Page 31 of Elemental Truth (Mysterious Fields #3)

31

31ST JANUARY AT ARUNDEL

“ I am so very sorry, Sigbert.” Thessaly stood in the entry hall. Sigbert had come from the Great Hall. Thessaly knew that there, just beyond where she could see without moving, there was another bier, another coffin. “I wanted to come directly, given everything. It means a lot you let me know immediately.” She kept her voice quiet, to the approved whisper of this household’s mourning.

She hadn’t known what to expect from Sigbert, given the note. An hour after lunch, Collins had brought her a black-bordered note that had just come through the portal. It was tightly written, in Sigbert’s handwriting. Not his mother’s florid writing, though she would be by herself, given their customs, other than whatever vigil she kept.

Thessaly had put on her blacks, told Emeline to do the same, and set off for Arundel. The note had been uninformative. Lord Clovis had died suddenly. Arrangements for the funeral would follow. If he hadn’t wanted her to turn up, Sigbert should have said.

“You needn’t have come.” Sigbert’s voice was rough. Then he glanced behind him. “Let me arrange to walk with you for a few minutes.” Without waiting for her acknowledgement, he disappeared back into the Great Hall. A servant came out, almost immediately, and came back within five minutes, followed more slowly by Dagobert Fortier. Thessaly nodded at him, murmuring her condolences again, but he didn’t stop.

Dagobert didn’t seem upset at her. Sigbert did. Thessaly needed to find out whether she was correct, and if so, why Sigbert was upset. The cause mattered here. And whatever else Thessaly felt about any of the situation, Sigbert’s father was dead and Sigbert was Lord Fortier now. The family was turned even more upside down than after Childeric’s death.

After another minute or two, Sigbert emerged, wearing a cloak. “Your companion may walk behind us, if you wish.” Again, his voice was tight. “The orangerie? It will be warmer there.”

It had turned rather brisk, as if the end of January were in mourning as well. Thessaly nodded. “If that suits.”

Sigbert twitched. “Nothing suits, at the moment. Shall we?” He offered his arm, beginning to walk as soon as Thessaly had placed her hand on his forearm. They walked in silence along the paths, Emeline a proper ten steps behind. When Sigbert opened the glass doors of the orangerie for Thessaly, Thessaly nodded once to Emeline, who went right as the two of them went left, to one of the benches. She was within line of sight, enough to be a chaperone or a witness.

“It was sudden.” Sigbert barely waited for her to sit. “After breakfast. He was planning to go out riding on the estate. He stood up, and I—” His voice trailed off.

“I’m very sorry. He’d been a little unwell last week. It wasn’t related to that, I hope?” Thessaly did her best to keep her voice even.

“No. His Healer came out. There was nothing a little time didn’t fix.” Thessaly swallowed her sigh of relief at that. She had wanted to drive off whoever she had duelled, not kill him. And she was more and more sure it must have been Lord Clovis now.

She looked down, then pursed her lips. Sigbert had removed his gloves, they were lying across his thigh. “A new ring, Sigbert?”

Sigbert glanced at his hand, stretching his fingers. “It was Father’s. He gave it to me a few nights ago.” Then he turned his attention to Thessaly. “There will be more pressure on me to marry. Not for some months, of course, but making it known I will, that would be a help.”

Thessaly should have expected this, honestly. She let out a breath. “I am glad to discuss, once things are a little settled for you. After the funeral. I expect the Scali will not wish to rush the agreements. They were rather clear with me about not making significant decisions while grieving.”

“You were grieving your aunt. And you are a woman. I am Lord Fortier. There is the land magic to consider. I cannot, I do not...” Again, his voice cut out. He went in the space of a few words from being commanding, filling the role he now held, to sounding his age and lost. It made Thessaly feel terribly sympathetic, though that was also a horrible reason for marrying someone, particularly in haste.

“I will let the Scali know you will want to discuss terms.” There, she could say that, and it was not a lie. “The funeral. Do you know when yet?”

“Saturday week. There are too many families who have land obligations tomorrow or Sunday. And we need time to make certain things ready. The bees.” His fingers twitched. “It has not been long since Childeric.” Four months and a week wasn’t long at all, no.

“The bees.” Thessaly nodded. “No one explained them. That is a tradition for the family, obviously.”

“One of the Merovingian customs, one of the ones we carried across the Channel.” Talking about this was apparently easier. Sigbert’s voice got softer and more even. “A token for the grave. The original Childeric, the one my brother was named for, king of the Franks, they found his grave in I think it was 1683. It had all manner of things in the tomb, including golden bees set with garnets. Not all of ours are gold. Gold for the men in the family, silver for the women, copper for the others.” It did bring Magistra Landry to mind, how she had produced her own golden bee, though of course she had not explained what she meant by that choice, and now she was dead and even less inclined to answer queries even than before.

“And your father was Lord of a great family. There will be a lot of people who come to the funeral.” The question would be whether it would be more than for Childeric, or different. Childeric’s death, on the political level, had been a chance to make alliances clear. Lord Clovis’s would bring people who wanted to test the weakness of the Fortiers, and the inheritance of the younger son. If Thessaly had been betrothed to marry Sigbert, this was when she’d step forward, to manage some of that, as much as the family would permit.

She was not making that offer. She wasn’t sure Sigbert realised she wasn’t. It was rather novel to be able to analyse the funeral that way, without feeling personal grief. Lord Clovis had people who had loved him, or who owed him loyalty. Thessaly was not one of them. She would not be rude, not for the world, for all sorts of reasons, both strategic and sensible. And because Sigbert was grieving, somewhere below the stubborn insistence that was most present right now.

He shrugged. “The other reason for the delay. The kitchens are working on the food and preparations. And Maman is in no fit state for anyone, even me.”

“It must have taken her very hard. Your parents, together, had an intimidating presence, and your mother fit herself so well to your father.” It must be uncomfortable to go forward now. Thessaly didn’t ask how it was for Sigbert, who wasn’t supposed to be the surviving heir.

Sigbert sighed, then said, ruefully, “That is a polite way of putting it. She has taken to their rooms, as I’d expect. She’ll keep vigil tonight. I would ask you to join us, but I think not this time.”

“I thought the same.” Thessaly kept her voice even. “But please do write and let me know if there is anything I can do.”

“Laudine is coming out tonight by train. She knows the household well enough to handle things for Maman.” And she had not been a favourite of her brother-in-law’s, even before whatever had happened last summer. “We will name Dagobert as Heir in due course. Temporarily, of course. But at least there is that line to continue, without having to consider any of the cousins.”

“Ah.” Another reason for the pressure to marry. And then to produce at least two children as promptly as possible, whatever else Thessaly might have wanted to do with her time. She could not argue with the pragmatism. “And your grandmother?”

“Desolate. In her rooms, of course, as well. It has been very hard on her. First Grand-père, then Childeric, and she doted on Childeric. And now Father.” Sigbert looked away, over into the greenery. Without looking back, he said softly, “I don’t know if I can be who they need.”

Thessaly rested her hand on his, one of her fingertips brushing that ring in passing. She felt a slight charge from it, not a brief burst of the ordinary magic of a ring, but something sharper. “I think we don’t know that sort of thing until we make a go of it.” She pitched her voice softly. “I did not know I’d manage with Bryn Glas. We’re doing well enough, though. And not all questions need answering immediately. The estate has been managed well, you have staff who know their roles. You will have some time to sort out the rest.”

“Not enough time.” Sigbert almost kept going, then he bit off whatever his comment would have been. “We had been working on a project. Grand-mère, Father, Childeric, and Uncle Dagobert, originally.” Not any of the women, other than his grandmother, and that was telling in some form Thessaly couldn’t fully analyse in the moment. There was also that ‘originally’ which matched up with what she’d guessed from Laudine and Dagobert. “I don’t know if I can continue it.”

“Is it the sort of thing that might sit for a season? Some projects are, and they are often the better for it.” It would not satisfy her, but it might give her more time to find out what the thing was, or get enough evidence for someone else to investigate it properly.

“It— no, I really can’t say more.” Sigbert ducked his chin. “Oaths.”

“Of course I won’t press you.” Her fingers shifted on his hand again, brushing the ring once more, and this time he looked up, meeting her eyes.

“The ring, it was Father’s. He gave it to Childeric, then he’d been wearing it again, before giving it to me.” He held it up, and it wasn’t nearly as decorative as Thessaly had expected. It had a plain band that looked like rose gold at first glance and was more likely copper, inlaid with blue and green stone. She wasn’t as good at Vitus as spotting stones on the fly, but she also suspected there was some illusion work at play, somehow.

“Does it help to wear it? I have found that wearing some of Aunt Metaia’s things has helped. Sometimes, mind, it’s a bit like hearing her scold me about something.”

That got Sigbert to manage a small smile. “Something like that. It is, I think, a reminder of my obligations. Of what I have done, what I will do, and what that will mean for the family.” There was a new resolution in his voice, and he leaned over to kiss her cheek. “Thank you, Thessaly. This has been a help. May I walk you back to the gatehouse and the portal? I should get back.”

Thessaly didn’t argue. She didn’t think she could press any part of this conversation further, not without making her interests obvious. Instead she nodded, murmured her condolences again, her willingness to arrive early for the funeral, or if there was any other small thing she might do. Sigbert escorted her back all the way to the portal, Emeline trailing behind, and promised to convey her condolences to his family properly.

It wasn’t until they were back inside at Bryn Glas that Thessaly turned to Emeline. “That was exceedingly odd.”

“In several ways.” Emeline did not favour many words when a few would do. Thessaly went upstairs to change, Emeline behind her to undo her buttons and help with the unlacing. It wasn’t until Thessaly was in one of Aunt Metaia’s tea gowns, this one in a soft purple, that Emeline said, “There is something wrong on that estate.”

“Yes, but I can’t name it or see it or, or anything with it. It’s like smoke. Illusions. Mist. No handles.” She considered. “That ring bothers me.”

“I didn’t hear what you said, but I gathered there was something on his hand. Perhaps Master Deschamps might have some thoughts?” Emeline offered it quickly enough.

“By which you mean it would do me good to talk to him about a range of other topics. It would.” Thessaly mentally sorted through his schedule. “I expect him tomorrow, but it’s still early enough he might be at his workshop. Could you get one of the footmen to take a message?”

Emeline nodded. Even better, she went and fetched the writing desk, so Thessaly could write a note without going back downstairs. She handed the note over and collapsed on the sofa to contemplate what came next.