Chapter 12

MAY 18TH AT THE DESCHAMPS HOME

M ay 18th

Saturday evening, Vitus joined his mother in the drawing room while they waited for Papa and Lucas to return. Papa had had some business in Trellech, and had promised to meet Lucas at the train station in good time for supper. Vitus was making himself useful as a tool for the winding of yarn.

Or, more precisely, Mama was winding yarn. Vitus was holding his hands a steady length apart, deep red yarn looped around them, while Mama wrapped it up into a ball. She had begun by wrapping it around her fingers, and now she was twisting the ball this way and that. They had been talking about nothing much in particular, before his mother asked, “What was it like living outside the Pact?”

It was a question Vitus had thought about a great deal, but one he’d barely discussed. Niobe had her own experience travelling on the Continent, but it had been a decade before, and with all the constraints of being a woman of the age and class that required a constant chaperone. Hers had been magical, of course. But it meant that she had never ended up alone, needing to deal with whether she might reveal her magic by accident. Vitus, on the other hand, had walked miles across various cities, exploring all sorts of places.

And in truth, it had taken some getting used to on his return. The Pact was the great triumph of Albion. In 1484, King Richard - the Third, but in Albion, he was so often just Richard, the only one who mattered like that - had made a great treaty. Those humans with magic would leave the Fatae alone, other than some specifically negotiated places like the Belin in the mines, or those who tended particular groves and ancient portals. And in turn, the Fatae would not lead mortals astray, and they had taught Albion a number of magical skills, including the crafting of portals, half a dozen healing techniques that saved lives every week, and various protections. They were bound by the Pact, what Vitus’s teachers at Schola had described as a country-wide geas, made real and whole by each and every person sworn to it.

Within Albion, if someone attempted to use magic near the non-magical, anything they might understand as true magic, the Pact would stop them. That person’s greatest fear would rise up inside them as a warning. If they did not, if they pressed on, fear was a powerful distraction and motivation all by itself. Sometimes, rarely, people died of it, pushing through the fear to some foolish action. But in the main, it worked well. And if a few people of Albion lived through chaos by what looked like pure luck, that wasn’t revealing magic, not in and of itself.

“It was different. It’s odd being back. Walking around Trellech, where all the magic is visible, all the time.” He used his right thumb to nudge a strand of the yarn into a better position to unfurl. His mother tugged gently at it as she kept winding her ball. He found that satisfying in a way he didn’t know how to describe, a particular physical contact between them. “It took getting used to, on the Continent. But it was easy enough for me. You know I’ve never been prone to a lot of show about it unless I’m working. And that part was all in magical workshops. No worries there.”

“And people who have magic just - do what?” Mama glanced up at him.

“They live their lives. Mostly in their own little facets of the world. They see these families socially and not those, and if you don’t have magic yourself, you’d never know they did. Sometimes it causes a difficulty when a girl falls in love with a boy, or a boy with a girl, and they’re from different sorts of families.” Vitus looked up at that, and that was a mistake, Mama definitely noticed.

“There’s a story there, then? I hope with a happy ending?” Mama blinked once, then she looked back down at her hands. The shift of the red yarn was rather hypnotic. Soothing, in a particular way, as well as practical.

“Oh, when I was in Florence. Not the Rossi, I was working with Marco Rossi. But a cousin of theirs, Marco’s parents are the head of the family. Gianni, he fell for a young woman, Renata Casini. He had magic, of course, like you’d expect, and she didn’t. The families didn’t trust each other much. They didn’t have all the other connections that made a match sensible to anyone who wasn’t twenty and madly in love. Also lust.” Vitus had to smile. He’d heard this story from both Marco and Renata while he was there, complete with the replicated tirades of several sets of aunts and multiple grandmothers.

“And what happened, dearest?” Mama glanced up again.

Vitus shifted a little in his chair. There was noticeably less yarn between his hands now, and more give as a result. “In the end, Marco’s family had her - just her - over for supper, suitably chaperoned by a woman both families knew. They explained it to her. They had a potion ready, one that blurs the memory for a few hours. She was reasonable and delighted there was a simple enough solution. Her parents know now, she said, but they treat it as a folk custom that works, as much as anything.”

That part confused Vitus, though of course he hadn’t said so to them. Coming from Albion, it felt like a dangerous risk, and one that could come back and bite like a viper without warning. “And now, she doesn’t have magic herself, but her children seem likely to - they’re still a bit young to be sure. And they’re thrilled. She could get Marco’s brother apprenticed. His magic isn’t very strong, but he’s turned into a grand smith, making door hinges and latches of all things. But Florence needs a lot of them. They do wear out.”

“Oh, well. The dears.” Mama, Vitus was clear, would be quite happy to have grandchildren of her own, sooner rather than later. A moment later, she confirmed that. “You could think about marrying now. Or if not marrying, at least see who you might make a match with.”

“You are putting the cart before the horse, Mama, in your fondness.” Vitus kept his voice even. It wasn’t her fault she’d touched a sore spot. “I need to establish myself before I’d feel able to commit to supporting a wife. Even if she were also a crafter, with her own work, as seems likely.” At least, that was the way the sensible logic ran. “And besides, a lot of the women I’d be interested in are already betrothed or married, or they’re still finishing their own apprenticeships.”

Mama peered over her glasses at him. “Have you been counting them up, then? When you go to your club or about your day?”

He had, actually. “I am human, Mama, and I do hope to marry.” Now he looked down. “Some of them are not for me, though.” Vitus cleared his throat. Then there was absolutely no good way to finish that sentence.

Lucas saved him in the end. Behind him, there was a clatter of sound, the door opening, Lucas swooping in. “Mama, you look well. Vitus, you look well occupied. How are you both? Papa’s just putting his things away. He’ll be five minutes.”

“Mama was encouraging me to marry, or at least look at likely prospects.” Vitus said, while Mama picked up the ball of wool she’d dropped in her skirts and wound the last bits up more quickly. “If you meet any likely women, do introduce us?”

“It seems unlikely, but I will indeed. Anything for my brother.” Lucas clapped him heartily on the shoulder. “I need to make the last train, but that gives us a few hours. What sort of things are you looking for in a wife, then, beyond a tolerance for your being late to supper?”

“I am entirely on time today,” Vitus said, with some attempt at dignity. He couldn’t help thinking of Mistress Lytton-Powell - Thessaly - yesterday, though, her face popping into his head as entirely unavailable and yet also a fair bit of what he thought he might want. She was beautiful, and that was relevant - he was a man who loved beautiful things, his work was making useful things also beautiful or beautiful things also useful. But that wasn’t what mattered. She was clever and opinionated and undeniably skilled at her own magical arts. She had taste, which absolutely did not reliably run with the magical skill, as he knew all too well from his own work. And she, for whatever reasons she had, seemed to enjoy his company.

He certainly couldn’t forget the moments he’d touched her. She hadn’t shifted away from his touch either time. There had been something steady there, in her magic, in her person, even when she’d just nearly toppled off the steps. It had simply been comfortable for him, and he shouldn’t allow himself to want more of that, no matter what she said about being inside her agreements. Wanting wouldn’t get him anywhere good.

He said, after a moment. “Cleverness, kindness, competence of her own, whatever her form of magic might be. A good eye for beauty and the world, noticing things.” Vitus glanced up at his brother. “I did mention to Mama that most ladies who might suit are already betrothed or married, or enough younger they are not yet done with their own apprenticeships.”

“I will think about it. Who knows, perhaps something will come to me late at night.” At that point, Papa came down, and they went into supper. Late that night, once Mama and Papa had both retired, Vitus offered to walk his brother back down to the station. He could use the time to think.

They walked in silence until they were on the road. Lucas cleared his throat. “Is there anyone, then? Suitable or unsuitable?”

“Already promised elsewhere. She made it clear a conversation was no problem.” He cleared his throat. “And she offered to consult with me on a project.” Vitus thought for a moment about not saying more, but he’d already come this far. “Thessaly Lytton-Powell. Betrothed to Childeric Fortier, but she was rather fierce about not being immured in a tower because of it.”

“Huh.” Lucas considered that. “She duelled at Schola. Not in public much. She had private tutoring. I wouldn’t have known about it, but Harald Totham was in her sessions. He’d talk about it sometimes. He was a couple of years ahead of me, in Boar, you remember? She was good, even by his standards, and he’s been around some of the best, given his family. What’s she doing besides the betrothal, then?”

“Illusion work. Didn’t I tell you about the gala?” Vitus glanced at his brother. The moon hadn’t quite risen yet, so he had a lantern with a charmlight, set to look like a candle from any distance at all.

Lucas paused for a step, turning toward him. “You didn’t mention a name. Someone like her, then. Clever. Competent. A different sort of magic than yours, but illusion. She’d appreciate the art of the thing, wouldn’t she? We don’t give you enough of that at home. Papa and I do tend to the functional.” Lucas considered, and Vitus braced himself for his brother to ask more about her. Instead, Lucas changed the topic. “Is Mama intending another scarf for me, do you know? The chaps will mock me if it’s that red.”

“For the orphans, or whoever needs one, I’m fairly sure. But she didn’t say. I’ll find out.” Vitus considered his brother. “Something more sombre would be appropriate?”

“Black would do, or a grey. I can’t wear it in uniform, anyway. Or if you wanted to encourage her to a blanket, I could use one of those come winter. There are draughts, and I can only magic away so many before someone notices. That could have some bright in it, make the place a little more cheerful. I’ve a room of my own now.”

“That’s got to be a delicate balancing act. I could probably do you some talismans that would keep them from your bed. Or something of the kind. Let me think about that. I might need to experiment.”

“Best of brothers.” They were most of the way to the station. Lucas patted his shoulder again, and they shifted over to talking about nothing terribly obviously magical. It gave them a little to catch up on the latest personal news of various cousins.