Read Online The Spirit Lens by Carol Berg - Free Book Online Page B

quite as much as you do.”
    “Orviene has an indifferent reputation at Seravain,” I said, trying to add more pertinent information, “competent, reasonable, pleasant enough. He has never achieved a master’s rank. Gaetana has. She is reputed to be quite brilliant, but left teaching years ago, as she is more interested in research than students. Neither ever instructed me. They’ve resided in the queen’s household since the mortal illness of the infant Prince Desmond seven years ago. Gaetana returns frequently to Seravain for study and research. She is polite but never familiar, and, alas, it has never been my habit to pry into what mages study in my library.”
    “These two have apprentices, I presume,” said Dante.
    “Several, who seem to change quite often . . .”
    “Only Adept Fedrigo and Adept Jacard have been at court more than a year,” said Ilario. “Fedrigo is quite gentleman-like and ever helpful. I don’t know Jacard, as he is presently loaned out to some friend of my foster mother’s. The rest scurry about like ants, fetching and sweeping, or they disappear into the mages’ laboratorium for days at a time, only to reappear unkempt and entirely too exhausted to do a man a favor.”
    I dipped my head in acknowledgement and continued. “Neither the king nor Lord Ilario knows of any other mage with access to the queen’s household, and both have expressed a feeling that Orviene and Gaetana have . . . insinuated . . . themselves between the queen and her family. Unfortunately, the lady made it known to her husband, and thus to Michel de Vernase, that no one in her household would be available for questioning. Without more specific evidence linking her to the assault, the king is unwilling to contradict her in the matter.”
    Dante shrugged and drew his walking stick across his lap. “Dancing about tender feelings will never get you answers. Did these mages inquire about the spyglass? Hunt for it?”
    “Not that we know—which means very little. Evidently, Michel de Vernase never made any secret of his disdain for sorcery or his belief that a sorcerer planned the attack on the king. He tried to interrogate the Camarilla prefects without prior negotiation—a violation of the Concord de Praesta—and when refused, took his inquiries to Seravain. With such—”
    “The conte quite insulted poor Fedrigo,” blurted Ilario. “Called him a ‘trickster taking advantage of his station’ just because he makes these excellent charms for Eugenie’s friends.”
    “With such a bullheaded approach,” I concluded, “I doubt the conte could have learned the door warden’s name at Seravain. No one directed him to my library, I can tell you.”
    “But if no one saw the mule use the spyglass, why was it there at all?” said Dante.
    A good question that pricked not a hint of an answer in my mind. “The larger problem,” I said, “is that even if the queen allows her mages to be questioned, they’re not going to tell me—or any interrogator—the kind of information we seek. They’ll deny knowing the assassin. They’ll deny building instruments that show us the demesnes of the dead. They will most certainly deny any knowledge of transference or other prohibited practices. Thus we need someone to join their little consilium and learn what they’re about. Only a person of their own rank might have a chance to observe their practices and judge if they are capable of the sorcery we’ve seen.”
    I paused, awaiting the explosion. It came quietly, but with intensity that near knocked me off the stone bench.
    “You want me to pose as a court mage?” said Dante, blowing a derisive breath. “I thought you had a semblance of mind, Portier. My reputation is fairly earned. I’ve no manners. I know naught of bowing or titles or mouthing pleasantries to fools. You see my finest garments.” He spread his arms, his grotesque hand purple in the lamplight. “Hardly what’s expected of a queen’s