Chapter 23

JUNE 20TH AT DINAS EMRYS, THE COUNCIL KEEP IN WALES

T he Council Keep was glowing with light and filled with people. They spilled out from the keep itself into the walled courtyard, the charmlight lanterns leaving very few shadows. Of course, Thessaly took in the shadows as well as the light. She was a duellist, after all, and while she didn’t expect to call on those skills - not in this gown - she couldn’t avoid thinking that way.

Childeric, on the other hand, was blithely chatting away here and there. He kept stopping every two or three steps to talk to someone new, tugging Thessaly back and forth on his arm. She couldn’t drop his. That was improper, but she hated how he didn’t even seem to notice he was making it difficult for her. It was the first of the Council rites since their betrothal, though, and it meant she collected quite a bit in the way of formal congratulations. Also, more than a few glances that were at least somewhat envious, but that was to be expected here and now.

Once they made it inside, Childeric deposited her with his mother and grandmother while he went off to find his father and line up for the proper presentations. He had claimed the token gift for the presentation. This summer, the gift was a box holding a series of ritual tools carved and decorated from a Sussex cow horn. It was generally considered a relatively neutral material for the purpose.

The presentations went smoothly enough, at least. Everyone knew how to keep things flowing. There were near a hundred and fifty demesnes to go through. Even if there were a number of quite young Heirs present, they had fathers - or the occasional other relative - to guide them. It was an excellent opportunity to chat quietly and an even better one to decide who to save a dance for, or to arrange to talk to later. Dagobert and Laudine Fortier were already working on that. She’d seen them chatting with three or four other couples, a few minutes each time, before moving on. It was deft, and Thessaly appreciated watching their skill in action.

Finally, the presentations were done and Childeric came over as the music struck up for the dancing. “Of course I’ll claim the first dance, Thess. As soon as the Council has trod the patterns, do come.” On the one hand, there was no reason to be on her feet for the extra time. On the other, Thessaly enjoyed watching the Council Members dance. It was a series of ritual dance steps, flowing from period to period, style to style.

As usual, Hereswith Rowan, the Council Head, led things off with her husband. He was gallant with her, as he always was, a shift of bows and courtesies. But Thessaly had noticed how he watched his wife, with unfeigned adoration. Council Head Rowan gave less away by her look and seeming. She was steady, hard to sway by shallow needs, but determined to follow through.

Aunt Metaia was paired for the dancing with cousin Owain Powell. They’d been a year apart at Schola, and despite being somewhat distant cousins as the Great Families counted it, had got on well ever since. As Aunt Metaia put it, he wasn’t the sort of family for the more intimate gatherings, but the next step out, and she knew what to expect from him. Watching her now, she also liked him, and that was something Thessaly hadn’t really noticed before.

She seemed to have some particular comment for him tonight, because at least once, Thessaly caught an odd expression on his face, like Aunt Metaia had said something unexpected. Then he’d swing her around in the curves of the dance, and when they were facing back toward Thessaly, the moment had passed. The dancing finished, and he brought her up to end in front of Thessaly and Childeric. Childeric made his bows, very proper, very charming, pulling out the charm for them he hadn’t bothered with for Thessaly. Now Aunt Metaia had called her attention to it, she couldn’t stop seeing the problem.

Instead, Childeric swung her into the dance, the sort of showy thing that led off the general dancing. She had to focus on keeping up with him and making sure they both looked good. That was not only her feet, but the shimmer of illusion magic that drew the eye to them. Nothing forbidden in this space, of course not. She’d checked the list with Aunt Metaia well in advance, of what was permitted, what was welcome, and what was neither.

Once that was done, he deposited her outside the dancing floor, kissing her on the cheek. “Save a dance for me later, Thess. I’ve people to have a word with.” He disappeared off into the crowd, and while she was tempted to keep that eye-catching illusion up so she could spot him easily herself, it seemed far too much like undesirable effort.

It left her on her own to decide what to do. She could see Council Head Rowan had paused. Aunt Metaia had come up to Council Head Rowan and Rowan’s companion, Bess Marley, who occupied the socially complex position that was part organisation, part company, and part assistant. A moment later, Mistress Marley broke off from the two of them in search of someone else. That was not for Thessaly.

Across the room, she could see Childeric’s mother, Lady Maylis, glance his way, then turn back to her conversations with Leda Grimly and Griselda Warren. Both their husbands were on the Council, and both couples had been invited to the May Day celebrations, a sign of a closer connection. Or a desire for one, and Thessaly wasn’t entirely sure which way that went, actually. She waited a moment to see if Lady Maylis wanted Thessaly to join them, but apparently not.

Thessaly could mingle in search of a dance partner. She could chat with people about either her apprenticeship or duelling. She set off on a stately circuit of the large hall, toward those not dancing yet. At that point, she caught sight of the Edgartons, and she did, in fact, have something to ask Richard. He was seventeen, just finished his fourth year at Schola.

Thessaly made a polite bob to Richard’s mother first. Lady Edgarton was an imposing figure. She was Lord Edgarton’s second wife, later in his life, something over thirty years younger than he was, married to produce an heir. They were civil in public, but Lord Edgarton generally found plenty of reasons to be elsewhere, given the opportunity, leaving Richard to tend to his mother’s whims.

“Lady Edgarton, a pleasure.” The way to handle formidable women of her generation was a certain amount of formality and lashings of giving due deference. “Richard, also a pleasure to see you here. I was talking to Alexander Landry last week about some of the Duelling Club events this year at Schola. Perhaps I might ask you to escort me to get a glass of punch while we talk about that, if it’s not to your mother’s interest.”

It worked, in this case. Lady Edgarton nodded once and Richard promptly offered Thessaly his arm as they crossed over to the tables set out on the long wall opposite. He was obviously dutiful, attending on his mother, but just as obviously eager for a short break. “Landry is - may I ask what he said?” There was a hint of nerves there.

“He thought you were quite skilled. We were in the salle at the time. He talked through the sequences you’d tried. A bit more work on being able to use your magic to give you the ability to launch from your back foot, perhaps. Have you seen Franquemont’s Second Treatise? There are a series of drills that you might find handy, and most of them don’t require a partner.”

“No, Mistress, but thank you. Is that anything like Hildebrand’s Sixth? We tried that in one of our last class sessions.” They had, by this point, reached the punch.

“Ah, not entirely. Hildebrand focuses on the terrain, Franquemont on the relationship of your body to the terrain. A nuance, but a crucial one, sometimes.” Thessaly permitted him to retrieve a glass for her, and they withdrew a little to chat more. She was able to get him diverted into a discussion of the other duellists, and comparing his commentary to Alexander’s was just what she’d wanted.

Thessaly was, of course, keeping an eye out for possible bouts to arrange. Richard was not quite in her league yet, but he would be within the year if he kept going as he was. And from what Alexander had said, he might well exceed her given time and thoughtful training. After he’d talked with enthusiasm, she asked, “You’re still intending to go for the Guard, yes?”

If he hadn’t been so much younger, she’d consider holding out for him as a potential husband. But the age difference was not a help in that direction, and it was difficult for a Guard apprentice to be married.

“Yes. My mother’s, well, she has pointed out I needn’t. But I would like to serve beyond the land magic in due course.” At that point, he offered his arm again. Thessaly discarded her glass onto the tray of one of the passing servants, and they made their way back to his mother.

“I wish you luck with it.” By the time he had bowed to his mother again, Thessaly was ready for the more complex dance of the party again. She made her farewells and then turned around, considering her options for the next dance. She could see Lord Ambrosius and Lady Hespasia Carillon, almost certainly talking books. They were known for it.

Their heir, Temple, was standing behind his mother’s shoulder, not quite hiding the fact some of the conversation was over his head. He was a clever enough young man, she’d heard, but within his own interests. Not wide-ranging. That was how Hermia had put it.

Temple was a couple of years younger than her sister, but he was one of the people Mama was eyeing as a potential match, especially if they actually took to each other. Mama would not have considered it without Thessaly’s betrothal, but the Fortier connection absolutely opened doors and would continue to do so. She’d have to remind Mama to see about arranging some social outing that included Temple in the next few weeks.

She saw Alethea Witham, and got a word in. Alethea was delighted to consider a duelling session once the Faire was over, and they planned to set that up in the coming week, by note. The other woman was just a year out of Schola, apprenticing in Sympathetic magic, but her apprenticeship schedule was less gruelling than many. Alethea suggested adding Septima Palgrave, daughter of one of Aunt Metaia’s colleagues on the Council. Thessaly was willing enough, and proposed Palantina Monkton, if they wanted four women. She promised to sound them out by note if she couldn’t catch them tonight. That was something lovely to look forward to, excellent.

From there, Thessaly turned, and she saw Lady Teague. More to the point, she saw Lord Teague. It brought back, immediately, what Aunt Metaia had said about it. It wasn’t anything that Lord Teague was doing right now, in this very moment, but she was watching Lady Teague’s body language. If it had been a duel, she’d just have taken a hit, something that hurt. She was trying not to let it show because that would make the next one worse. Lady Teague’s body was all about the stiffness, the barely repressed certainty she’d done something wrong.

Worse, Thessaly had felt that herself, tonight. Not as badly, not yet, but certainly when Childeric had disengaged from her after the first dance. It wasn’t that he couldn’t have other plans; it was how he treated her in the process. How he didn’t have any care for her. There was distance from a lack of care to harm, but watching the Teagues, Thessaly began to realise it was a much shorter one than she’d thought before tonight.

Maybe there would be some chance to talk in the coming days, or at least offer her a distraction. Mabyn Teague had been a fifth year at Schola when Thessaly had been a first year. It at least permitted a social connection with no need to be entirely too formal about it. She’d look for a chance, perhaps during the Faire.

From there, she turned to find Jacinthe Howard and her husband Amalric. She made a little bob of her head. Jacinthe was cousin to Childeric, the daughter of his aunt Bradamante. And the Howards had married last year, right after Jacinthe finished at Schola. “Jacinthe, Amalric, a pleasure to see you. I hope you’re both well? And the cat, Amalric?” Amalric was well known for a small black cat, near enough entirely a familiar, who normally considered his shoulder her natural habitat.

“All well, thank you. You look lovely this evening. I do hope Childeric has admired the effect properly.” Jacinthe was easy to talk to, at least for Thessaly. She had her own magical interests in Incantation, like Amalric, but they honestly seemed to enjoy each other’s company. “And Onyx is also well, other than complaining at length when we went out.” She laughed, a sound that Thessaly knew had been trained into being pleasant, but which was also solidly real.

They talked for a little, mostly about plans for the Faire, as Thessaly was interested in which lectures and performances they recommended. Asking an Incantation specialist about performances was often informative. She made note of several she’d not have considered on her own. Then she caught Jacinthe peering over her shoulder. “Pardon, I see Uncle Clovis. I wanted to catch him to ask something. Do excuse me for a moment.”

Amalric didn’t go with her. Thessaly shifted a little so she could see Jacinthe and her uncle. It was the kind of thing she did automatically in these social gatherings, so she would not be surprised by someone coming up behind her. And besides, it provided all sorts of knowledge about what was going on. Jacinthe was saying something earnest, leaning in, when Clovis shook his head sharply, sending her away with only a word or two. Thessaly completely missed what Amalric had just said to her, but then excused herself to find some other conversation, with fewer treacherous spots.