Heris reached to touch her hand. “Cecelia—milady—I don’t know how you did it, but it took incredible courage.”
Cecelia gave a harsh laugh, almost a croak. “No—not courage. Pigheaded stubbornness. I simply would not give up. And the advantage of being over eighty when something like that happens is that you have a lot of experience to remember. Not enough—it’s never enough—but a lot.”
“Do you think this person—Lorenza—intended to kill you?”
“Oh, no. She intended exactly what happened. She used to come visit, you know, and sit by my bed and whisper into my ear. ‘I did it,’ she would say. She never gave her name, and at that time I couldn’t figure out who it was . . . but it told me that someone had done it, and that—that helped. It gave me a target. I didn’t remember—the drug I was given was supposed to knock out short-term memory for the event—until one day after a long ride in therapy. I was suddenly there, where it happened, in Berenice’s drawing room, with Lorenza handing me a glass of fruit juice.” Cecelia stared at the ferns and flowers a long moment before going on. “She said that once, too: You’ll never ride again, Cecelia. You’ll never feel the wind in your face, never smell the flowers.”
Heris shivered in spite of herself. “She must be a terrible woman.”
“She’s the main reason I refused rejuvenation so long. We knew each other as children . . . and she began to have rejuv early, and often. She was obsessed with her appearance—and I admit, she’s a beauty, and always was. But the last time I saw her . . . that smooth young skin and glossy hair, and those ancient, evil eyes . . . I didn’t want to become that sort of person.”
“You couldn’t,” Heris said.
Cecelia smiled at her. “Heris, I love your loyalty, but one thing I have learned in my long eventful life is that anyone can change into anything. It takes only carelessness. My mistake was in confusing surface behaviors with the reasons behind them. It wasn’t rejuv that made Lorenza what she is—what she is propelled her to that many rejuv procedures.”
“Still, you would never—”
“I hope not. Certainly nothing that cruel. But if you put Lorenza and me in the same room? I could kill her. You know I can kill.”
Remembering Cecelia as she had been on Sirialis, when she shot the man who would have killed them both, Heris nodded. “For cause, you could. Maybe even in vengeance. But you would not ever torment someone as she tormented you—that I’m sure of.”
“Good. So far I feel no temptation that way, though I do have a strong urge to pull her blonde hair out by the roots.”
Heris had to laugh then. “So—when do we do just that?”
“I have one more round of neurological testing, and we want to be sure Sirkin’s fully recovered . . .”
“She’s younger than both of us, and recovers faster even without rejuv—”
“Good, then. Let’s go back and . . . er . . . clean house, shall we?”
Heris said, “There is the problem of the prince and his clone, or the clones and no prince. I accepted a mission from the king, as I explained to you—”
Cecelia scowled. “The medical reports haven’t straightened anything out?”
“Not really. All the tissue samples are identical. The clones believe—they told me—that they carry markers somewhere. But if these doctors can’t find them, who can? As for the mental limitations, both these clones perform at normal levels on tests. Not as high as you’d expect from a Registered Embryo, but not as low as you’d expect from the prince, judging by what we saw on the way back from Sirialis.”
“What do the clones say now? Have you talked to them since you got back?”
“No—have you?”
“Once, yes. Heris, I believe in my heart that the young man with us—Gerald A., as you called him—was the real prince. Their prime. I can’t give you any reason that would make sense except an old woman’s intuition. But remember how he and Ronnie both fell on that gas grenade?”
“If that was the prince.”
“It was. Everything that’s happened since proves it. Neither the king—nor Lorenza, I believe—would go so far to protect a mere clone; if a clone fails, you get rid of it. My point is that along with Gerel’s undeniable witlessness he had great and generous gallantry. A meaner boy, stupid or bright, would not have done what he did. And when Skoterin threatened Sirkin—the moment the weapon swung toward her and away from me—Gerald A. did the same thing. In the same style. Generous, brave, and incredibly stupid. It provoked her to shoot; she might not have fired, and your Petris might have killed her before anyone else got hurt. I think that was no clone; I think that was the prince himself.”
“But he had seemed more sensible at times . . . on the voyage with the others.”
“Think, Heris. If they were protecting him, if they knew his problem, they would shift about, so that you could not be sure which one you spoke to—you’d have to ask. Couldn’t that be it? Or perhaps all that time without the drug began to reverse the dullness.”
“But if that’s true, then I’ve failed in the mission the king gave me. And what do we do with the clones?”
“I’ll tell you what we don’t do. We don’t take them back to be discarded or killed by someone who would let his own son be ruined. Go talk to them. I told them what I thought; they didn’t say much. They may to you. If they are the clones, and Gerel is dead, I will not let you take them on my ship. I don’t want their ruin on my conscience.”
Brun had no intention of staying safely at home on the family’s estates. They knew who had poisoned Lady Cecelia; they had figured out that the prince had also been slowly poisoned, and that the same method had been used on George for a short time. She and Ronnie and George were ready, the moment Buttons and Sarah arrived, to do battle with the minions of evil.
“Whoa,” Buttons said. “You haven’t thought it all out.”
“What’s to think?” George said. “The woman’s a menace: she poisoned me, and then the prince, and then Lady Cecelia, and maybe a dozen others—”
“Why?”
“Why? I suppose . . . I guess . . . she likes poisoning people.”
“George, you’re sounding about as intelligent as you did in your bad term. I have some missing links you’d better add to your chain of evidence. You mentioned Gerel being excited after visits from his brothers . . . do you remember any more?”
“No.” George sounded grumpy. He hated being interrupted.
“I do.” Buttons stood and paced around the big library. “It annoys all of you when I remind you I’m older . . . but it matters. You were in school with each other and Gerel; I was in school with Gerel’s older brother, Nadrel.”
“Who was killed in a duel; we know that.”
“Shut up, Ronnie. That’s only part of it. Because I was his friend, I got to know the oldest, and don’t bother to tell me you know Jared had been accepted as Successor by the Grand Council. That happened our last year in school; it was terribly exciting, and I got to attend, with Nadrel. But what I didn’t know—because Jared had said I was too stuffy and priggish and would spill the beans—was that Jared had been groomed by some of the Familias to head a rebellion. Nadrel knew, of course . . . and they dragged in poor young Gerel, who worshipped his oldest brother. And it was Gerel who spilled the beans . . . to you, George.”
“I—I don’t remember.” George looked stunned, as if a rock had landed on his head.
“No—you wouldn’t, if they drugged you. I don’t suppose you told anyone intentionally—you had a certain innate cunning even then—but your father got wind of it, and he told the king. That assassination—”