk too much again and she told him so, and told him, too, that she was shamed and humiliated by his attitude towards her and wished she had never married him, never seen him, never heard of Vyskir. A good deal more followed, much of it too garbled for Kodor to take in after the wine, but one clear drift was Pola’s bitter hatred of Nanta. “Send her away!” she had said. “What use is she here? She’s no happier than I am, and there’s no useful role for her—unless you want her as your mistress, of course! Is that it, Kodor? Is that your plan; to keep your precious ‘sister’ as a concubine, because your wife isn’t good enough for you?”

  Kodor had almost hit her then. Afterwards, when he had calmed down a little, he was glad he had restrained himself; but in the fury of the moment it had been a close-run thing. As it was, he only looked at her with withering contempt, said, “Damn you!” and stalked out of the room, while she screamed a last, corrosive salvo at him: “If you’re so enamored of her, why didn’t you marry her instead of me? I wish you had! I wish you’d married Nanta, and I had married your poor, idiot brother! Then I would be the widow now, and I could be rid of Vyskir and everyone and everything to do with it!”

  The slam of the door had been her only answer, and for some time Kodor had heard her crying as he prepared for bed. At last the muffled sounds stopped and he surmised tha
t she had gone to her own private room. He poured another glass of wine, then decided that he didn’t want it after all, threw. the full glass out of the window and got into bed. But he had not slept. His head ached, and his mind ached. He couldn’t even take any pleasure in inventing cruelties that he would have liked to inflict on Duke Arec. And the day after tomorrow, he must stand beside his unwanted wife and put on a proper show for the farce of Osiv’s funeral.

  Two hours had passed before Kodor acknowledged that he was not going to be able to sleep. Once he did acknowledge it, the thing that had been lurking at the back of his mind started to creep out from its hiding place and take hold. He wanted to see Nanta. He needed to see her. Not just for his own reasons, though they were strong enough, but to reassure himself that she was recovering, that everything that could be done for her was being done. To be certain.

  The effects of the wine were wearing off, and Kodor’s reasonable side protested that this was not the hour for visiting anyone and he was being both selfish and disingenuous. But another side, more cunning, argued that the timing was ideal. Indeed, if he wanted to see Nanta privately—which he did—and was not about to be put off again by Dorca or one of the other twittering women, this was the only hour to call.

  So he had given way to the temptation, and now he was here in Nanta’s suite, and this hard-faced religious, who called herself Nanta’s friend and whom Kodor had never trusted from the beginning, had walked in on him and seemed to be accusing him point-blank of some wrongdoing. The feelings and the fury combined together in a rush, and Kodor said with a ferocity that far outstripped Marine’s, “Woman, you forget yourself! Whom do you think you are addressing?”

  Where the courage came from, Marine would never know. By all rational standards it was an insane thing to do, and if she had paused to consider it her nerve would surely have collapsed completely. But she did not consider. Instead, she stood her ground, the box still thrust towards him, and said, “I think, sire, that I am addressing the man who wants to murder my poor Nanta!”