brought you back to help plan her wedding, you and she were closer than you had ever been. I have to know why you had such a change of heart?'
Ilsabet looked out the window at the cloudy sky. The light seemed to steal all color from her eyes, making them look glazed over, white, dead. 'In my days alone at Argentine, I began to realize we are all that is left of the Obours, and we must do what we can to survive and prosper. I decided my defiance of Baron Peto was ill-advised but I could see no way to mend the differences between us without losing all pride.
'Then Marishka wrote me about her marriage and asked me to come home. I did, and though I was opposed to the match, I thought it an expedient move for our family. Now she is gone, and there is only you.' She paused, and her eyes widened with disbelief. Tears came to them, tears she tried in vain to hide. 'You suspect me of killing her, don't you?'
Mihael had never seen his sister cry. Perhaps so much grief had worn down her defenses and softened her. 'You've never spoken so openly about your feelings before. I had no way of knowing,' he said sincerely.
'Does Peto think I had a part in Marishka's death?'
'I don't know,' Mihael answered. 'I hope not.'
'Mihael, what am I to do?'
She'd also never asked his advice before. He looked at her and answered with words he expected would send her into one of her well-known rages. 'Swear now,' he said. 'Peto hasn't asked it. If you do it of your own free will, your pride will be intact.'
Surprisingly, she nodded, and actually seemed to be considering his advice when he left her.
Like Mihael, Jorani was troubled by Marishka's accident, illness, and death. Like Mihael, he dared not mention his suspicions to anyone.
Once he'd arrived and settled in, he began questioning his staff, concentrating finally on Rilca, who seemed to have spent the most time with Ilsabet.
The woman happily described the girl's interest in plants, and how she had wandered the fields alone. 'She followed me around the kitchen asking me about the healing herbs and roots. I told her everything I knew. We got along well. When I was ill, she sat by my side every day reading to me.'
Jorani had never known Rilca to complain of anything, but she was getting older and her joints had stiffened. 'You were ill?' he asked.
'Stomach cramps such as I'd never felt before. I think my tonic had gone bad. I'd never known it to taste so bitter. I threw it out and blended some teas to help the pains go away.'
At his prompting, she described her symptoms. They were so similar to Marishka's that Jorani became certain Ilsabet was at least guilty of allowing her sister's death. Otherwise, she would have mentioned Rilca's remedies.
'I've been teaching her some things myself,' he said. 'It would help to know about the plants you discussed.'
Rilca told him. There had been nothing odd in their discussions of angelica and feverfew, or in the concoction of horseheal and mallow Rilca had suggested for Ilsabet's chronic cough. 'We even discussed the old myths,' Rilca continued, 'like the banning of marjoram at a wedding feast and the eating of columbine seeds to hasten a baby's arrival and the old tale of what happens when you eat black nettle.'
She prattled happily on for a few more minutes. Jorani barely listened. He'd just learned what poison had killed Marishka, as well as how it had been delivered.
As soon as he left Rilca, he went to the rooms Ilsabet had occupied. A careful examination of the drawers and cupboards revealed nothing, but when he sifted through the ashes in the bucket beside the hearth, he found bits of pottery and a black tar stuck to a few of the pieces. He took these to his own room. There he diluted the tarry substance with water until it formed a thick paste. He dabbed it onto his arm. A few minutes later when the blisters began to rise, he knew what Ilsabet had done.
Weeks passed, but he remained at Argentine, getting his estate in far better order than his emotions. Finally, he received an urgent letter from Lieutenant Shaul asking that he return:
'… In the last few days, there have been three mysterious deaths in the dungeons of the castle. The victims were outlaws who had been preying on shipments of goods between Kislova and Sundell. They'd been jailed in the town but escaped. When recaptured, they were brought here, as it is well known that no one escapes the castle's cells.
'They were hard, dangerous men, and they would have undoubtedly been executed after evidence against them was heard. However, in the days before their hearing, they began having frequent fallings-out. When they came to blows, they were separated.
'On the night before their hearing, one of the prisoners began to scream as if in terrible pain. The guard held a torch close to the cell but could see no reason for the man's agony. Because of the man's history, he decided the screams were some sort of trick to get him to open the cell door, and he ignored them. Later, the other outlaws also began to cry out, but again the guard could see nothing and thought it a trick.
'Gradually, the screams subsided. The guard assumed the men had tired of their useless ruse. In the morning, when trays of food were brought, two of the men were dead, the third unconscious. All had welts covering their bodies, as if they had been burned with hot coals. Indeed, it seemed they felt as if they were burning, for they had clawed at their clothing and scratched their skin trying to put out the invisible flames. The one survivor remains unconscious, but cries out often.
'Our healer suspects some plague. I remember the rats and wonder.
'The baron asked me to write you to return at once and lend us what assistance you can…'
Unable to ignore the summons, Jorani set a slow pace back to the castle, still not knowing what course to take, certain of only two things-
A single word or even a suggestion to Peto of what Ilsabet had done, and she would be killed; rightfully so.
And he could not bear to see her die.
When he reached the castle, he found the courtyard more crowded than it had been on Peto's ill-fated wedding day. Merchants from Pirie mingled with the Sundell officers and Kislovan nobles. Lord Ruven had even traveled from Tygelt along with his wife, Alasyn, a beautiful woman with a quiet dignity that had impressed Jorani often.
The Sundell guards who had ridden in with Jorani went directly to the stables, leaving him holding tightly to the reins of his nervous horse and trying to find a servant to take it from him.
'What's going on?' he finally asked one of the sta-bleboys who was trying to lead Lord Ruven's spirited team away from the crowd before someone was injured by their hooves.
'The baron is holding a feast for the Baroness Ilsabet.'
'A feast is it? Whatever for?'
'She's going to swear her loyalty to him.'
The words had all the effect of a hard blow between the eyes. For an instant, Jorani was speechless with shock and astonishment. Then, he thrust his horse's reins into a servant's hand and ran up the stairs to his tower room where he washed and dressed quickly.
In a different section of the castle, Ilsabet stood in the center of her dressing room surrounded by Mar- ishka's legacy. Her mother's gowns were there, Mar-ishka's own, and the few pieces that Lady Lorena had given her-all of them reminders of the Obour women who had died.
Greta had used all her considerable skill on Ilsa-bet's thin hair. She'd tied it at the crown then used the hot iron to form tight ringlets that fell over her mistress's shoulders. When she'd finished, she helped Ilsabet into the gown she'd chosen.
'Leave me,' she said to Greta.
Once alone, Ilsabet studied herself in the mirror, trying to see what Peto would see. She pictured herself, the demure subject, kneeling before him-swearing allegiance for the sake of peace between their families, their countries. Swearing, she had made it clear to him, not because he'd ordered her to do so, but because he had earned her respect.
