"Huh?" Miriam stared at her. "What are you trying to tell me? He's a rapist? Wouldn't there be some kind of…" She trailed off, a sick realization stealing over her.
"He's the heir to the throne," Brill said, clearly and slowly, as if talking to a young and rather stupid child. "He has, as a duke in his own right, the right of summary justice. The only lord with the authority to hear a case against him is his own father. Such a case would depend upon the plaintiffs and the witnesses living long enough to bring suit. This is not America, Miriam. There, if the rich and powerful want to get away with murder, they must pay lawyers and judges. Here, they are the judges." Her expression brightened. "Having said that, if the crown prince tried to use such as you or I for sport, he could expect the full weight of the Clan to oppose him. Likely, even his father would disown him. You are not some peasant."
Miriam shuddered. "And if he comes to power?"
"He won't move against us." There was a hard edge to Brilliana's voice. "He may be wicked, but he isn't stupid. We are like your America in some ways: our king rules by the will of the people-at least, the people who count. The succession has to be ratified by the landsknee, the dukes and barons. If he offends too many of them, he risks his coronation." Her expression softened. "But please, make sure someone knows if he menaces you again. Otherwise…"
"I get the picture." Miriam nodded jerkily. Jesus, is Egon some kind of serial killer? Or am I misunderstanding something, and it's just hardball politics? Somehow the idea that her encounter with Egon was simply political business as usual didn't make sense. "What about the Queen Mother?"
"Oh, she's safe," Brill said dismissively. "She's family, after a fashion." She paused, looking thoughtful. "And she noticed you? Ha. It can't be about Egon, he's already earmarked for an alliance with the Nordmarkt, which means-Creon? She aims to put him into play?" She looked distant for a moment. "A royal match would seem fantastical, upon its face, but-"
"Not a hope," Miriam said, tight-lipped. "I mean that."
"But are you…?" Brilliana paused, taking in Miriam's expression. "You would reject it?" she asked, wondering aloud. "You would reject a match, uncountenanced, to such a high estate?" For a moment she was starry-eyed, before practicality reasserted itself. "It would hamper your plans, true-"
"In spades," Miriam said grimly. "And in case you'd forgotten, we're not talking a prize catch, here, we're talking sloppy seconds. The one everybody calls the Idiot, to his face." She clenched her hands between her knees. "Not enough that Roland had to get himself killed, but this-"
"I'm sorry, my lady!"
"I don't blame you," Miriam said, startled out of her gloomy introspection. "Don't ever think I blame you!" Brilliana had been there when Roland was killed, in that terrible minute in the duke's outer office with Matthias's psychotic bondsman. If Brill had gotten there faster, or if Roland hadn't tried to play the hero, if she hadn't been there, a lure for him- "This is not about you," she said. Roland she might have married, giving her tacit consent to being bound into the Clan's claustrophobic family structures. "I'm not planning on marrying anyone, ever again," Miriam added bleakly. Anything else would be too much like an admission that she was absolutely part of the Clan. Miriam had read about Stockholm syndrome once, the tendency of hostages to come to identify with their abductors. It was a concept uncomfortably close to home: sometimes her new life felt like a perpetual struggle not to succumb to it.
Brilliana adroitly changed the subject. "Would it please you to volunteer for an additional corvée? I can whisper to the duke that it would do you well to walk outside this pit of vipers."
"If you think he'd go for that," said Miriam.
"He will, if he believes you are being schemed around." She frowned. "One other thing I would suggest."
"Oh? What's that?"
"That you invite your mother to dine with you in private. As soon as possible." Brill paused. "If she refuses, that will tell you everything you need to know."
"If she refuses-" Miriam stopped dead. "That's ridiculous!" she burst out. "I know she's been grumpy since being forced out of isolation, but she already said she didn't blame me. I haven't done anything to offend her, she's my mother! Why wouldn't she come to visit me?"
"She might not, if she is being blackmailed." Brill stood up. "Which would fit the other facts of your situation, milady. There's enough of it about." Her tone was crisp. "Meanwhile, shall we retire to the morning room? You must tell me all about your encounter with her majesty."
Letters were written and invitations issued. But as events turned, Miriam did not get the chance to talk to her mother in private-or to dine with the baron-over the next few days. The evening of Brill's arrival, two summonses arrived for her: an invitation to a private entertainment at the royal court, hand-scribed in gold ink on vellum by a second secretary of the honorable lord registrar of nobles, and a formal request for her services, signed by the lord high second chamberlain of the Clan Trade Committee.
Of the two, the court summons was more perplexing. "This is a dinner invitation," Brill explained, holding the parchment at arm's length between two fingertips. "The closed company. It is open to the royal household and their closest hangers-on and friends, only about sixty people, and there will be a private performance by, oh, some entertainers." A theatrical troupe, or a chamber orchestra, or, if the royal family were feeling particularly avant garde, a diesel generator, a VCR, and a movie.
"Will the Crown Prince be there?" Miriam asked tensely.
"I don't know. Possibly not; he hunts a lot in summer. But you need to attend this. To decline the invitation would require a most serious indisposition." Brill looked nervous. "It does not wait upon your disposition, thus attendance is mandatory. I can come along, should you require me."
"I'd be scared to attend without you," Miriam admitted. "How large a retinue can I take?"
"Oh, to escort you there, as many as you like-but inside? One or two, at the most. And"-Brill glanced askance at the doorway-"Kara would be delighted to go, but might prove less than reliable." Kara was running some errand or other, arranging an evening meal or scaring up some more servants or perhaps simply taking time by herself.
"Uh-huh. And this other?" Miriam held up the other invitation.
"I was not expecting it so promptly." Brill's brow wrinkled. "You would, perhaps, like to return to Boston from time to time?" She smiled: "I believe it is probably the baron's little joke on you, to ensure that you see as much of it as you want, with a sore head, in a borrowed cellar."
"Uh. Right." Miriam grimaced. "But the royal-"
"She wants to see you," Brill said firmly. "What else could it be? You don't ignore the Queen Mother's whim, milady, not unless you are willing to risk the next one being delivered by a company of dragonards."
"Ah. I see." Miriam peered at the letter. "When is it for?"
"Next Sun's Day Eve… good. There will be plenty of time to attire you appropriately and prepare you for the company." Brill frowned minutely. "But the second chamberlain desires you to present yourself before him tomorrow. Perhaps I should look to your preparations for the royal court while you attend to your corvée?"
Miriam took a deep breath then nodded. "Do that. Mistress Tanzig has held custody of my wardrobe in your absence, Kara managed to sort me out with the use of one of the livery coaches, and if I'm away you can prepare written notes for me while I'm gone." She looked at the window pensively. "I wonder where he wants me to go?"