Page 41 of Elemental Truth (Mysterious Fields #3)

41

JUNE 14TH AT ARUNDEL

“ I am glad you agreed to this conversation.” Magistra Hereswith folded her hands. Thessaly kept quiet. Her role here was— well, it was complicated. They were in the ritual workroom at Arundel, with all sorts of enchantments in play, few of which Thessaly entirely understood. They were not quite the ordinary judicial enchantments, but they touched on that.

It was not the truth-telling magics in play, not exactly. As Lord, Dagobert could call them. But as Thessaly understood it, the Council had not asked for that. Perhaps because they knew he’d be no good for the conversation if he did. As it was, Dagobert looked pale. They had brought a sofa in. He and his wife were seated on it, their hands barely touching. Magistra Hereswith and Council Member FitzAlan had their own chairs, as did Thessaly and Vitus. Cousin Owain stood by the door, keeping watch on the space, she thought, rather than participating in the conversation proper. There were small tables with glasses of water, but no other items, not even a notebook and pen.

Vitus, for his part, looked cautious about everything. If she hadn’t been in any gathering like this before, Vitus certainly hadn’t. And Thessaly at least had some experience with FitzAlan now. Though in this moment, there was something sharply honed about him. He was all work and formality, with none of the good humour and love of life he showed during duelling sessions.

“I know that we did not precisely have an option. Or rather that the other choice involves a full investigation by the Guard, the Penelopes, and who knows what else.” Dagobert’s voice was quiet, but steady enough.

“Just so. FitzAlan is here in that role, as the Council’s point of contact with the Guard and the Ministry. He has not heard the details we’ll be speaking of, and I also wanted his judgement coming to it fresh.” She then nodded. “And for the record, Thessaly Lytton-Powell and Vitus Deschamps are here as witnesses. They are the ones who have significantly aided in bringing this to what we all hope will be sufficient resolution. We may have need of their information, stated again.”

Dagobert flinched at that, though Laudine didn’t move. Thessaly shifted just enough to take Vitus’s hand. If they weren’t doing truth-telling charms or something like that, it wouldn’t matter. Or rather, it did matter. She found it reassuring, and she was certain Vitus did as well.

Magistra Hereswith went on. “You may, any of you, formally request us to stop speaking. But in that case, yes, our next step would be bringing this to the Courts and the full weight of the Ministry. And we have reasons to avoid that, of our own.” She inclined her head once. “If you would state what your oaths permit and give as much explanation as you can in your own words.” That was directed at both Dagobert and Laudine, though Thessaly noted they had not been named, not since the ritual circle had been called into place around them.

Dagobert cleared his throat. “There are limits to what I may, oaths made that still— if I tried, I would.” His voice faltered, then he began again. “There are matters I may not speak of. Before I say what I can, I wish to express my regret for the deaths I had any hand in: Metaia Powell’s and Philip Landry’s. Not directly, either of them. It was not my hands, but I hold blame.” He did not look up as he said the names, and Thessaly did not know how to react in that moment. She had not expected that. Vitus squeezed her hand, and she looked at a spot on the floor. Anything else would be far too revealing.

She heard Dagobert’s voice go on. “My family had an idea. Not all of us. Bradamante still does not know the scope, I am sure of it. Nor her husband or children or any of them. But my mother, my brother Clovis, and his sons, Childeric and Sigbert. All of us were active participants. Clovis would not have told Maylis much about it, bound by oaths and by habit. I did not tell Laudine any of it, beyond the fact Maman had a project, until after last summer solstice. And she still does not know many of the details, since I was bound to keep them secret.” Thessaly heard his voice shift, a note she couldn’t understand. She glanced at him, at that, to see him looking relieved. “I am glad that it has been discovered. I do not want it to be continued, but I cannot be the one to end it, not by myself. I am not able.” His voice quavered slightly as he continued, “I made the attempt to try to, to do something about it, but in my— in my frailty I could do no more than discard the ring they stole from Philip Landry after his death there, as if it were wergild.”

Thessaly looked away again at that. The sound of it was too raw. Magistra Hereswith spoke, her voice a blade that cut cleanly. “And the other deaths?”

“I do not know the cause or the means. But I worried, until her death, that Magistra Landry would find her revenge. I worried that what we were doing had consequences none of us understood. I had no part of it after summer solstice, you understand? Even if I could speak of it, I would have no information for you from that time.”

“What can you tell us?” Magistra Hereswith brought him back to the topic, like someone bringing a rambunctious hound to heel.

“The project, it, I worried that I had said something, let something slip, last summer. We left Dinas Emrys. We discussed, mostly Maman and Clovis discussed, and they sent me off with Philip, to speak to Metaia. I don’t know what they expected. I honestly don’t know what I expected.” He cleared his throat. “He said he had information for her that she needed to know, er. Something was going on that she needed to know about. She opened the gate, and came out into the road, to speak to us outside the immediate wards. There was a brief conversation and Philip told me to go back and wait by the portal. I don’t know what he did, I don’t know how he did it. I went, and I waited, and a few minutes later he joined me.”

“And then?” Magistra Hereswith’s voice prodded things along when Dagobert’s words trailed off. There was something ferociously distant there now, a column of power and restraint, because continuing mattered far more than whatever she felt about it.

“There was a disagreement. About when I realised what he’d done, I was certain the entire Council would search out what had happened, and make sure the matter was dealt with.” That, or perhaps the earnest fear that came out there, got a sound of some fierce amusement out of Magistra Hereswith, FitzAlan, and Cousin Owain, a chord in perfect unison. “My mother and brother both cursed me, at near enough the same moment, and I do not remember anything else from that point for a fortnight.”

Laudine picked up, her voice precise. “Childeric and Sigbert brought him back to the house. I took him home, and it was a fortnight before he made much sense. High fevers, delirium, though as far as I can tell, even then he did not speak of the truth of the matter, of course the Silence oaths held. He was able to tell me the, what shall we say, shape and size of the problem. None of his family showed any particular care for his recovery, or for his opinions, thereafter. My husband agreed that he had been a fool, dangerously so, and put much at risk. We were aware they continued with their project, with their research, but I suspect, from bad tempers on a number of occasions, that they did not find much actual success.”

“And then there were other deaths.” Magistra Hereswith’s tone was studiously neutral. “Do you have thoughts about that?”

“The only logical assumption is that one or more of them caused Philip Landry’s death, left his body.” Laudine replied promptly enough. “And that Henut Landry figured out who was to blame. Or at least, sufficient of the blame. And yet, it makes no sense. Surely her competence did not stretch to the Challenge, and she herself died before Clovis, Maylis, or Sigbert. Or before Chrodechildis’s apoplexy. And Maylis was not directly involved in the other, well, project.”

Magistra Hereswith wiggled a hand. “I am making no assumptions about that point. But you had no direct information on that count. No note or communication or oracular dream, anything of that kind.”

Laudine shook her head. “I have no answers on that point. And I do not know why we were spared, comparatively speaking.”

Thessaly suddenly recalled the dream she’d had the night Magistra Landry had died, but she held her own counsel. She might tell Magistra Hereswith in private, later, but she didn’t think it was relevant to the particular question.

“Indeed. Thessaly, if you - or Vitus, if you prefer - would summarise what you found?” Magistra Hereswith spoke more warmly.

“It had become clear to the Council that my aunt Metaia had been investigating something before her death. She had hidden her notes, as well as encoding them. It has taken a great deal of work to decipher them. She identified the Fortiers as exploring paths that— one of her notes suggests was they were outside the Pact in some substantial way, but not how. Vitus was granted access to a space, outside the estate wards, to assist with something, by the late Lord Clovis and Sigbert. Since that access had never actually been withdrawn, we investigated the space last week.”

Thessaly did not mention the secret investigation. She had told Magistra Hereswith and Cousin Owain, but the remaining Fortiers did not need to know that. Certainly not right now. And how she felt about Dagobert, in particular, was exceedingly complicated, given what he’d said about Aunt Metaia’s death. “What became clear when investigating the space was that it was an attempt to manipulate the bounds of the Pact and the Silence through the use of magnetic and electrical fields. In both some mechanical form as well as magical ones. We did not attempt to engage the devices, of course. And we are not remotely experts, but Vitus does not think they could have worked as designed. We do believe we understand how to disassemble them safely.”

“Do that. Please.” Dagobert’s voice was louder now. “Burn the place to the ground if you need to. I want nothing more to do with it. I don’t want anyone to be tempted by it, ever again.”

Magistra Hereswith coughed. “Then we are down to negotiations.” She set out to do that, laying out what the Council would demand in order to keep this private. The mechanisms fully disassembled, of course, the building taken down to the bare walls and the floor entirely replaced at a minimum. They would need to ensure that all notes related in any form were destroyed and make oath on it.

Laudine spoke up then. “My husband continues to suffer the impact, the weakness, of the curses. Being on the land, being Lord of the land, seems to help. But we cannot be sure there is not some lasting impact. If all possible notes are destroyed, and some aspect emerges in a decade, five decades, ten - how will anyone know what happened?”

“Do you have some proposal, then?” FitzAlan had been quiet all through this, but he spoke now.

“Private notes, sworn to be held only in the private family library. Not enough to reconstruct the mechanism, but enough that someone diligent could learn of the impact, the deaths over the past year, the consequences. Or what has been a help, should others in the family be affected?” Laudine glanced upward, toward where the nursery was, in the east wing. “I am thinking of my sons, and those who inherit the land magic in due course.”

It was a potent enough argument. Everyone in the room except perhaps Thessaly and Vitus was primed to think not just of this moment, but all the ones to come. That was part of what the Council did. And whatever else Laudine valued, the wellbeing of her sons would be at the top of that list.

“We could have such materials in the Council library, well warded,” FitzAlan pointed out.

“And the family would not know to look there. And might not, shall we say, trust the Council if they went looking. A great deal can change, year to year, generation to generation. I do not know what that will look like. More importantly, I— we— do not know what will be needed in the future.”

Magistra Hereswith considered. “Vitus, you have perhaps the best sense. Is this acceptable to you to mitigate dangers in the future?”

“I believe so. Perhaps Laudine and Dagobert might include in the other oaths they make a commitment to explain what is included, what will not be included, and provide samples for review?” Vitus came out with it slowly, but the others nodded.

“Fair. We will lay out the oaths and arrange for someone to administer them properly. It may take a week or so. I assume you can come to Dinas Emrys for it - not at the Solstice Rites, but perhaps the afternoon before?”

That took a little more negotiation, then Magistra Hereswith nodded. “Thessaly, Vitus, you are welcome to depart.” And, from her tone, ought to. “We will be in touch about a number of remaining matters.” Thessaly had expected this; Magistra Hereswith had clarified that one of the oaths she’d be requiring was that none of the surviving Fortiers put Thessaly or Vitus at risk through action or inaction. Negotiating that would be delicate. She stood, nodding slightly, and then Cousin Owain let them out of the ritual enchantments and out of the room, before going back to his role.

She walked in silence with Vitus back to the portal and back to Bryn Glas, utterly unsure what to think about some of the revelations, or the fact that the lurking fear seemed to be largely ended.