Midnight Fire (A Jagiellon Mystery Book 2) by P.K. Adams

Author:P.K. Adams [Adams, P.K.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Historical Fiction
Publisher: Iron Knight Press
Published: 2020-10-05T16:00:00+00:00

* * *

With still no word from Opaliński, I went to supper in the banqueting hall early, before the biggest crowd gathered, which usually happened after seven o’clock on those nights there was a feast. The duke did most of his entertaining on Fridays, Saturdays, and Sundays, although since Barbara’s arrival in his life these revels were said to take place more frequently.

It was Friday, but when I arrived, I saw a half-full hall and no musicians. The mood struck me as subdued, at least compared to last Sunday’s festivities when I had first seen Barbara. The food, too, was less elaborate. No stuffed swans or sugar unicorns this time. Instead, there were platters of roasted duck, and the pungent smell of fish stew filled the air. Oranges, apples, candied walnuts, and bowls of quince dessert lay ready to lure the lovers of sweet things.

Most likely, this simplicity stemmed from Zygmunt’s absence. I had no doubt that rumors were already circulating. These diners would amplify and distort the tales, then take them to the baths and into the town.

I sat next to a middle-aged Polish noblewoman married to a Lithuanian lord. Upon learning that I had come to Vilnius for a consultation with Doctor Nascimbene, she proceeded to regale me with a litany of her own ailments. I strongly suspected most of them were imaginary, given the woman’s solid figure and the appetite with which she devoured her duck and chewed on slices of oranges before licking the juice off her fingers.

With feigned attentiveness, I listened to the miracles performed on her person by the Italian physician. I nodded occasionally as I scanned the faces around the hall. Eventually, she turned her attention to the person on her other side, leaving me free to study the diners. Was Milda’s killer among us, partaking of the duke’s generosity even as he or she plotted to destroy his happiness? I did not see any of the Habsburg emissaries—had they left the city, or would they arrive at the supper late, and which would be more suspicious? I found that I could not answer these questions. The killer had used poisoned wine from Spain, a Habsburg domain, and had carelessly left the kitchen door unlocked; other than that, I had few clues to go on. It was possible, I thought grimly, that our quarry’s identity might never be known.

A commotion at the door alerted me to a new arrival, and I was surprised to see Rudy Radziwiłł. Why was he not with his sister, who, given the duke’s absence from the public for the second day in a row, must still be unwell?

The duke’s secretary Rotundus and the florid-faced courtier Piotr Frikacz came in with Rudy, and the three of them proceeded to the high table and took their customary seats, talking in low voices among themselves. Rudy showed no signs of yesterday’s fury, and he surveyed the gathering with a pensive air. Apprehension had replaced last Sunday’s confidence, robbing him of his air of a courtier about to reach the pinnacle of influence.

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