“Mama,” Margret protested, “we can’t stay for supper. We need to talk to you about—”
“Don’t be silly, Margret. You’ll need a little padding if you want to give Lord Morwe an heir.”
Margret looked as if she might die of embarrassment. Lady Annes bustled away.
They were left alone in the great chamber. Ead walked to the bay window that looked over the deer park.
“This is a fine home,” she said.
“Yes. I miss it terribly.” Margret skirted her fingers over the virginals. “I’m sorry for Mama. She is … candid, but she means well.”
“Mothers mostly do.”
“Aye.” Margret smiled. “Come. We ought to change.”
She led Ead through yet more corridors and up a flight of stairs to a guest room in the east wing. Ead peeled off her riding clothes. As she washed her face in the basin, something caught her eye through the window. By the time she reached it, there was nothing there.
She was growing skittish. Her sisters would come for her sooner or later, whether to silence her or to force her back to Lasia.
Shaking herself, she checked that her blades were in reach and readied herself for supper. Margret met her outside, and they proceeded to the parlor, where Lady Annes was already seated. Her servants first filled their cups with perry—a speciality in this province—before they brought a rich game stew and bread with a thick crust.
“Now, tell me, both of you, how court is,” Lady Annes said. “I was so terribly sorry to hear that Queen Sabran lost her child.”
Her hand drifted to her own midriff. Ead knew that she had miscarried a girl before having Margret.
“Her Majesty is well now, Mama,” Margret said. “Now those who would have usurped her have been detained.”
“Usurp her,” the countess repeated. “Who was it?”
“Crest.”
Lady Annes stared. “Igrain.” Slowly, she laid down her eating knife. “Saint, I cannot believe it.”
“Mama,” Margret said gently, “she was also behind the death of Queen Rosarian. She conspired with Sigoso Vetalda.”
At this, Lady Annes drew in a breath. A gamut of emotion crossed her face.
“I knew Sigoso would hold a grudge against her. He was relentless in his pursuit.” Her voice was tinged with bitterness. “I also knew that Rosarian and Igrain did not get on, for reasons best left unsaid. But for Igrain to have her queen murdered, and in such a way—”
Ead wondered if Annes Beck, as a former Lady of the Bedchamber, had known about the affair between Rosarian and Harlowe. Known, perhaps, that the princess was a bastard.
“I am sorry, Mama.” Margret took her hand. “Crest will never hurt anyone again.”
Lady Annes managed a nod. “At least we can close the door on it now.” She dabbed her eyes. “I am only sorry that Arbella did not live to hear this. She always blamed herself.”
They ate in silence for a short while. “How is Lord Goldenbirch, my lady?” Ead enquired.
“I’m afraid Clarent is much the same. Sometimes he is in the present, sometimes in the past, and sometimes nowhere at all.”
“Is he still asking for me, Mama?” Margret said.
“Yes. Every day,” Lady Annes said, sounding tired. “Do go up and see him, won’t you?”
Margret looked at Ead across the table.
“Yes, Mama,” she said. “Of course I will.”
Lady Annes prided herself as a host. This meant that Ead and Margret found themselves still at the dinner table some two hours later.
An inglenook fireplace dried their clothes. Bone-warming food continued to pour from the kitchens. Conversation turned to the impending nuptials, and Lady Annes soon began to counsel her daughter about her wedding night (“You must expect to be disappointed, darling, for the act often falls woefully short of the promise”). Throughout, Margret wore the pained smile Ead had seen her wear many a time at court.
“Mama,” she said, when she could finally get a word in, “I was telling Ead the family legend. That the Saint visited Serinhall.”
Lady Annes washed down her mouthful. “A historian, are you, Dame Eadaz?”
“I have an interest, my lady.”
“Well,” the countess said, “according to records, Serinhall hosted the Saint for three days shortly after Queen Cleolind died in childbed. Our family were long-standing friends and allies to King Galian. Some say for a time he trusted only them, even above his Holy Retinue.”
While curd tart, baked apples and sweetmilk were seamlessly delivered, Ead exchanged a look with Margret.
When the meal was finally over, Lady Annes released them from her presence. Margret led Ead up the stairs, a candle in her hand.
“Saint,” she said. “I’m sorry, Ead. She’s been waiting for one of us to get married for years so she can plan it all, and Loth has rather disappointed her on that front.”
“No matter. She cares about you very much.”
When they reached the elaborately carved doors to the north wing, Margret stopped. “What if—” She twisted a ring on her middle finger. “What if Papa does not remember me?”
Ead placed a hand on her back. “He asked for you.”
At this, Margret took a deep breath. She handed Ead the candle and opened the doors.
The room beyond was stifling. Lord Clarent Beck was dozing in a wing chair, a coverlet around his shoulders. Only the white of his hair and a line or two set him apart from Loth, such was his likeness to his son. His legs had withered since Ead had last seen him.
“Who is that?” He stirred. “Annes?”
Margret went to him and took his face in her hands. “Papa,” she said. “Papa, it’s Margret.”
His eyes peeled open.
“Meg.” His hand came to her arm. “Margret. Is that really you?”
“Yes.” A thick laugh escaped her. “Yes, Papa, I’m here. I’m sorry to have left you for so long.” She kissed his hand. “Forgive me.”
He lifted her chin with one finger.
“Margret,” he said, “you are my child. I forgave you all your sins on the first day of your life.”
Margret wrapped her arms around him and pressed her face to the crook of his neck. Lord Clarent stroked her hair with a steady hand, his expression one of the utmost serenity. Ead had never known who her birthfather was, but suddenly she wished she had.
“Papa,” Margret said, drawing back, “do you remember Ead?”
Dark, heavy-lidded eyes took Ead in. They were just as kind as she remembered them.
“Ead,” he said a little hoarsely. “My word. Ead Duryan.” He held out a hand, and Ead kissed his signet ring. “How good to see you, child. Have you married my son yet?”
She wondered if he knew Loth had been exiled. “No, my lord,” she said gently. “Loth and I do not love each other that way.”
“I knew it was too good to be true.” Lord Clarent chuckled. “I hoped to see him wed, but I fear I never will.”
At this, his brow crimpled, and his face went slack. Margret framed it, keeping his attention fixed on her.
“Papa,” she said, “Mama says you have been calling for me.”
Lord Clarent blinked. “Calling for you—” Slowly, he nodded. “Yes. I have something important to tell you, Margret.”
“I am here now.”
“Then you must take the secret. Loth is dead,” he said, tremulous, “so now you are heir. Only the heir to Goldenbirch may know.” The creases in his brow deepened. “Loth is dead.”
He must keep forgetting that Loth had returned. Margret glanced at Ead before she looked back at him, her thumbs circling his cheekbones.
They needed him to believe Loth was dead. It was the only way they would learn where the sword was hidden.
“He is … presumed dead, Papa,” Margret said quietly. “I am heir.”
His face crumpled between her hands. Ead knew how much it must be hurting Margret to tell him such a painful lie, but summoning Loth from Ascalon would take days they might not have.
“If Loth is dead, then— then you must take it, Margret,” Clarent said, eyes wet. “Hildistérron.”
The word caught Ead in the gut. “Hildistérron,” Margret murmured. “Ascalon.”
“When I became Earl of Goldenbirch, your lady grandmother told me.” Clarent kept hold of her hand. “It must be passed down to my children, and to yours. In case she should ever return for it.”
“She,” Ead cut in. “Lord Clarent, who?”
“She. The Lady of the Woods.”
Kalyba.
I searched for Ascalon for centuries, but Galian hid it well.
Clarent seemed agitated now. He looked at them both with fear.
“I don’t know you,” he whispered. “Who are you?”
“Papa,” Margret said at once, “it’s Margret.” When confusion washed into his eyes, her voice quaked: “Papa, I pray you, stay with me. If you do not tell me now, it will be lost to the fog in your mind.” She squeezed his hands. “Please. Tell me where Ascalon is hidden.”
He clung to her as if she were the embodiment of his memory. Margret held still as he leaned toward her, and his cracked lips came against her ear. Ead watched with a pounding heart as they moved.
At that moment, the door opened, and Lady Annes came into the room.
“Time for your sleepwater, Clarent,” she said. “Margret, he must rest now.”