Book 2, Chapter 43: Words We Live By

Clara bade Warren goodbye outside the restaurant, then hailed a hackney to the von Rhenia estate. Elysia City faded behind her, pale marble glimmering under the midafternoon sun. The farther she got into the suburbs, the quieter the roads became.

Or at least, that was how it usually went.

But this time, after the hackney was far enough away from the city, mounted patrols in burgundy appeared along the road. And when she came up to the gates of the estate, which were usually manned by a pair of bored guards, there were half a dozen soldiers in full armor, led by a caped knight of the Order of the Eagle.

The knight stopped the cab with a raised gauntlet and peered through the window. Clara slid the glass to the side and gave him her name, and he waved toward the others. “Dame Casewell has arrived! Open the gates!”

Within the von Rhenia grounds, soldiers drilled with their pikes and sabers, and some were sparring. Clara squinted and saw Conrad among them, taking on two knights at once with his shirt half open. Is it just me, or does he look more muscular now?

The carriage stopped at the front of the mansion, where a welcoming party of Iris, Emma, Duke von Rhenia, Duchess Adelheid, and Professor Morris awaited. Clara paid the driver and descended.

“Clara!” Before both of her feet touched the gravel, Iris jumped forward and hugged her. Then Iris took a step back and ran her fingers over a strand of Clara’s hair while looking her up and down. “Did they forget to feed you? Or was the food so horrible that it was not fit to be consumed? I must write again to the Cardinal Primate, make a stern protest.”

“It’s nice to see you too, my lady, though I’d say we probably shouldn’t pile more onto the Cardinal Primate’s plate right now,” Clara said. She curtsied to the von Rhenia couple. “Your Graces, I apologize for the dramatic message. I’m not totally sure it was necessary, but I wanted to be safe.”

“A message conveyed out of an abundance of caution is better than one not sent out of complacency,” said the duke. “And the men needed the practice. They have softened since we lost Major Ricardo. But I would hear what motivated it.”

“I can explain everything now, Your—”

“No, you cannot,” Iris cut in, then sighed. “Clara has clearly suffered inhumane treatment at the hands of the Sacred Ministry, and it would be impolite of us to keep her from a lady’s needs.” She turned to Emma. “Draw a bath for her, and we can all have a pleasant discussion over tea and pastries afterward.”

“I, uh…” Heat crept into Clara’s cheeks, and she turned away. “Yes, my lady, I could use a bath, if His Grace doesn’t mind waiting before we talk.”

“He doesn’t mind,” Adelheid answered in place of her husband.

Clara went up with Emma to the guest room and helped prepare the bathtub despite Emma’s protests. She didn’t want to be pampered, but Emma insisted on helping her with her hair, saying Iris would never forgive her if it wasn’t perfect. Clara had to concede the point, if only for the sake of job security.

“How was it at the abbey?” Emma asked, working her fingers against Clara’s scalp with enough strength to feel just right.

Wow, she’s gotten good at this, it kind of makes me want to get used to it. Iris must be pleased.

“Honestly, so much happened that I don’t even know how to answer that. But the place itself was beautiful.” Especially under the silver light of a Saintess’s runaway magic.

Emma pouted. “That’s what Mama keeps telling me. My family all went there once on a pilgrimage when I was a baby, but I don’t really remember it…”

Clara let herself sink into the warm water, keeping only her head afloat. “Why don’t you go with them again? I don’t think Lady Iris would begrudge you a few days off, as long as it’s after her birthday.”

“You think so? That would be lovely, but… my parents might be too old for it now. It’d take at least three days by coach each way.”

“You said they live close to Westwick, right? I think the train station was meant to open this month, so you can take that.”

“Oh! You’re right!” Emma bobbed her head.

They chatted until Clara was done bathing. Afterward, she sent Emma on her way and changed into Madame Silka’s mauve afternoon dress. It was cleaner than it’d ever been—the household staff must’ve washed everything she’d left behind during her seclusion.

A footman was waiting outside her door, and when she was ready, he escorted her to the glass conservatory attached to the rose garden. The von Rhenia couple, Iris, and Professor Morris sat around a low marquetry table patterned with eagles flying over a field of flowers. Clara took the empty seat beside Iris, and Head Maid Priscilla poured her some malty black tea and withdrew.

“Well?” asked the duke, straight to the point. “I would like to know why I was asked to put my troops on alert.”

Clara glanced at Morris, unsure how much the von Rhenias wanted him to know.

He noticed it. “Should I perhaps—”

NovelPhoenix contains the author's chapter, but this copy was taken without permission; the source posting supports their work.

“You needn’t worry about Emmet,” said Adelheid. “He is a friend of House von Rhenia, not to mention the years we both spent as pupils under Lord Pedro.”

Clara wondered how much of it was friendship and how much of it was Professor Morris’s debt effectively turning him into a von Rhenia vassal. Either way, it made things easier for her, so she wasn’t going to complain.

She told them the gist of what had happened at Mont Sainte-Michelle—a restricted archive, a door she found a way to open, then the death of a clergywoman and Helena Rosewood losing control when faced with the murderer. The only parts Clara neglected to mention were her newfound relationship with the Saintess-to-be and the specifics surrounding the theft of the key, the former to avoid upsetting Iris and the latter mostly out of shame.

The four listeners didn’t interrupt her even once, which was surprising given how plainly Professor Morris’s face betrayed his academic curiosity when it came to Helena’s magical explosion. Clara gave him a small smile to reassure him that she’d tell him everything later. For now, she breezed through the backstory, then got to the heart of what mattered to the duke, the same way she’d brief a client about a case.

“Inside the restricted section of the archives, I found Leofric’s personnel file,” Clara said. “He wasn’t just a high inquisitor—he was a relic hunter, posted in the Byzottoman Empire and in Norravia. His file ended with a reference, and that led me down a rabbit hole, which was where things got interesting.”

She leaned forward. “The inquiry file mentioned a second veiled high inquisitor as a co-conspirator. He was named only as O, which I think stands for Orson, and he was detained, questioned by the Grand Inquisitor personally, then put to death along with his subordinate Veiled Keys. None of that was ever reported outside the Church.”

Iris set down her teacup. “So she was hiding things from Papa and the King. That must mean she was involved in some way.”

“Perhaps,” said the duke. “If she is indeed connected to Leofric, executing his co-conspirators could be a panicked measure to protect herself from being implicated. But that is only one reading. The more charitable interpretation is that she wanted to deal with the inquisition’s rot quietly to protect the institution’s reputation. Dame Casewell, did Leofric’s file say when he took the veil?”

Clara thought about it. “Not directly, but judging by the durations and dates of his postings, I’d say fifteen years ago.”

“Then it was prior to Valentia’s ascent to Grand Inquisitor. Hmm.” He began tapping his fingers on the table. “We cannot pass judgment on Valentia with just this, but it warrants further consideration. What else did you find? I do not see a cause for immediate military readiness based on the information you have shared so far.”

“There was a note near the bottom of the inquiry file, concerning a relic called the Warden’s Anchor. It had supposedly been in Leofric’s possession, but wasn’t returned with his body, so the Church suspects House von Rhenia kept it. The recommendation was to deploy the Veiled Keys for ‘recovery.’ Your Grace, do you know what the Warden’s Anchor is?”

The rhythm of the duke’s fingers stopped. “No. And I find the premise itself remarkable. Live relics are guarded jealously, and even a relic hunter is meant to surrender whatever he finds to the Sacred Ministry’s custody posthaste. There is a long process for one to be issued for field use, so Leofric having a relic on his person would have been extraordinary.”

“We did keep some of Leofric’s belongings, just in case,” said Adelheid. “But I inspected them myself, and there was no unexpected magical energy on anything he carried. Emmet, have you heard of this Warden’s Anchor before?”

Professor Morris shook his head. “No. It is certainly not on the public list of relics published by the Church.”

“If a relic has been lost, and the Church has not yet found it, that gives us a rare opportunity we cannot overlook.” The duke furrowed his brow. “To start with, we must reexamine all of Leofric’s possessions.”

“Might I have a look at them?” asked Morris, practically salivating at the prospect of finding a live relic.

The duke reached to the side table and rang a small silver bell. The doors opened at once, and Head Maid Priscilla walked in.

“Escort the good professor to the upper vault, then go find Conrad on the training grounds. Have him lower the alert level of all units except the knights directly subordinate to him. Afterward, he is to join us here.”

“It will be done, Your Grace.” Priscilla curtsied, then left with Professor Morris.

“You’re not worried about the Veiled Keys, Papa?” Iris asked.

“To an extent. But I am more concerned about the message we send if we stay on heightened alert for long.” He turned to Clara. “The Church will be keeping a close watch on your movements, at least until the ceremony. If House von Rhenia mobilizes at the same time as your return from Mont Sainte-Michelle, they may suspect you became privy to their restricted information and relayed it to us.”

Oh, shit. He’s right. Clara lowered her head. “I apologize, Your Grace. I hadn’t considered that.”

Duke von Rhenia waved his hand. “Your caution was warranted. I do not expect you to understand all the nuances of political subterfuge, Dame Casewell.”

“You’ve done more than anyone could have hoped, bringing all this to us,” added Adelheid.

“There’s more.” Clara met the duke’s gaze, because his reaction to the next part could tell her a lot. “The inquiry notes on Leofric mentioned a suspicion that this could be related to a different, earlier matter. One investigated by an Inquisitor Mildine.”

Duke von Rhenia went still, the teacup frozen midair in his hand. His eyes lost their focus, and the duchess took his cup from him and set it on its saucer. Iris and Clara exchanged a glance as Adelheid leaned on the duke and took his arm.

Clara waited, but neither the duke nor the duchess said anything, so she continued. “Mildine’s file had a list of the inquisitors she’d trained, including Leofric and an Orson, and I assume that’s why the Church thinks it’s all related. It also had her trial record, which was fairly ordinary, dealing with thefts and robberies and the like. But there was one entry that wasn’t like the others. A man sentenced to death for treason, heresy, and corrosion. I’m guessing you know who I’m talking about, Your Grace: Franz von Rhenia.”

He didn’t answer, still in a daze.

“What? That’s absurd,” said Iris. “There is no von Rhenia by that name, and I know our full family tree back to at least great-grandmother’s generation. You must have misread something, Clara.”

That was when Conrad came in, dressed in a damp shirt and high boots, the silver streak on the front of his hair plastered to his forehead. He shut the door behind him and the thud snapped the duke back to reality.

“You called for me, Father?”

Duke von Rhenia looked at his children, and the weariness on his face was so heavy that his silver hair seemed to have paled into an aged white. When he finally spoke, his jaw barely moved. “I suppose things were bound to come to this. Conrad, Iris, what are our house words?”

“House von Rhenia remembers its own,” answered Iris immediately.

“Though that wasn’t always the case. They used to be duty above all,” said Conrad.

“Duty above all,” the duke repeated, frowning. “Yes, those were the founding words of Rudolf von Rhenia, and our House lived by them for hundreds of years. Yet when I took over from the previous duke, I changed them—the first time any ducal house has ever done so. It is time you both learned why.”