She wondered what her arms had even done, before they had held the child. What had her mouth done before it could whisper Liuprand’sname? She had been so stubbornly proud not to feel her heart. She had lived in the dismal safety of dreams. To wake was to grieve.
And grieve she did, for what she had lost, for the world that had broken apart under her feet. But when she at last surfaced from the dark waters of lamentation, she had known there remained something which she could repair. It would require a quill and parchment and a willing messenger. Those she had found easily enough. She knew too that it would require forfeit. Yet more grief before all was well again. The yielding of her own heart’s blood.
She was with Waltrude in her chamber when the bells of the Outer Wall rang. The wet nurse jolted, and Agnes turned her head toward the window. It was the earliest hour of dawn, when the sky was more white than colored, like a pale cheek yet to fill with a flush. Waltrude dropped the laces of her corset and then fumbled to grasp them again, but Agnes stilled her.
“Not this gown,” she said, and stepped toward her wardrobe. “Another, finer one, with its bustline low.”
Waltrude nodded and proceeded to dress her in silence. Agnes selected a gown of deep violet, which bared her shoulders and her bust, and especially drew attention to her throat, where the ancestral necklace of the House of Teeth hung. Her hair was left loose. She wore no other jewelry save the pearl ring, which she never divested herself of, not even while sleeping or bathing.
All the while Agnes shivered, nervousness causing her teeth to chatter. If Waltrude asked, she would blame it on the castle’s coldness. Not even the most oppressive summer heat could penetrate the stone. The days of drought that ravaged the rest of Drepane, that starved the Outer Wall and its environs, had no effect on the inhabitants of Castle Crudele.
When the last lace of her corset had been done, Agnes turned tothe door. Before she could push through it, Waltrude’s voice at last rose.
“Shall I come with you, lady?”
Agnes swallowed, and there was the subtlest twinge of pain in her throat. “No,” she said. “Keep watch of Tisander. Remain at his side through all his lessons today. And…” She paused a moment. “…stay within sight of Pliny the leech.”
If Waltrude was perturbed by these unusual instructions, her face did not show it. But the wet nurse had always been too clever for her station. The years had only sharpened her senses and whetted her wisdom. Agnes suspected that now, as always, she understood more than her expression allowed.
Waltrude dipped her head. “Yes, my lady. I will go now.”
Agnes was determined to be quick, so that she would arrive in the great hall before any others could enter. But she was not quick enough. By the time she reached the chamber, her pulse pounding from her exertions, Liuprand was already there. Around him were two dozen men of the Dolorous Guard, stiff in their gray armor, swords drawn.
“Agnes!” He strode toward her, breaking the ring of soldiers. “What are you doing? Return to your chambers now; I will have the Dolorous Guard escort you. It is not safe here. A contingent from the House of Eyes has come. They are at the barbican now.”
“I know.” Agnes found it difficult to speak around the knot in her throat. “I have summoned them.”
Liuprand’s eyes widened—first in disbelief, and then in shock and horror. “Why?” he asked, his voice so plaintive that, for a moment, Agnes regretted all. “Why would you do such a thing, and how?”
Agnes drew a breath. She had dreaded this exchange perhaps more than anything else when she had first drawn up her plan. “I sent a missive to Lord Thrasamund, pleading to treat with him. I—I may havesigned it with your name. But I used only words that you have already spoken on this matter. It was a heartfelt plea. I wrote exactly as you would have, yourself.”
Liuprand’s mouth opened, then closed again, beyond speech. He closed his eyes and gave the faintest shake of his head.
“Oh, Agnes,” he whispered. “You should not have done this—you have put yourself in grave danger. If Thrasamund is to discern any trickery, he will grow more embittered, more rageful. He will think he has been wronged once again.” Liuprand exhaled, a thin sound, almost defeated. “I fear what you have begun.”
Agnes wished they were not in sight of the Dolorous Guard so that she might lay a hand on Liuprand’s cheek. That she might comfort him with her touch as well as her words.
“Do not be afraid,” she said. “I have not been reckless in this, I swear. I have passed many days and nights in reflection and preparation. Please allow me to speak to Lord Thrasamund when he arrives. I believe I can soothe his wounds. I believe that I can set all right again.”
Liuprand just stared down at her, brow furrowed as if he were trying to hide the pain of a wound, mouth drawn into a grimace.
“Don’t you trust me?”
“I do, Agnes. Always I do. It is Thrasamund I do not trust. He may have acquiesced to this meeting, but you cannot know his true intentions. I have wronged him gravely. Already I have furnished him generously with gold and arms—what else will he demand, to restore faith and sympathy?”
“Please,” Agnes said. “Keep faith withme.Believe in my art, as you did with the masque. I am not a mere pawn upon the board. I am a player in my own right.”
With these words, Agnes proved her point—she knew precisely how to cut to Liuprand’s heart. He sighed again, more deeply and more gravely this time, and then he said, “Very well. I will allow you to speak with Thrasamund. But you must remain at my side, and behind the Dolorous Guard.”
Relief made Agnes’s knees quiver. “Thank you. Thank you. I will not fail, I swear it.”
It was at that moment that the doors to the great hall groaned open, and the retinue from the House of Eyes poured forth. It was not a small retinue; Agnes had expected as much. Thrasamund, despite his concession to the meeting, would come with all the instruments of defense.
His armored men formed a bastion, closing a tight circle around their lord. Over their helmets, however, Agnes glimpsed the shining crown of Thrasamund’s bald head and the hard, fierce set of his brows. Her task was not close to finished. Persuading him to this summit had only been the smallest part of it.
“My Lord Thrasamund,” Liuprand said. He had to raise his voice nearly to a shout, so that it would arc out past the steel wall made by the Dolorous Guard. “I am most grateful that you have come. You are welcomed eagerly and with all the warmth Castle Crudele can offer.”
“Not very much warmth then.”
