Chapter 27

JUNE 21ST IN THE LATE AFTERNOON

T hessaly sat there, her hands folded, not at all sure where to look or what to do, certainly not what to say. After they’d waited in the library at Bryn Glas for half an hour, one of the Guards escorted them home. Some part of her knew that meant they’d be searching the house, but as they were leaving, she’d seen the local Lord - Caderyn Prichard - out by the portal. That meant they could test people under the truth magic. Then she’d seen Mrs Collins, the housekeeper, come through.

The combination meant that they could search more gently. Aunt Metaia had explained that, years ago, that the truth magics needed someone able to cast them in the first place, and then to ask the right questions. Lord Prichard was skilled, magically, he could do the basic truth charms on the fly if he needed to. Enough that they could be sure Mrs Collins had no part of whatever had happened, and then she could walk them through the house. At least things would be put back properly, after. Where they ought to be.

Once they’d got back to their own home, the Guard had stayed with them. Mama had told Thessaly to go change, and Thessaly hadn’t needed to be told that it should be her mourning dress. Mama made the habit of always having one in her wardrobe, just in case, updated every year for fit and a little for style. Thessaly had only worn hers twice. Both times had been actual funerals in the extended family. They had been the sort of deaths that people had seen coming for months, if not years, in people who had had long and good lives.

Her maid laced her into the dress, made of a fine-woven wool, that would feel stifling soon. It had almost nothing in the way of trim, but that at least meant she was not dealing with the stubborn, unyielding nature of crepe. She added a single jet pendant, one that had come down to her from Grandmama. Then she descended the stairs to find Mama and Father in the parlour.

“We will have a few necessary callers, I suspect,” Mama said, her voice rough. Father was not a demonstrative man, but he came to stand behind her as Mama sat in her preferred chair, a hand on her shoulder. Thessaly felt even more alone, suddenly, and she couldn’t let it show. “Hermia?”

“I’ve told her. She is staying up in the nursery with Fitchley.” Fitchley was a distant cousin on the Lytton side. She’d been governess to both girls when they were younger, and kept on to help run the house now they were older. That made sense. Thessaly would have to go talk with Hermia later. Whenever later actually was.

“Callers, Mama?” Thessaly felt she could at least ask about that.

“Cousin Owain, I expect. Perhaps someone else from the Council, perhaps he might do that part. And not today, I expect, but tomorrow, we should assume the Fortiers will call, or some of them. Childeric and his parents, at the least. You will want to be available for that.” It wasn’t an offer of comfort, it was an expectation, not that Thessaly needed it spelled out.

Thessaly nodded. She was running the calendar in her head now. Some part of her mind was frantically scurrying through all the tiny fragments of things she knew anything about or had any control over. Formal mourning for an aunt or uncle was three months, generally. To the autumn equinox or the day after, that would make it. Thessaly had obligations outside the home, her apprenticeship. She could at least leave the house once the most immediate rites were tended to, and callers received. A fortnight, perhaps, if she remembered correctly from Grandmama’s funeral.

There were ways in which the formalities could have been a relief. Everyone of their class, everyone of Albion, knew the mourning customs. Or if they didn’t know the specifics - there being a range of faiths and practices in Albion - they knew the rough outline. They knew what to ask about, who to ask where it would not be awkward. Right now, people would ask along Club Row what the Powell customs were, whether there were things to be brought or sent.

Being on the Council, Aunt Metaia having been on the Council, didn’t change that. Though it probably changed where the funeral would be. Bryn Glas, her home, certainly wasn’t set up for it, and it didn’t have its own cemetery. The principal family estate, up on the coast, had its own, with vaults and tombs going back centuries. That hadn’t been Aunt Metaia’s home, but it would be where she stayed, almost certainly. Difficult to visit, without a lot of visible fuss, for one thing, unlike the cemetery that ran around the edge of Trellech, to the south.

None of this was helping. Nothing could help, and Thessaly knew she was spinning in circles, mentally, because she didn’t want to think about the enormity of what this meant.

She’d never get to sit with Aunt Metaia again. Nothing like just last night, talking and being comfortable. Knowing that Aunt Metaia loved her, always loved her, chose to love her, and what that meant. Thessaly hadn’t figured out the breadth of it, and now she never would. There’d be no looking through books in Aunt Metaia’s library, and then trying out something new in the workroom. There’d be no more of the glorious chaos of colours on the walls, in the furnishings, that shouldn’t possibly be pleasing together and absolutely were.

The house would go to someone else, someone in the Powell family. That was how it had come down to Aunt Metaia, and Thessaly didn’t know the details. But she knew there were details, that some solicitor or senior member of the family would deal with them. The house would be changed, painted to something neutral and plain. Like the parlour here, which had colour, but, well, largely slate blue. The red parlour was across the hall and kept for more formal guests.

Before Thessaly could think of much else, there was a knock and a murmur. “Council Head Rowan to see you, with Council Member Powell, Mistress.” That was to Mama, and it was a question. Mama nodded just once, and the maid showed them in.

Thessaly didn’t even know which name to use in her head now. Aunt Metaia had been clear Hereswith Rowan was not only a colleague, but a friend, for all she was thirty something years older than Aunt Metaia was. Had been. Now, she looked like she’d been crying, there were smudges under her eyes, and she was leaning on cousin Owain’s arm a little. It was odd, too, to see her without either her husband or her companion, both of whom helped her keep the Council running in various practical ways.

Magistra Hereswith - her mind had apparently settled on something, the more informal - went immediately to Mama, and bent to kiss her cheek. “I am so terribly sorry, Sioned. And to you, Thessaly, it must be such a shock.” She stood, coming to press the same kiss on Thessaly’s cheek. “We have, I fear, a few urgent necessities to discuss. May we join you? Is there anything you need for your comfort first? I have a selection of potions on the way, as well.”

That was considerate. Mama kept the apothecary cabinet well-stocked, but Thessaly was sure she’d be utterly unable to sleep tonight, and they did not keep many sleep potions in the house.

Mama nodded once. “Please, sit. And Harold, please do sit. You are a comfort, but this may take a little while.”

Magistra Hereswith nodded, and took one chair, leaving Father and cousin Owain to take the other sofa. “First, we would be glad to host the funeral at the Council Keep. It will be a day or two at least, the Guard said, before we might do so, that will give us time to plan.”

“That is generous.” Mama’s voice didn’t sound like she really thought it was. Her control was not as it usually was. “You would prefer that?”

“Metaia’s will indicated that. We keep a copy of those preferences on file, in case of need. But it would also be our honour. I did not know her as well as you did, nor the ways you did.” She included Thessaly in that, a specific look. “We have space for the many people who might wish to attend, and spaces to be more private if those people are overwhelming. We have the staff to make sure all is done properly. She preferred her burial on the family estate.”

Mama nodded. “I expected that.” She lifted her fingers to her face, then put them down. “I hadn’t known her preferences, not for that. She only mentioned she had settled them. And...” There was a slightly pained frown. “Updated them recently. She said it was an ordinary matter, nothing unusual.”

“Three weeks ago, yes. It’s fairly routine to update them. Everything has been properly notarised by the Courts, they have a matching copy in their vaults. Of course, we’ll make sure all the ordinary steps for confirmation are taken.” Magistra Hereswith inclined her head. “There are provisions for you, Sioned, and also for Thessaly and Hermia, though of course we must wait for the proper time for that.”

“Of course,” Mama murmured in response. “Metaia was always generous with what she had.”

Magistra Hereswith’s face shifted, too fast for Thessaly to make sense of it, but she ended with a pleasant smile. “Now, I have a little more news from the Guard. They are investigating thoroughly, of course, and they will make reports to me at least daily. I am glad to have you join me for those, or to inform you at whatever level of detail you wish.”

Mama shook her head. “The outcome, please, or if there is any information we might assist with. I assume they will have more questions to come.”

“Tomorrow, they believed. There was another case that came to their attention as I was finishing up there, and they wanted to finish their investigation at Bryn Glas before speaking further with you. Please don’t speak about the last couple of days with anyone outside the family who wasn’t present until they do.” It wasn’t phrased as an order, but it was one. Politely put, delicately phrased, but absolute.

Thessaly, though, was barely restraining herself. She wanted to flee, to at least wash her face or her hands, to scrub and feel something other than numbness, whether it was cold water or the scrape of a nail brush. But she also knew Mama wouldn’t tell her details about anything she missed. So she stayed, her hands folded into her lap, the knuckles increasingly pale with pressure.

Magistra Hereswith kept everything moving gently. She walked Mama - and Father and Thessaly - through the steps, and what their parts in it were. Cousin Owain offered to coordinate pallbearers. He checked if there were colleagues of Aunt Metaia’s who would want to be asked. Thessaly could suggest a name they did not already have. Her voice did not crack. She did not burst out in tears. And if her voice was smaller and weaker than it should be, she would take what she had there.

Magistra Hereswith also offered one of the Council’s staff to help coordinate callers and the condolence letters and such, and Mama accepted with relief. Father had a secretary for business matters, but he was better with ledgers and charts than with people. And Fitchley did well with household matters, but she got flustered by people with influence. Finally, the two stood, having other things to tend to. Once they were gone, Mama nodded at Thessaly. “You may have a tray in your room if you wish. I’d prefer you keep whatever you say to Hermia appropriate, but you might see her, as well. Your father and I have a number of matters to tend to.”

It was a dismissal. Thessaly stood, automatically smoothing her skirts out, and nodded. “Of course, Mama. Please send someone for me if I can be of any help. I’ll be with Hermia for a little.” Once she left the parlour, she paused to ask the maid if she could have a tray up in the nursery with Hermia, and she went up there.

Hermia immediately fell into her arms, sobbing the way that Thessaly hadn’t allowed herself to do. Holding her younger sister wasn’t the same, but she was glad at least someone was weeping, that someone had the chance to.