Chapter 28

JUNE 22ND IN TRELLECH

“I ’m about ready for a break.” Vitus looked up. Niobe had planted him at the table by the window, with the best light, as soon as she’d seen him that morning. He hadn’t slept well, and it showed. She stretched, something in her shoulder popping. “Go make the tea, please? It is a reason for having an apprentice.”

It was also an old joke, and Vitus grinned at it. He’d spent all morning and into the early afternoon documenting some of the more common stones about to be added to her stores. Each one got measured and weighed, evaluated for the quality of the stone for magical use, and noted in three different ledgers. It was both tedious and satisfying at the same time, and he could do it when his thoughts were fuzzy and distracted. He wouldn’t have trusted himself with gemstones today, but agate? He could handle agate, and chalcedony, and quartz.

He stood, and went off to the little kitchen nook by the stairs to fill the kettle and put it on. Then he sorted out leaves for the pot and got the cream out of the keep-cold box. He added a couple of biscuits from the tin. They were there to be eaten, but he’d have to see about picking some more up soon. When the kettle sang, he filled the pot and brought the tray back.

Niobe had settled in her chair, across the table from him. “You’re here, and not at the Faire. And you said you’d be here for the morning.”

Vitus nodded. “You heard the news yesterday? Council Member Powell? Metaia Powell.”

“Terribly sad. And the newspaper near enough said this morning it was murder, not mishap, though I suppose it will be another day to confirm that.”

“I’d met her, two, no three times, all briefly. Solstice night, in fact.” He picked up the pot and then set it down. His hand was shaking.

Niobe considered him and then picked up the pot and poured the tea herself. “What is it that’s got you unsettled, then? Besides the obvious.”

“I’d like to send a note to her niece. You remember, she was working on how to do lapis lazuli in illusion work properly,” Vitus hesitated, but he had to say something. With Niobe, best if it were the truth. Saying it out loud, though, even here, felt raw, as if he were saying far more than the words.

Niobe snorted. “I do not keep track of everyone you meet, Vitus, but I do indeed remember Mistress Lytton-Powell. You have mentioned her more than once, and it’s clear you...” She stopped suddenly, then cocked her head. “Oh.”

Vitus could feel himself blushing, and he certainly couldn’t meet Niobe’s eyes.

“Does she know?” Then Niobe’s voice changed. “A condolence note, right.”

Vitus shook his head no once, then he managed to look at Niobe’s shoulder. “I was worried, when we talked in the library, that I was overstepping, she made it clear she knows what her agreements with the Fortiers cover and don’t. I realised last night I could ask her what that means. Obviously not right now, not for a while, not while she’s...” Now he looked up. “She and her aunt were easy with each other. Happy. The way we rarely see in that sort of family. Not in public.”

“Precious little in private, some families,” Niobe said with a sniff. “But she’s right. Whatever her marriage agreements are, they are almost certainly specific about what is permitted. Talking in the library, not a problem, certainly. Other things? Ask her. Or there may be some things that might be an issue during the betrothal, but not once she’s married. Or with precautions.”

Now Vitus was blushing again. “It’s not like that.” He had been refusing to think about that, in fact, especially in the last half day or so. “She has a good mind. An interesting mind.”

“And she’s also an excellent duellist and dancer,” Niobe said, pushing a mug over toward him. “All right. Condolence note. What do you want to say?”

“I’ll have to go round to the Stream for the proper address for the mail.” Whichever portal it was. “You’ve never done anything for her parents, have you?”

“No. Other branches of the Powells, and a few of the Lyttons, though not the main line of them. They have a reputation for sharpness that’s well earned, and not a kind I much want to be around.” Niobe reached out to take a biscuit, nibbling on it while she thought. Vitus let her think. “Do you know much about her parents?”

This seemed rather a tangent from what Vitus was thinking about, but he knew Niobe had reason to ask, even if he did not know what that was yet. “A little, but they weren’t at the Fortier events until they started planning for the betrothal.”

“And you were away for most of that.” Niobe tapped her fingers on the table and then pulled out four stones from the pile Vitus hadn’t sorted yet. Amethyst, citrine, plain quartz, and an ametrine. She lined them up on the table. “This, here, that’s the Lyttons. This is the Powells. This is Thessaly Lytton-Powell.” She tapped the amethyst, the citrine, then the ametrine. “And this is Metaia Powell.” That was the plain quartz.

Vitus snorted, softly. “And ametrine, trystine, whatever name we’re using for it, is the combination of the two.” So the sympathetic magic indicated, besides the way that crystals of the stuff mixed back and forth, shade to shade, from purple through lavender into golden yellow and distilled sunshine. “The Powells have been powerful, on and off, for centuries. And there are many of them.”

“And they notice if one of their own has been threatened. Whatever their internal disagreements, they come together outside the family. Sioned Powell is the elder sister here, by seven, eight years. She did everything expected of her, went to Schola, found herself in Fox House, and married well. She married Harold Lytton, and the Lyttons were sufficiently wanting the marriage that he took her name. Well, she took his, as well.”

“I assumed.” That part was basic maths, in terms of families. Rare for the man, unless there was a land magic inheritance at play, but not unknown.

“Now, while they’re comfortably off, by almost any reasonable person’s standards, they are not what the Great Families consider wealthy. They have, as a couple, nothing in the way of land holdings. Some investments, some consulting. Harold Lytton-Powell upholds his family’s reputation for being sharply skilled at magic, the kind that commands high prices and only taking those contracts he’s interested in. Enchantments, a range of them, but including the sort of thing suspicious husbands install in rooms when they think their wives are breaking the marriage agreements. Not always kind or pleasant, but competent.” She tilted her head. “I’ve heard gossip that he’s not fiscally sound. From the sound of it, I’d suspect gambling debts, but I’d not hear the details of that.”

Vitus frowned, opened his mouth, then shook his head before trying again. “And Sioned Lytton-Powell?”

“Philanthropy. She’s quite good at it, getting other people to give money or horrendous items for auctions that sell for ridiculous sums, all that. No one wants her annoyed at them, or she won’t help with their next pet cause, and she has a few closer friends. But not many. Metaia is - was - always far more freely minded, in just about every dimension, and in a wide circle. No one expected she’d challenge for Council, but once she did, no one was surprised she succeeded, if you get the idea from that.”

“Lucky, skilled, skilled enough to use her luck, or something else?” Vitus knew the possible threads there as well as anyone.

“Ha!” Niobe chuckled. “Skilled enough to make the best use of her luck. Until, I suppose, it ran out.” She tapped the quartz. “She was Seal House in Schola, that gives you an idea too. Though we don’t have their aquamarine down here, and besides, it would spoil the quartz-based metaphor. Twisting and darting under the waves, where the eye couldn’t follow. She had a reputation as a prankster. Metaia was the year ahead of me at Schola. And oh, she managed to set it up so that everything in Seal House - all the outer walls, and all the inner, too - turned turquoise, all at once. Mistress of illusion work, especially buildings. A definite shock, but no lasting damage to anything. She did much of the work on illusions around Silence-warded spaces the last two decades. Not just her, fortunately, but she pioneered a couple of techniques that are far more stable, and she did her work thoroughly. She’ll be missed there.”

“And the Council?” Vitus considered, though now he was looking at that ametrine.

“Well-respected in her role, doing a fair bit of illusion work for them, of course, especially around the guarded portals and other locations where there’s more of a Fatae touch. She was close to Hereswith Rowan, and friendly with many more.” Niobe lifted her eyes. “I’ve heard rumours she was in Four Metals, though rarely at any general gatherings, actually. You would know that better than I.”

He’d told her about his own membership - Four Metals was a secret society, but they were not as ridiculously restrictive about it as some. Besides, a lot of the work of making things involved knowing crafters who had specific skills and inclinations. But he’d never seen Metaia Powell there. “Huh. And Thessaly?” Now he reached out to touch the ametrine.

“Magically gifted - well, you spotted that already, didn’t you? Sharp-eyed young man that you are. Marrying a Fortier would set her family up, including her younger sister, and that would matter to her. Born to consider family before anyone else, from both sides.” Niobe weighed her next words, Vitus could see it. “More like her aunt than her mother, and from what I’ve seen, she doesn’t have as many trustworthy friends as she should. Several married, young children at home, or they’re expecting. No portals. From what has come through in the newspapers…” Niobe paused. “If she came to me asking for a talisman, I think I’d be suggesting one that would ease her way to true friends. Not just a circle of pleasant acquaintances.”

Vitus nodded slowly at that, leaving the implications of the last part for later. “So I should, um....”

“You should go write a condolence note that makes it clear you are thinking of her. That you are sorry for her, as a person who has lost someone she loved, and that you see the shape of that stone accurately enough. You could offer her a talisman, if you wanted to make one, for sleep or ease.” Niobe considered with her head cocked in the position that meant she was working through what we had in stock.

“I can’t imagine there’s anything she’d feel guilty for, so no need for the jasper, even if we do have some lovely pieces right now. Amethyst, maybe. That’s a house stone for her, in Fox, and it would go with mourning dress. Not rose quartz, unless and until you have a talk about her agreements in more direct forms. Entirely too suggestive at the moment. Howlite, maybe, for all it’s a modern discovery, I still argue that it’s calming in suitable ways. How about I pull a few pieces for you this afternoon, and you can look tomorrow? It wouldn’t be bad to make one up, even if she’d rather not have the piece. I’ll cover the cost of the stone.”

Vitus let out a breath. “That’s very generous, of course. And it would be something I could offer, she’d understand. It might help just a little. Better than flowers or something like that.”

“I am sure they have abundant floral arrangements and wreaths by now. And you could let her know you hope to attend the funeral, that you have a memory of her aunt, one of the times you met her. There. Off you go, find the address. The Stream will have some suitable notepaper for you too.” The Stream, like all the Schola House clubs, kept supplies on hand for this sort of thing. He could find properly black-bordered notecards, as well as get it put in the post properly. “And if you go now, it should make the three o’clock. Get to her before supper.”

Vitus stood. “You don’t mind my not putting everything away?”

“Of course not. I’ll pack this up. You can come back to it when there’s time. Off you go.” Niobe shooed him off with a wave of her hand.

Fifteen minutes later, he was in one of the small writing rooms in the Stream. It took him seven versions of the note before he hit on a combination of phrases that were both sincere and gentle, undemanding of the reader. He expressed his condolences. He wrote that he had been taken at the St. George’s gala not only by Council Member Powell’s costume, but by their obvious affection for each other. Vitus said, as simply and plainly as he could, that he hoped that memory would bring some pleasure again in due course. And he offered the stone, suggesting amethyst and howlite. Or that if she had some other preference, he’d be glad to see what he could do, for a talisman for sleep and ease. He sealed it up and went off to consult the directory for the address.

As he got closer, he heard a cluster of voices. “Won’t be in the paper until tonight, apparently, but he died yesterday, or at least there was a fuss at his flat. Guard in and out. Penelopes too.” That meant an investigation, certainly, but that ‘he’ meant it wasn’t related to Metaia Powell.

“Pardon, I couldn’t help overhearing...” Vitus cleared his throat. “May I ask who?”

“Landry. Philip Landry.” One of the men cocked his head. “You’d know him a bit, wouldn’t you, Deschamps?”

“He was kind enough to do a consultation for me a few weeks ago.” Vitus said it automatically, while he was trying to keep his feet under him, metaphorically and physically. “He’s dead?”

“Found in his flat last night. That’s what I heard. More in the paper, but it won’t be out for a bit. You sure you’re all right, old man?”

Vitus waved off the offer of help. “A shock. Pardon, I’ve got something I need to get in the mail.” Before he could get dragged into conversation, he found the address he wanted. He dropped a few coins for the club’s messenger boy to run it to the mail sorting immediately, rather than wait. Then he went out again, feeling like he needed a long walk somewhere with no one around to see if he could get any grip on his thoughts.