Please, oh please.

Just then Lady Lotte, the boldest of her younger ladies-in-waiting, approached her, saying, "Whatever can the Prime have said to make you reread it, Your Grace?" she asked. "Is his note so obscure?"

She raised her gaze and gave Lotte a hard stare. "You can be very silly, Lotte. This is not from the Prime. It is a letter from the Pontifect, informing me she has sent an emissary. Doubtless merely a courtesy, to deliver blessings for the good health of the heir. I am giving them an audience tomorrow."

Her heart raced at the thought, but she was confident no agitation showed on her face. At hiding her feelings she was now an expert.

15.

An Heir Under Scrutiny

When the herald announced that the Pontifect's emissaries were on the way to her solar, Mathilda seated herself on the Regala's chair in the reception room and bade the nursemaid to place Karel's cradle at her side. The ladies-in-waiting in attendanceten of the chattering flock that morninggathered around, brightly curious and ready to sharpen their relentless tongues on any breach of protocol.

Ward's-dame Friselda, the pesky woman, was the first. "Your Grace," she'd said in her most imperious tone, "should the babe be here when you are expecting the arrival of strangers? Who knows what pestilence they bring clinging to their clothing? Who knows what noxious streets they have walked down?"

If Friselda hadn't been the Regal's trusted cousin, she would have flung the wretched woman into those same noxious streets. "Surely you are not saying that the Pontifect of Va-faith is so indifferent to our well-being that she would send someone unclean into our royal presence, Lady Friselda? Perhaps you should mention such concerns to my dear husband."

Friselda, puffed up like a pigeon, glared, but it was all posturing for she said nothing more. Doubtless, though, she would carry some tale or other to the Regal later.

The guards in the gallery flung open the door and the herald announced the two envoys. "Proctor Gerelda Brantheld, Agent to the Pontifect of Va-faith, and her attendant, Master Peregrine Clary!"

Silence fell, almost a funereal hush, as the two walked forward to face her. Dear oak, what an unprepossessing couple! The woman was too tall to be fashionable, and although her face was attractive enough, she was too broad across the shoulders to be feminine. Besides, she strode into the room like a man. The lad was clumsy and coarse, wearing a sullen expression. They wore Lowmian clothing, but she had expected their garments to have been made of fine linen as befitted envoys, not ugly broadcloth more suitable for tradesmen.

Brantheld curtsied in a perfunctory, graceless fashion and the lad belatedly attempted a bow.

"Come forward," Mathilda commanded, "where I may see you better." Her heart was beating so fast, she wondered if they would hear it. Who were these people into whose hands the Pontifect had put her lifeand that of her son? Commoners, surely. Not even clerics!

The woman came closer and Peregrine followed her lead. "Your Grace," she said, "we are honoured to be granted this audience."

Mathilda nodded, then she turned her attention back to her ladies, saying, "Leave us alone. You may all await my pleasure in the retiring-room."

The ladies-in-waiting obeyed, but the ward's-dame did not budge and the nursemaid moved towards the cradle. Mathilda glared at them both, asking, "Did I suggest you take the Prince-regal with you, nurse? Leave him be. And you, Lady Friselda: this visitor has come from the Pontifect with spiritual guidance for me, as mother of the Prince-regal. You may safely leave us alone." She glanced back then at Peregrine. "Although perhaps it would be best if my ladies were to entertain this young man." She nodded at Peregrine.

He shot a look of entreaty at his companion, but she jerked her head at the door. Lady Friselda inflated her chest and hesitated as if she were about to argue. If so, she then thought better of it and beckoned to the lad. "Come this way, boy." Without looking behind to see if he followed, she sailed from the room.

"So," asked Princess Mathilda after they'd gone, "come sit here next to me so that we can be truly private." She waited until the woman had obeyed before adding, "Gerelda Brantheld. What message is it that the Pontifect has sent to me through a lawyer?"

"Your Grace, my designation is irrelevant. I am a trusted agent of the Pontifect of some years' standing. Whatever secrets exist are safe with me, now and in the future. After all, I amas you emphasisea lawyer."

"And can you say the same for a boy scarcely out of a suckling's smock?" The very thought sent terror coursing through her veins.

"Your Grace, I would trust the lad with my life. Indeed, I have done so. He is no ordinary child, and against all that is normal, he possesses a witchery. However, he knows nothing of twins. If you had not dismissed him, I would have done so. He is not privy to such matters."

She took a deep breath, partially mollified. Perhaps she was safe yet. Perhaps she would survive. Perhaps there was no traitor's wheel in her future. Still, she wanted explanations. She said, the steel in her voice intentional, "I sent word to the Pontifect immediately after my travail; what has taken her so long to send you to speak to me? Were my affairs not thought to be urgent? Perhaps the Pontifect should have come herself instead of sending her lackey. Did she not realise what is at stake here?"

"Your Grace, I am sure she did. Does. But it is no easier for a Pontifect to leave the seat of her power than it is for you to leave yours. In truth, without an invitation from the Regal, it would be impossible for her even to set foot in Lowmeer."

"So what took you so long?"

"Sorrel Redwing and your daughter did not arrive in Vavala. The Pontifect knew nothing of your predicament until recently. It's my understanding that Mistress Redwing was being hunted, and her one avenue of escape was a ship. Unfortunately, the ship was on its way to Karradar. She is not yet returned."

Her consternation burgeoned. "Karradar? But that is almost in the Summer Seas, surely! This is rattle-brained nonsense. How could you even know she was on board? And my daughter..." Incredulous, her thoughts churning, she stared at Gerelda. She clutched the arms of her chair tightly, thinking she was going to faint. For almost the first time, she felt something for the girl she had given birth to, for the baby she had sent away with such desperation. "Did... does my child have a wet nurse, then?"

"I imagine so, Your Grace, for she was alive and well, several sennights into the journey. She is accompanied by a witan who cares for them both. It was he who managed to send a message to the Pontifect."

"A witan?" Her bewilderment suddenly doubled. The only witan Sorrel had contact with before she'd left the castle that night was Saker. "Youyou can't mean Saker Rampion!"

The expression on the lawyer's face told her she was right. "Is this a jest? Rampion?"

Confused memories of that dreadful night she had given birth tumbled through her mind. Saker, inexplicably, had been there in the castle the night before. And if her memory served her truly, he had indicated he knew she was going to have twins. She should have demanded more answers of Sorrel, but her travail had been upon her, and nothing else seemed to matter. She and Sorrel and Aureen had been so scared...

Sweet acorns, what if Saker hates me? Va knows, he has reason and he knows too much about me.

Gerelda Brantheld was looking at her blankly. "Jest? No one is jesting in this matter, I assure you. Unfortunately, the Pontifect has not been able to examine the child, to see if there is aught ailing her by virtue of being a Lowmian-born twin."

Mathilda shook her head in disbelief. "You haven't explained how it is possible to send a message from the middle of the ocean. Do you think I am that gullible?"

"Apparently Witan Rampion has a witchery that involves birds. A written message was delivered by a bird."

"Saker has no witchery!"

"Your Grace, he was chained to a shrine oak tree on freezing high-country moors and survived. He now has a witchery."

She closed her eyes, trying to halt the tears that threatened. Oh, Va, how tangled the threads were becoming.

"Your Grace, the Pontifect's primary concern is the welfare of the Prince-regal. If there is a problem, it should be identified as soon as possible. This is why she sent Peregrine Clary with me. He has the ability to tell if Prince-regal Karel has any, er, issues that need the Pontifect's immediate attention."

She tried to clamp down on her emotions, but doubted that she was able to stop the horror she felt from showing on her face. "Thisthis commoner boy is going to tell me if the Prince-regal is a devil-kin?"

"Notnot exactly. All he will be able to see is whether Prince-regal Karel has been touched by something... corrupted. If there is no sign of such, then the Pontifect suggests checking again in a few years' time, just to make sure."

"And if he is, as you put it, corrupted?"

"The Prince-regal will grow up a perfectly normal child for about twelve years, possibly more. During that time, the Pontifect will find a way to cure him so the corruption never manifests itself. You have her promise on that."

"How does she know all this?"

"After he left Ardrone, Witan Rampion, together with some Lowmian clerics, was working on the matter of devil-kin and twin births here in Lowmeer."

She leaned back against her chair. A reprieve. If this woman was telling the truth. "Did the Pontifect give you a letter for me?"

"She did not dare to write down her advice in case the letter fell into the wrong hands. She told me to emphasise that Your Grace is not alone and that she will pursue this matter to a satisfactory conclusion for everyone concerned. For both your children and yourself. She also said you must put your trust in Va and the Way of the Oak or the Flow. There will be a solution."

"Perhaps," she said, losing her composure, "she should explain to me why Va allowed thisthis abomination of devil-twins to occur in the first place."

"I am not a cleric, Your Grace. That is a question for a person who has studied such things. For now, what the Pontifect recommends is that you allow Peregrine to look at your son. Depending on what he finds, the Pontifect will make decisions."

"My daughteris she to be examined by this Peregrine too?"

"When she returns to the Va-cherished Hemisphere, certainly."

"But only one of them will be this... this-" But she couldn't continue.

"We don't really know. I'm sorry, Your Grace, that we can't give you a more definitive answer at this time. The Pontifect has asked me to investigate the history of this whole question of Lowmian twins and devil-kin. That is the second reason that I was chosen for this job. I have already spent some time perusing documents kept inside Faith House. I didn't find much that was useful. The librarian did tell me that there are more books and papers and scrolls here in the castle library. I was wondering if it might be possible for me to have access to them. The Pontifect feels that answers may be found in Lowmian history."

Lowmian history.

Appalled, Mathilda froze. Sorrel knew about Bengorth's Law, of course; she'd been there when the Regal had informed her about the whole horrible deal between the first of the Vollendorns and A'Va. Sorrel was supposed to tell the Pontifect, but she hadn't yet met the Pontifect. She might have told Saker though, and he might have written it in the message to the Pontifect. Words committed to paper could damn her to the chopping block or the torture chamber. She tried to swallow back her growing terror.

So, the Pontifect might already know, but would she have told this woman about it?

Is that what this canker-worm of a female wants to research? Sweet Va, if the Regal ever finds out I told anyone, I'm dead, broken on a wheel and left for the birds to peck out my eyes.

"What else did the Pontifect tell you?"

Gerelda frowned slightly, as if the question puzzled her. "Is there something else I should know about, Your Grace?" she asked. "If we can pinpoint just how it happens, this process of subverting a twin into a devil-kin, perhaps we'll understand how to cure it."

"A cure." Her voice whispered oddly, like the steel of a blade drawn from a scabbard. A cure for Bengorth's Law? Or just for a devil-kin baby? She didn't dare ask.

"The Pontifect believes all things are possible in Va's name," Gerelda said, meeting her gaze without flinching.

"I'm not sure I know what a devil-kin is." She chose her words carefully. "I mean, people gossip. But really all they say is that devil-kin serve A'Va. How?"

"To separate the folk tales from the reality is one purpose of my research. One of the few things we know for a fact is that when twins are separated at birth, one of them, sometimes both of them, appear to be perfectly normal all their lives. The other often dies of the Horned Death, and possibly seeds those around himhis family, his village, his street in the townwith the same plague when he or she reaches the age of twelve or thereabouts. Unfortunately, a lot of the research evidence disappeared when the Institute of Advanced Studies was burned."

She looked down at Karel. Twelve years... No, no. It's not you, is it? It's her. The girl... It must be. "Was there no further message from the Pontifect?" she asked, glad to hear how calm she sounded.

"She told me to say that any transactions with A'Va are anathema to her. She believes your courage is unparalleled, and you will triumph because Va is on your side. Your line will continue, and she offers every support."

Va rot you! Did you just tell me the Pontifect has suspicions about who fathered the Prince-regal? She sat back, her fingers drumming on the padded arm of her chair as she breathed in, dragging air deep to keep her agitation from showing. Don't be such a dewberry, Mathilda. Of course the Pontifect knows about Saker. Fox would have told her, even if Saker hadn'ta pox on that whoreson of a Prime.

"And you want me to arrange for you to work in the castle library," she said, her voice level.

"Actually, Prime Mulhafen has applied to the castle librarian on my behalf. We are awaiting his reply. If you feel your support would help-"

"I doubt it. What reason did you give for this research?"

Gerelda gave her the faintest of smiles. "We are approaching the four hundredth anniversary of the ascent of the first Vollendorn to the Basalt throne. The Pontifect suggested that there be a celebration throughout the pontificate in honour of the Vollendorn line and their pious support of Va-faith and the Way of the Flow through the cen turies. Officially, my job will be to look at the history of the Basalt Throne in order to select the highlights for celebration."

"I see." She shrugged, as if she were only half-convinced. "If Prime Mulhafen doesn't obtain consent, I will broach the matter with the Regal."

"Thank you. Now, with your permission, shall I fetch Peregrine?"

Peregrine looked around the room full of women, appalled. He felt as clumsy and as unattractive as a turnip in a bowl of perfumed roses. The ladies-in-waiting clustered around him, wanting to know who he was, why he was there, where he came from, and everything else about him and Gerelda. His hands and feet were suddenly larger than normal. He stumbled over the leg of a chair, only saving himself by grabbing the nearest of the ladies by the elbow. A flush of heat rose from his neck to his cheeks.

At a loss about what to say, knowing he mustn't betray any secrets, he stuttered and stammered over noncommittal answers. He thought he detected disapproval and suspicion.

The aroma of the room overwhelmed him; not of the perfumes, but of scents he did not recognise. Tangy smells, pleasant but not sweet. When he glimpsed a lady with a pomander dangling from her wrist, he knew he was smelling spices that supposedly prevented the plague.

Still they hounded him with questions. "You've come from the Pontifect?"

"You're not Lowmian, are you?"

"Where do you come from?"

"Why did the Pontifect send a boy like you here?"

Flustered, he said, "I was born in Sistia."

The old lady stepped forward then. "Leave the lad alone! Where are all your manners, plaguing him so?"

The other women quietened in deference to her and he breathed a sigh of relief, thinking the interrogation would stop. He was wrong. The old lady was more subtle, but just as probing. Worse, he had the idea her interest was not just curiosity. She was suspicious. Tongue-tied, in the end he said nothing at all.

When he finally heard Gerelda's voice from the doorway asking for his presence, he bolted to her side and happily shut the door behind him as he left the room.

"We want you to give your attention to the baby in the cradle," Gerelda said, "and tell us what your witchery feels."

This was the moment he'd been dreading. Ever since he had entered the castle, he'd deliberately blocked his witchery from his thoughts, determined to feel nothing of the black smutch, even if it was there, until he was asked.

She led him forward to the crib and he looked down at the sleeping child wrapped in soft wool blankets and lace, fabrics so delicate and beautiful he felt it would have been sacrilege to touch them. He lowered all his barriers and reached out with his witchery sense.

For a sliver of time, this was just a baby, smelling of milk and lavender, the picture of contentment. Then he felt it, the tendril of contamination, of foulness. It was the most delicate of touches, nothing comparable to the foul heat of pitch-men, or to the deep darkness of Valerian Fox. This was just the merest breath of pitch, the softest of hints that all was not well. For one horrible moment, he was aware of a slurring, a warping, a twisting of innocence, and then it was gone. The child was just a baby, nothing more.

He drew in a shuddering breath.

"Well?" the Regala snapped. "What do you see?"

He shot a desperate glance at Gerelda.

"The truth, Perie," she said.

"Therethere is s-s-something. Something not right. A touch of pitch buried deep, not yet awoken. B-b-but it is there. I am sorry, Your Grace."

For a moment he thought the Regala might faint. She gripped the edge of the cradle tightly, her eyes closed. Then she snapped them open and her gaze switched from him to Gerelda and back again, a look filled with terrible rage.

He took a step back. Gerelda clutched his shoulder in warning.