By the time everyone had met back up at The Roost and exchanged information, it was a fair way into the afternoon. On the rationale that they likely wouldn't have any luck at the courts and they had nothing to really confront Lady Elodie with, all four of them planned to make the trip to the Costanzas' home to visit. That was probably for the best; both of them were likely to have information worth knowing, and in truth, Estella was a little bit worried about them. Someone had been willing to at least risk implicating Lady Fiorella in Julien's purported treason, and he and Sabino were quite close friends. If the content of the documents they'd found in the false drawer bottom had anything to do with all of this, Sabino was quite possibly in just as much danger.
But she didn't want to get ahead of herself here. The Costanzas were friends, of a sort, especially Sabino, and she didn't want to upset them without a good reason. Hopefully, they'd be able to relay something helpful, and she was sure they'd assist as much as they were able, but it was probably better if that was the extent of their involvement in all of this.
Their home was perhaps only a couple of miles from Julien's. On foot, it didn't take too long from The Roost either; Estella had found pretty early on that within the bounds of closer districts, walking tended to get her places much faster than taking a coach. It might have been better to ride, but then they'd have needed to impose upon each new location for somewhere to put the horses. Not to mention it was just... less discreet in general.
The Ambassador's home was a tidy, three-story one tucked into its own little corner of the district. An Antivan flag hung proudly from the gate, making it rather unmistakable whose house it was. Even from as far out as the gate, Estella could smell the fragrance of the gardens, something she knew Lady Fiorella and Corinne both took great pride in. Unlike at Julien's, they weren't immediately recognized, which didn't surprise her. Still, it didn't take much more than her name and the word Inquisition to get them through, and they were ushered in to an elaborate, colorfully-appointed foyer within only a few minutes of their arrival.
“Estella—ah, but Lady Inquisitor now, I believe. And others of the Inquisition. Welcome." The speaker greeted them from the top of the stairs, wearing a light smile. Fiorella Costanza was unmistakably Antivan in appearance, from the coppery hue of her complexion to the rich brown of her hair and the bold red, yellow, and green of her gown. She went unmasked in her own house, of course, and descended the stairs with light jingling noises, the result of the jewelry she wore at her ears, wrists, and likely ankles as well.
Estella curtsied politely, though she doubted she really needed to, strictly speaking. “Lady Fiorella. Thank you for seeing us. You've been well, I hope?" Unlike with Gauvain, there were a certain number of courtesies that should probably be observed here, at least before they really settled into business.
“For the most part, yes. I can see you have been, too—you're looking rather hale, I must say." She reached a polite distance from the group and stopped. “But I don't think you're here just to catch up, so I'll forestall asking for now if you promise to regale me with the whole story some other time." She tilted her head, earrings tinkling softly with the motion.
“Of course I will." Estella smiled. “But...you're right. We're actually here about Julien. We were hoping to speak to both you and Lord Sabino, if that's all right?"
The news did not seem to come as particular shock to Fiorella; she only nodded like she understood. “Of course, dear. Sabino's in his library, of course. It's up the stairs, and then the last door on your right. Siena, would you go tell him to expect visitors, please?" She directed the last to the woman who'd initially opened the door for them, who nodded, darting up the stairs with the all the alacrity of a young servant. “The rest of you are welcome to come take a turn with me in the garden; I do believe the violets are coming in."
“Lovely as that sounds, I do believe I should head upstairs." Cyrus glanced between the others. “Vesryn, you still have those other papers, don't you? Perhaps they'd be pertinent to our discussion."
Rilien, on the other hand, took a spot next to Estella, a clear indication that he intended to go with her back outside. Likely, he wasn't especially pleased that they'd be out in open space at a juncture of this potentially-dangerous nature, but if there was anyone who'd know exactly what to look for in terms of signs of danger here, it would be him.
With that settled in a minimally-fussy way, Estella was left to return her attention to Lady Fiorella, who held out an arm in a companionable sort of fashion. She looped her own through it, and they headed out into the garden, Rilien close behind.
“I suppose you'll be wanting to know about the trial, then." Fiorella clicked her tongue, shaking her head faintly. “An ugly business, that. Radical or not, he deserved more of a trial than he received."
Estella tilted her head, adjusting the length of her stride to account for the fact that her companion was only about as tall as Khari. “You think there was something wrong with the proceedings themselves?" Surely the solution to their conundrum couldn't be as easy as filing a motion to have it declared a mistrial.
Fiorella sighed gustily. “Oh, no, I'm afraid it was nothing so obvious. Everyone acted within the bounds of the law, just... at the very edges, if you know what I mean. They couldn't have compressed things any more if they tried. Lord D'Artignon's barrister did as well as he could, but the judge hardly seemed interested in letting him speak. The evidence was all introduced properly, but hastily, and then of course there was the Duchess's testimony." She frowned, a look of open distaste crossing her features.
“I take it she took full advantage of her opportunity to speak freely against him?" Rilien prompted the Ambassador to continue without adding much himself. She was speaking freely enough; perhaps he thought that all they needed to do for now was let her do it. Of course, the economy of his words might have had more to do with the fact that he was keenly studying the garden walls.
Nevertheless, he seemed to be right. Fiorella glanced back at him for a moment, then nodded, resuming her forward pace. They were nearing the center of the gardens, where the violets were indeed blooming, amidst other flowers that bloomed well in Orlais's winters. They weren't as forgiving as those of the Ambassador's native Antiva, but they weren't especially bad until around the time the year changed, and there was still a month or so left before that happened. Just ahead, Estella could see Corinne, Lady Fiorella's mistress, trimming a few of the rosebushes. She waved, but didn't attempt to intrude upon the conversation.
“She did. Though..." Fiorella sighed again. “Nothing she said was untrue exactly, just said in absolutely the worst way possible." Her lips pursed momentarily, though it did not smear the deep red paint she'd applied to them. “His tendencies towards independence became a vicious streak of anti-crown sentiment. His business dealings with nonhumans became a deplorable lack of both common sense and pride as an Orlesian, that sort of nonsense. As you might expect, she focused a fair bit on his personal indiscretions."
Estella snorted. “Indiscretions? He hasn't done anything that's not perfectly ordinary by court standards, surely." She had a hard time seeing how his rather... libertine attitudes towards certain parts of life were any different from those adopted by a large number of his peers. Orlais was a country where being a noble's lover was a respected, perfectly acceptable social position to occupy, as Lady Fiorella and Corinne proved. Nothing Julien did without being married should have made the court blink.
“Well..." Fiorella enunciated it cautiously. “It wasn't so much anything he'd actually done as what she made seem likely given what they already know about him. If a man thinks commoners and elves the equals of nobility, say they, in what other ways might he be willing to treat them the same? While of course that happens in other cases, it's not acceptable in the same way."
...Right. It wasn't as though she'd forgotten, exactly, how unacceptable people found such things everywhere. It occurred to Estella for a moment that the court would have two very distinct reasons to despise her on that front. One for what she was, and another for who she'd chosen to involve herself with. If even the barely-substantiated rumor of such a thing could do so much damage to a reputation... she grimaced.
“Was anything else of the proceedings of note?" Rilien brushed a finger over the petals of a chrysanthemum, apparently absorbed by study of it for all of a few seconds before he was once again scanning the surroundings with wary eyes. “His sentencing was swift as well. Were you present for that?"
The Ambassador hummed, then shook her head. “No, I'm afraid not. I'm sure you know it was the Empress who handed the sentence down; death isn't an unsurprising punishment given the conviction, but death less than a week from the sentencing is quite unusual. The famous and infamous are usually made much more spectacle of than that."
Estella couldn't help but feel that this was a rather horrendous observation, but Lady Fiorella did have a point by it. Still, it wasn't anything they didn't already know. Celene didn't like him—that had been true for years, since before he'd even become Marquis. His own theory about why she might have rushed the execution was damning, but as he'd pointed out, it was just speculation. She wasn't sure how much value there was in chasing it.
“How did the presentation of evidence strike you?" Rilien spoke quietly from behind, where Estella could sense him not far from her elbow. “Did the case strike you as coherent?"
That gave Fiorella a moment's pause. She bent, cutting a chrysanthemum from the cluster of them. With a deft motion, she tucked it behind Rilien's pointed ear. “You ask good questions." The seriousness of the assessment was rather ruined by the playfulness of the gesture, but she sobered enough to answer it properly, even if she couldn't quite suppress the smile on her face.
“But... it did seem a little bit like they were throwing everything they could find at him and trying to make something stick. It was impossible for me to say how much of it was true or false. Well. Except the letter, as I received no such thing. Besides, for all its flaws, and all of his, Julien loves Orlais. The idea that he'd want to sell secrets, or that he'd think I'd be interested in purchasing them, is absurd. Unfortunately, no one was really inclined to agree when I said so."
Rilien removed the flower from behind his ear, expression invariant. For a moment, he blinked at it, then smoothly lifted his hand to Estella's hair. She could feel the stem of the bloom slide into her braid, at the left side. “I see." For all that, he continued the conversation without missing a beat. “Our thanks for your cooperation, Lady Costanza."
Estella lifted her hand to touch it, finding the petals pleasantly soft. She almost certainly looked silly, but elected to leave it there anyway.
Fiorella smiled at the both of them. “Oh, you're most welcome, of course. I'm sure Sabino will keep those friends of yours a while longer yet. Let me show you the wisteria in the meantime; I've got it growing up the whole side of the house now." She paused, her expression shifting to something more sympathetic. “I promise not to keep you any longer than that; I know your business is pressing."
It probably wouldn't hurt. Cy and Ves would surely know just as well as she would what questions to ask Sabino, and though she would have liked to see him, this was hardly a social call. There would be time for that when this was done, if all went well. And... probably even if it didn't, though that would be a rather different situation, and probably not the sort where she'd be wanting to make casual visits.
“...All right, then. Lead the way, Lady Fiorella."
Cyrus led the way up the stairs, really only because he'd been closer to them to begin with. He had the letters Stellulam had procured with him if they became necessary, but likely to be of more value were the documents Vesryn had. If this Lord Sabino could tell them what it was all about, they might have the first clue of any great substance to what exactly had landed Julien in that cell to begin with. It was beginning to seem too complex to simply be a political rivalry—if it were really something like that, it would make much more sense to just... send an assassin. From what the others had mentioned of how he ran his household, it seemed that servants were permitted to wander as they liked. Slipping a Bard in would likely not have been that difficult.
He wondered if there was then some reason why this, his 'fair' trial and condoned execution, was preferable. He couldn't figure out why that might be just yet, but it didn't seem as straightforward as mere dispute. But perhaps if he'd somehow come to know something he was not meant to... well, it was worth checking, anyway. Besides, if Lord Sabino kept the letters in question, they might provide a better handwriting reference against which to check his copy of the evidence. There was more than one thing to be gained here, assuming the Ambassador's husband was amenable to the questions.
Cyrus padded over the carpet runner, reaching the last door on the right and raising his hand to knock before he stepped back.
The servant girl, Siena, had already left, it seemed, but the answer from the other side was prompt, suggesting that the library's occupant had indeed been forewarned of their arrival. When the door opened, they were greeted by a rather distinguished-looking man, all sharp grey eyes and angular features. His hair was rather well-kept, longer than most noblemen favored these days, a beard of the same black beginning to come in on his face.
“Hm," he said, raising both brows. “Not who I was expecting, I admit. But welcome, strangers. Please come in. Siena says you're here about Julien." He stepped aside to allow them both to do just that.
The library deserved its name; not unlike Gemma's, it was appointed with floor-to-ceiling shelves, but that was about where the similarity ended. They were all pristinely free of dust, but crammed overfull with tomes, loose parchments, and even a few older-looking scrolls. The entire room smelled like aged paper and cedar, the latter no doubt from the incense burner sitting on the sill of an open window, its shutters pushed out to allow afternoon sunlight to pour in and settle quietly on the floor. A lean Antivan hound, nearly all legs and neck, rested right in the middle of it, raising her head to glance at the visitors, then lowering it back down to her front paws.
“Sabino Costanza, at your service. Excuse the mess; my classes at the university will be ending for the term soon, and I fear I've let organization fall by the wayside for the moment." He settled into an armchair, grouped with several others, and took up a pipe on the side table right next to it with the appearance of great ease. “Please, make yourselves comfortable."
Cyrus saw no reason to decline, so he didn't, lowering himself into the other and offering an arm across the space for the other man to shake. “Cyrus Avenarius. A pleasure." He actually meant it; clearly the man was an academic, and that was something Cyrus was familiar with, and welcomed in his company. Letting go of Sabino's hand, he sat back more comfortably in his chair.
"Vesryn Cormyth. Likewise." Vesryn was a bit slower in finding his seat out of the need to deposit his weapon somewhere acceptable, but he offered and received the same handshake when he came over, taking up a chair of his own. "We're assisting Stel in investigating Julien's conviction, looking for anything that might help. As I understand it you're a friend of his, and you spoke regularly?"
“I am, and we do," Sabino confirmed. “I used to get out to Arlesans more often, actually, though the new post at the school has kept me from doing that as much as I'd like recently." He lit the pipe with a match, holding it down into the bowl until the tobacco caught, then shaking it out with a sharp flick of his wrist. “These days we mostly write, unless he's in the city for business."
A little plume of smoke curled into the air from the end of the pipe, naturally carried away from their conversation and towards the window. Sabino exhaled more from his nose in a long, slow breath. “There's a lot I could say about him, but unless I'm misreading you, you already have some idea of what you want to ask, so I'll just let you." He offered a wry half-smile.
Cyrus considered that a moment, then removed the copy of the letter he'd received from Gemma and Eugène, handing it over to Sabino. “I'm guessing you'd know quite well what his handwriting looks like. Does this seem familiar to you?" He supposed he could have just asked Stellulam to compare it to the one she'd received, but if anyone was likely to be able to spot a difference, a much more frequent correspondent would be the ideal choice.
Eyes widening slightly with interest, Sabino leaned forward to take the parchment, sitting back again with the letter held loosely in one hand. “Ah, so this is the one supposedly addressed to Fia, right?" He didn't actually seem to require an answer, scanning down the parchment with his eyes several times. He pursed his lips around the pipe stem, then shook his head.
“It's... similar, but not quite the same, I don't think. Mind you, I'm no expert, but I could give you one of his other letters for comparison, if you know someone who can do that kind of thing. More importantly, the diction's off. Julien's phrasing is considerably more..." He spent a moment searching for the right word. “Well, learned, if you know what I mean. This seems like someone having a go at being fancy without really being precise. Not a mistake he makes, I can assure you."
He handed the letter back to Cyrus, and shook his head. “Also, and this might not mean much, but it's pretty ridiculous to suppose that he'd try to sell secrets to Fia. She wouldn't want them, and he'd know that, even if he were of some bizarrely-criminal frame of mind."
"Speaking of letters," Vesryn said, steering the subject somewhat gently. "Stel and I visited Julien's house earlier today. Gauvain helped us find a letter there, from you. I apologize for the breach of privacy, but considering that Julien's life is at stake..." He let the rest of the statement go unsaid, seeming to think it would speak for itself. He pulled out the letter in question, as though to prove his words, though Sabino likely did not need to see it to know what he wrote.
"I was hoping you might be able to provide some context, or perhaps Julien's own correspondence. You mentioned a 'Vauclain matter' as well as an 'Alienage connection.' What was Julien looking into?"
Sabino paused to think about it, expression thoughtful. “I do remember what you're talking about, yes. It was some time ago, but Julien was looking into a few matters that he felt were all related. He wasn't entirely sure of the nature of the connection, but he wanted me to look into a suspicion he had." He took a slow draw from his pipe before continuing.
“The Vauclain matter was the trial and exile of a chevalier, Ser Jacques Vauclain. He was brought up on charges of fraud and something called capital deception, which is a charge unique to Orlais, only used when someone has fabricated their ancestry in some way. Vauclain, the courts found, had paid Le Mage du Sang a significant amount to forge the necessary documents for him to enter the Academie." Sabino crossed one ankle over his other leg. “The strange part was that capital deception usually earns a death sentence, or something similarly nasty. Vauclain was exiled, to a rather nice parcel of private land in Nevarra, apparently. Julien wanted to know why."
“Then what about Victor Travere?" Cyrus crossed his arms, more because it was comfortable than out of any sense of confrontation. Quite the opposite; he doubted Sabino had much of anything to hide from them, or much of any motive to make the attempt. He was far too relaxed for someone in a tenuous position. “He's dead, if the announcement is anything to go by. Did Julien believe it was falsified or something?"
Sabino huffed softly, almost the beginning of a laugh, but his more measured demeanor returned quickly. “No, no; he's really dead. And he was quite old at the time as well, so it wasn't even that unusual. Julien wouldn't let it go, though: he was seeing some sort of connection between Lord Travere's death and Vauclain's exile." Humming thoughtfully, the professor shook his head. “There is one, as I discovered, but it's quite... tenuous. You see, Lord Travere was a member of the Empress's inner circle of advisors. A holdover from Emperor Florian's era, in fact, though most considered him among the saner of politicians from that particular generation. Now the inner circle isn't a formalized institution—officially, all the decisions the Empress makes are her own. But she cannot be everywhere and know everything, and so from time to time she relies upon the... expertise of others."
The way he inflected the word 'expertise' left considerable room for skepticism, most likely on purpose. “Now of course, I wasn't there at the time, and those who were are quite mum on the subject. But rumor has it that Lord Travere was the one to first float the idea of purging Val Royeaux's Alienage as a method of dealing with the insurrection that was supposedly going on there." Sabino's brows furrowed. “It is, on the other hand, a known fact that Vauclain was given the task of leading it. Probably because he was the highest-ranking chevalier that would have been willing to. He was a senior field marshall at the time, and in charge of the Val Royeaux garrison."
A darker look had passed over Vesryn's features at the shift in the discussion to the purging of the Alienage. It wasn't hard at all to tell how he felt about such a thing, or even that there was no small amount of personal offense taken. He crossed his arms, lifting one leg to rest it on his other knee. "So this Vauclain leads the slaughter, and then... gets put aside, out of the country, somewhere nice, quiet, and comfortable. Somewhere he can live out his days in peace, and tell no one in Orlais of his experiences." He tilted his head sideways somewhat, resting his jaw in his hand. "I may be mistaken, but it seems to me Celene chooses to dispose of her problems in a variety of ways, depending on who and what they are."
Sabino's expression did not change, but he gave a tight little nod. “You aren't the only one that thinks so. The exposure of Vauclain's fraud forced her to sentence him. Too light or not, it removed him from her service. And... if it turns out that Travere was killed by something other than natural causes, then someone removed him from her confidence. Julien suspected that the two events were not coincidental. I wasn't sure about this myself, but it does make a certain amount of sense. If true, someone out there is playing the Game very well, apparently on behalf of the Alienage." He lifted his shoulders.
“A few of us would be very interested to meet that someone, by virtue of like-mindedness. But most would prefer that someone's removal. In any case, it wasn't nearly enough to say anything with certitude. Julien's investigation may well have continued beyond my involvement, but I'm not sure how anyone else could have come to know about it. He was being exceptionally discreet last I knew."
“Interesting." Cyrus rubbed at his jaw with a hand. “There's a bit of an odd piece left, though, I think. The weapons shipment. If Julien wasn't responsible for the theft—and it seems unlikely he was—do you have any idea who did it? Was it connected to the rest of this business?" It wasn't every day a cargo of that size simply disappeared. With as many nobles as surely had fingers in the black market around here, that it had apparently vanished beyond all ability to track was quite something. But maybe that was just because people were forgetting to look right under their bloody masked noses.
“It's possible." Sabino didn't seem sure. “I confess, all I really know about that matter is that it looked like the work of bandits and that the weapons in question were small arms. Concealable blades, blowdarts, that kind of thing. Not what you'd usually equip your private army with, but I suppose the details don't matter much in rushed trials with predetermined verdicts, do they?" He slouched a little further into his seat, eyes flickering towards the window for a moment. They could hear voices outside, quiet enough not to interrupt, but easy enough to pick out as those belonging to Estella and the Ambassador. Perhaps their walk had taken them around this side of the house.
"Not weapons for soldiers," Vesryn agreed, "but certainly arms for spies or agents. If the civil war is anything to go by, lots of swords don't necessarily equate to any efficient change." He uncrossed his legs, not seeming entirely satisfied, though that could just have been from the subject matter involved in the discussion. "Seems to me we should ask around the Alienage about all of this. Not sure if we've any better leads. The hahren there might be willing to talk to me."
“Might be worth stopping in to see Julien as well. We should have the time, and he might be able to tell us what we're looking for, now that we have better questions for him." The investigation didn't seem immediately connected to an unrelated noble's attempt to frame him, but the connection via the weapons was too important, Cyrus thought, to ignore. Perhaps Julien, having made more progress since last speaking to Sabino, would be able to guide their search, even if it did take them to the Alienage eventually.
For now, it seemed like the best thing to do was collect the others and be on their way. They'd imposed long beyond typical social call time, essentially upon strangers, even if they were Estella's friends in some sense. The sun would set soon; likely the rest of this would have to happen tomorrow. It was the last day remaining before the execution, and Cyrus did not want to risk cutting into the time they'd need to deal with the official annoyances of a large bureaucracy. Especially not one that would probably attempt to obstruct them.
But she didn't want to get ahead of herself here. The Costanzas were friends, of a sort, especially Sabino, and she didn't want to upset them without a good reason. Hopefully, they'd be able to relay something helpful, and she was sure they'd assist as much as they were able, but it was probably better if that was the extent of their involvement in all of this.
Their home was perhaps only a couple of miles from Julien's. On foot, it didn't take too long from The Roost either; Estella had found pretty early on that within the bounds of closer districts, walking tended to get her places much faster than taking a coach. It might have been better to ride, but then they'd have needed to impose upon each new location for somewhere to put the horses. Not to mention it was just... less discreet in general.
The Ambassador's home was a tidy, three-story one tucked into its own little corner of the district. An Antivan flag hung proudly from the gate, making it rather unmistakable whose house it was. Even from as far out as the gate, Estella could smell the fragrance of the gardens, something she knew Lady Fiorella and Corinne both took great pride in. Unlike at Julien's, they weren't immediately recognized, which didn't surprise her. Still, it didn't take much more than her name and the word Inquisition to get them through, and they were ushered in to an elaborate, colorfully-appointed foyer within only a few minutes of their arrival.
“Estella—ah, but Lady Inquisitor now, I believe. And others of the Inquisition. Welcome." The speaker greeted them from the top of the stairs, wearing a light smile. Fiorella Costanza was unmistakably Antivan in appearance, from the coppery hue of her complexion to the rich brown of her hair and the bold red, yellow, and green of her gown. She went unmasked in her own house, of course, and descended the stairs with light jingling noises, the result of the jewelry she wore at her ears, wrists, and likely ankles as well.
Estella curtsied politely, though she doubted she really needed to, strictly speaking. “Lady Fiorella. Thank you for seeing us. You've been well, I hope?" Unlike with Gauvain, there were a certain number of courtesies that should probably be observed here, at least before they really settled into business.
“For the most part, yes. I can see you have been, too—you're looking rather hale, I must say." She reached a polite distance from the group and stopped. “But I don't think you're here just to catch up, so I'll forestall asking for now if you promise to regale me with the whole story some other time." She tilted her head, earrings tinkling softly with the motion.
“Of course I will." Estella smiled. “But...you're right. We're actually here about Julien. We were hoping to speak to both you and Lord Sabino, if that's all right?"
The news did not seem to come as particular shock to Fiorella; she only nodded like she understood. “Of course, dear. Sabino's in his library, of course. It's up the stairs, and then the last door on your right. Siena, would you go tell him to expect visitors, please?" She directed the last to the woman who'd initially opened the door for them, who nodded, darting up the stairs with the all the alacrity of a young servant. “The rest of you are welcome to come take a turn with me in the garden; I do believe the violets are coming in."
“Lovely as that sounds, I do believe I should head upstairs." Cyrus glanced between the others. “Vesryn, you still have those other papers, don't you? Perhaps they'd be pertinent to our discussion."
Rilien, on the other hand, took a spot next to Estella, a clear indication that he intended to go with her back outside. Likely, he wasn't especially pleased that they'd be out in open space at a juncture of this potentially-dangerous nature, but if there was anyone who'd know exactly what to look for in terms of signs of danger here, it would be him.
With that settled in a minimally-fussy way, Estella was left to return her attention to Lady Fiorella, who held out an arm in a companionable sort of fashion. She looped her own through it, and they headed out into the garden, Rilien close behind.
“I suppose you'll be wanting to know about the trial, then." Fiorella clicked her tongue, shaking her head faintly. “An ugly business, that. Radical or not, he deserved more of a trial than he received."
Estella tilted her head, adjusting the length of her stride to account for the fact that her companion was only about as tall as Khari. “You think there was something wrong with the proceedings themselves?" Surely the solution to their conundrum couldn't be as easy as filing a motion to have it declared a mistrial.
Fiorella sighed gustily. “Oh, no, I'm afraid it was nothing so obvious. Everyone acted within the bounds of the law, just... at the very edges, if you know what I mean. They couldn't have compressed things any more if they tried. Lord D'Artignon's barrister did as well as he could, but the judge hardly seemed interested in letting him speak. The evidence was all introduced properly, but hastily, and then of course there was the Duchess's testimony." She frowned, a look of open distaste crossing her features.
“I take it she took full advantage of her opportunity to speak freely against him?" Rilien prompted the Ambassador to continue without adding much himself. She was speaking freely enough; perhaps he thought that all they needed to do for now was let her do it. Of course, the economy of his words might have had more to do with the fact that he was keenly studying the garden walls.
Nevertheless, he seemed to be right. Fiorella glanced back at him for a moment, then nodded, resuming her forward pace. They were nearing the center of the gardens, where the violets were indeed blooming, amidst other flowers that bloomed well in Orlais's winters. They weren't as forgiving as those of the Ambassador's native Antiva, but they weren't especially bad until around the time the year changed, and there was still a month or so left before that happened. Just ahead, Estella could see Corinne, Lady Fiorella's mistress, trimming a few of the rosebushes. She waved, but didn't attempt to intrude upon the conversation.
“She did. Though..." Fiorella sighed again. “Nothing she said was untrue exactly, just said in absolutely the worst way possible." Her lips pursed momentarily, though it did not smear the deep red paint she'd applied to them. “His tendencies towards independence became a vicious streak of anti-crown sentiment. His business dealings with nonhumans became a deplorable lack of both common sense and pride as an Orlesian, that sort of nonsense. As you might expect, she focused a fair bit on his personal indiscretions."
Estella snorted. “Indiscretions? He hasn't done anything that's not perfectly ordinary by court standards, surely." She had a hard time seeing how his rather... libertine attitudes towards certain parts of life were any different from those adopted by a large number of his peers. Orlais was a country where being a noble's lover was a respected, perfectly acceptable social position to occupy, as Lady Fiorella and Corinne proved. Nothing Julien did without being married should have made the court blink.
“Well..." Fiorella enunciated it cautiously. “It wasn't so much anything he'd actually done as what she made seem likely given what they already know about him. If a man thinks commoners and elves the equals of nobility, say they, in what other ways might he be willing to treat them the same? While of course that happens in other cases, it's not acceptable in the same way."
...Right. It wasn't as though she'd forgotten, exactly, how unacceptable people found such things everywhere. It occurred to Estella for a moment that the court would have two very distinct reasons to despise her on that front. One for what she was, and another for who she'd chosen to involve herself with. If even the barely-substantiated rumor of such a thing could do so much damage to a reputation... she grimaced.
“Was anything else of the proceedings of note?" Rilien brushed a finger over the petals of a chrysanthemum, apparently absorbed by study of it for all of a few seconds before he was once again scanning the surroundings with wary eyes. “His sentencing was swift as well. Were you present for that?"
The Ambassador hummed, then shook her head. “No, I'm afraid not. I'm sure you know it was the Empress who handed the sentence down; death isn't an unsurprising punishment given the conviction, but death less than a week from the sentencing is quite unusual. The famous and infamous are usually made much more spectacle of than that."
Estella couldn't help but feel that this was a rather horrendous observation, but Lady Fiorella did have a point by it. Still, it wasn't anything they didn't already know. Celene didn't like him—that had been true for years, since before he'd even become Marquis. His own theory about why she might have rushed the execution was damning, but as he'd pointed out, it was just speculation. She wasn't sure how much value there was in chasing it.
“How did the presentation of evidence strike you?" Rilien spoke quietly from behind, where Estella could sense him not far from her elbow. “Did the case strike you as coherent?"
That gave Fiorella a moment's pause. She bent, cutting a chrysanthemum from the cluster of them. With a deft motion, she tucked it behind Rilien's pointed ear. “You ask good questions." The seriousness of the assessment was rather ruined by the playfulness of the gesture, but she sobered enough to answer it properly, even if she couldn't quite suppress the smile on her face.
“But... it did seem a little bit like they were throwing everything they could find at him and trying to make something stick. It was impossible for me to say how much of it was true or false. Well. Except the letter, as I received no such thing. Besides, for all its flaws, and all of his, Julien loves Orlais. The idea that he'd want to sell secrets, or that he'd think I'd be interested in purchasing them, is absurd. Unfortunately, no one was really inclined to agree when I said so."
Rilien removed the flower from behind his ear, expression invariant. For a moment, he blinked at it, then smoothly lifted his hand to Estella's hair. She could feel the stem of the bloom slide into her braid, at the left side. “I see." For all that, he continued the conversation without missing a beat. “Our thanks for your cooperation, Lady Costanza."
Estella lifted her hand to touch it, finding the petals pleasantly soft. She almost certainly looked silly, but elected to leave it there anyway.
Fiorella smiled at the both of them. “Oh, you're most welcome, of course. I'm sure Sabino will keep those friends of yours a while longer yet. Let me show you the wisteria in the meantime; I've got it growing up the whole side of the house now." She paused, her expression shifting to something more sympathetic. “I promise not to keep you any longer than that; I know your business is pressing."
It probably wouldn't hurt. Cy and Ves would surely know just as well as she would what questions to ask Sabino, and though she would have liked to see him, this was hardly a social call. There would be time for that when this was done, if all went well. And... probably even if it didn't, though that would be a rather different situation, and probably not the sort where she'd be wanting to make casual visits.
“...All right, then. Lead the way, Lady Fiorella."
Cyrus led the way up the stairs, really only because he'd been closer to them to begin with. He had the letters Stellulam had procured with him if they became necessary, but likely to be of more value were the documents Vesryn had. If this Lord Sabino could tell them what it was all about, they might have the first clue of any great substance to what exactly had landed Julien in that cell to begin with. It was beginning to seem too complex to simply be a political rivalry—if it were really something like that, it would make much more sense to just... send an assassin. From what the others had mentioned of how he ran his household, it seemed that servants were permitted to wander as they liked. Slipping a Bard in would likely not have been that difficult.
He wondered if there was then some reason why this, his 'fair' trial and condoned execution, was preferable. He couldn't figure out why that might be just yet, but it didn't seem as straightforward as mere dispute. But perhaps if he'd somehow come to know something he was not meant to... well, it was worth checking, anyway. Besides, if Lord Sabino kept the letters in question, they might provide a better handwriting reference against which to check his copy of the evidence. There was more than one thing to be gained here, assuming the Ambassador's husband was amenable to the questions.
Cyrus padded over the carpet runner, reaching the last door on the right and raising his hand to knock before he stepped back.
The servant girl, Siena, had already left, it seemed, but the answer from the other side was prompt, suggesting that the library's occupant had indeed been forewarned of their arrival. When the door opened, they were greeted by a rather distinguished-looking man, all sharp grey eyes and angular features. His hair was rather well-kept, longer than most noblemen favored these days, a beard of the same black beginning to come in on his face.
“Hm," he said, raising both brows. “Not who I was expecting, I admit. But welcome, strangers. Please come in. Siena says you're here about Julien." He stepped aside to allow them both to do just that.
The library deserved its name; not unlike Gemma's, it was appointed with floor-to-ceiling shelves, but that was about where the similarity ended. They were all pristinely free of dust, but crammed overfull with tomes, loose parchments, and even a few older-looking scrolls. The entire room smelled like aged paper and cedar, the latter no doubt from the incense burner sitting on the sill of an open window, its shutters pushed out to allow afternoon sunlight to pour in and settle quietly on the floor. A lean Antivan hound, nearly all legs and neck, rested right in the middle of it, raising her head to glance at the visitors, then lowering it back down to her front paws.
“Sabino Costanza, at your service. Excuse the mess; my classes at the university will be ending for the term soon, and I fear I've let organization fall by the wayside for the moment." He settled into an armchair, grouped with several others, and took up a pipe on the side table right next to it with the appearance of great ease. “Please, make yourselves comfortable."
Cyrus saw no reason to decline, so he didn't, lowering himself into the other and offering an arm across the space for the other man to shake. “Cyrus Avenarius. A pleasure." He actually meant it; clearly the man was an academic, and that was something Cyrus was familiar with, and welcomed in his company. Letting go of Sabino's hand, he sat back more comfortably in his chair.
"Vesryn Cormyth. Likewise." Vesryn was a bit slower in finding his seat out of the need to deposit his weapon somewhere acceptable, but he offered and received the same handshake when he came over, taking up a chair of his own. "We're assisting Stel in investigating Julien's conviction, looking for anything that might help. As I understand it you're a friend of his, and you spoke regularly?"
“I am, and we do," Sabino confirmed. “I used to get out to Arlesans more often, actually, though the new post at the school has kept me from doing that as much as I'd like recently." He lit the pipe with a match, holding it down into the bowl until the tobacco caught, then shaking it out with a sharp flick of his wrist. “These days we mostly write, unless he's in the city for business."
A little plume of smoke curled into the air from the end of the pipe, naturally carried away from their conversation and towards the window. Sabino exhaled more from his nose in a long, slow breath. “There's a lot I could say about him, but unless I'm misreading you, you already have some idea of what you want to ask, so I'll just let you." He offered a wry half-smile.
Cyrus considered that a moment, then removed the copy of the letter he'd received from Gemma and Eugène, handing it over to Sabino. “I'm guessing you'd know quite well what his handwriting looks like. Does this seem familiar to you?" He supposed he could have just asked Stellulam to compare it to the one she'd received, but if anyone was likely to be able to spot a difference, a much more frequent correspondent would be the ideal choice.
Eyes widening slightly with interest, Sabino leaned forward to take the parchment, sitting back again with the letter held loosely in one hand. “Ah, so this is the one supposedly addressed to Fia, right?" He didn't actually seem to require an answer, scanning down the parchment with his eyes several times. He pursed his lips around the pipe stem, then shook his head.
“It's... similar, but not quite the same, I don't think. Mind you, I'm no expert, but I could give you one of his other letters for comparison, if you know someone who can do that kind of thing. More importantly, the diction's off. Julien's phrasing is considerably more..." He spent a moment searching for the right word. “Well, learned, if you know what I mean. This seems like someone having a go at being fancy without really being precise. Not a mistake he makes, I can assure you."
He handed the letter back to Cyrus, and shook his head. “Also, and this might not mean much, but it's pretty ridiculous to suppose that he'd try to sell secrets to Fia. She wouldn't want them, and he'd know that, even if he were of some bizarrely-criminal frame of mind."
"Speaking of letters," Vesryn said, steering the subject somewhat gently. "Stel and I visited Julien's house earlier today. Gauvain helped us find a letter there, from you. I apologize for the breach of privacy, but considering that Julien's life is at stake..." He let the rest of the statement go unsaid, seeming to think it would speak for itself. He pulled out the letter in question, as though to prove his words, though Sabino likely did not need to see it to know what he wrote.
"I was hoping you might be able to provide some context, or perhaps Julien's own correspondence. You mentioned a 'Vauclain matter' as well as an 'Alienage connection.' What was Julien looking into?"
Sabino paused to think about it, expression thoughtful. “I do remember what you're talking about, yes. It was some time ago, but Julien was looking into a few matters that he felt were all related. He wasn't entirely sure of the nature of the connection, but he wanted me to look into a suspicion he had." He took a slow draw from his pipe before continuing.
“The Vauclain matter was the trial and exile of a chevalier, Ser Jacques Vauclain. He was brought up on charges of fraud and something called capital deception, which is a charge unique to Orlais, only used when someone has fabricated their ancestry in some way. Vauclain, the courts found, had paid Le Mage du Sang a significant amount to forge the necessary documents for him to enter the Academie." Sabino crossed one ankle over his other leg. “The strange part was that capital deception usually earns a death sentence, or something similarly nasty. Vauclain was exiled, to a rather nice parcel of private land in Nevarra, apparently. Julien wanted to know why."
“Then what about Victor Travere?" Cyrus crossed his arms, more because it was comfortable than out of any sense of confrontation. Quite the opposite; he doubted Sabino had much of anything to hide from them, or much of any motive to make the attempt. He was far too relaxed for someone in a tenuous position. “He's dead, if the announcement is anything to go by. Did Julien believe it was falsified or something?"
Sabino huffed softly, almost the beginning of a laugh, but his more measured demeanor returned quickly. “No, no; he's really dead. And he was quite old at the time as well, so it wasn't even that unusual. Julien wouldn't let it go, though: he was seeing some sort of connection between Lord Travere's death and Vauclain's exile." Humming thoughtfully, the professor shook his head. “There is one, as I discovered, but it's quite... tenuous. You see, Lord Travere was a member of the Empress's inner circle of advisors. A holdover from Emperor Florian's era, in fact, though most considered him among the saner of politicians from that particular generation. Now the inner circle isn't a formalized institution—officially, all the decisions the Empress makes are her own. But she cannot be everywhere and know everything, and so from time to time she relies upon the... expertise of others."
The way he inflected the word 'expertise' left considerable room for skepticism, most likely on purpose. “Now of course, I wasn't there at the time, and those who were are quite mum on the subject. But rumor has it that Lord Travere was the one to first float the idea of purging Val Royeaux's Alienage as a method of dealing with the insurrection that was supposedly going on there." Sabino's brows furrowed. “It is, on the other hand, a known fact that Vauclain was given the task of leading it. Probably because he was the highest-ranking chevalier that would have been willing to. He was a senior field marshall at the time, and in charge of the Val Royeaux garrison."
A darker look had passed over Vesryn's features at the shift in the discussion to the purging of the Alienage. It wasn't hard at all to tell how he felt about such a thing, or even that there was no small amount of personal offense taken. He crossed his arms, lifting one leg to rest it on his other knee. "So this Vauclain leads the slaughter, and then... gets put aside, out of the country, somewhere nice, quiet, and comfortable. Somewhere he can live out his days in peace, and tell no one in Orlais of his experiences." He tilted his head sideways somewhat, resting his jaw in his hand. "I may be mistaken, but it seems to me Celene chooses to dispose of her problems in a variety of ways, depending on who and what they are."
Sabino's expression did not change, but he gave a tight little nod. “You aren't the only one that thinks so. The exposure of Vauclain's fraud forced her to sentence him. Too light or not, it removed him from her service. And... if it turns out that Travere was killed by something other than natural causes, then someone removed him from her confidence. Julien suspected that the two events were not coincidental. I wasn't sure about this myself, but it does make a certain amount of sense. If true, someone out there is playing the Game very well, apparently on behalf of the Alienage." He lifted his shoulders.
“A few of us would be very interested to meet that someone, by virtue of like-mindedness. But most would prefer that someone's removal. In any case, it wasn't nearly enough to say anything with certitude. Julien's investigation may well have continued beyond my involvement, but I'm not sure how anyone else could have come to know about it. He was being exceptionally discreet last I knew."
“Interesting." Cyrus rubbed at his jaw with a hand. “There's a bit of an odd piece left, though, I think. The weapons shipment. If Julien wasn't responsible for the theft—and it seems unlikely he was—do you have any idea who did it? Was it connected to the rest of this business?" It wasn't every day a cargo of that size simply disappeared. With as many nobles as surely had fingers in the black market around here, that it had apparently vanished beyond all ability to track was quite something. But maybe that was just because people were forgetting to look right under their bloody masked noses.
“It's possible." Sabino didn't seem sure. “I confess, all I really know about that matter is that it looked like the work of bandits and that the weapons in question were small arms. Concealable blades, blowdarts, that kind of thing. Not what you'd usually equip your private army with, but I suppose the details don't matter much in rushed trials with predetermined verdicts, do they?" He slouched a little further into his seat, eyes flickering towards the window for a moment. They could hear voices outside, quiet enough not to interrupt, but easy enough to pick out as those belonging to Estella and the Ambassador. Perhaps their walk had taken them around this side of the house.
"Not weapons for soldiers," Vesryn agreed, "but certainly arms for spies or agents. If the civil war is anything to go by, lots of swords don't necessarily equate to any efficient change." He uncrossed his legs, not seeming entirely satisfied, though that could just have been from the subject matter involved in the discussion. "Seems to me we should ask around the Alienage about all of this. Not sure if we've any better leads. The hahren there might be willing to talk to me."
“Might be worth stopping in to see Julien as well. We should have the time, and he might be able to tell us what we're looking for, now that we have better questions for him." The investigation didn't seem immediately connected to an unrelated noble's attempt to frame him, but the connection via the weapons was too important, Cyrus thought, to ignore. Perhaps Julien, having made more progress since last speaking to Sabino, would be able to guide their search, even if it did take them to the Alienage eventually.
For now, it seemed like the best thing to do was collect the others and be on their way. They'd imposed long beyond typical social call time, essentially upon strangers, even if they were Estella's friends in some sense. The sun would set soon; likely the rest of this would have to happen tomorrow. It was the last day remaining before the execution, and Cyrus did not want to risk cutting into the time they'd need to deal with the official annoyances of a large bureaucracy. Especially not one that would probably attempt to obstruct them.