Chapter 31

JUNE 23RD IN AN ORCHARD

T hessaly hadn’t wanted to let him see her reaction when he mentioned that word. Guilt. She was still coiled around it, snappish and unwilling to admit it, while also entirely unable to stop thinking about it. Thessaly was sure he’d noticed. She was doing horribly at hiding much right now. But he didn’t say anything.

When he continued to be quiet, she glanced at him, then let out a breath and reached to take one stone. The amethyst, that was the right place to start. It was beautiful, shading from darker purple, more opaque, to something lighter, giving a sheen of purple to the light as she looked through it. It was a crystal, still, and she turned it around in her hand, feeling the edges of it, before setting it down gently.

Another glance at Vitus wasn’t much help. He just sat there, waiting patiently. He wasn’t quite smiling - that wasn’t the proper emotion for the moment, anyway. But he wasn’t frowning, either. There was something straightforward about him that she found refreshing. He didn’t seem to hide anything from her, or want to. That was probably wrong. Most people she knew hid things, often quite a lot of things. Childeric was a visible example right now, or rather an exceedingly distant example, given that he was down at Arundel, presumably, and she was up here in Northumbria, almost on the border of Scotland.

Thessaly set that aside, deliberately, and picked up the stone that wasn’t jasper. Howlite, he’d called it. “I don’t know much about howlite?” Her voice cracked on the name.

“The lore about amethyst is better known, of course. All the stories about Dionysus, the uses against drunkenness or, in some tales, poison.” Vitus’s voice was clear and quiet. “Howlite forms in nodules. They were first named thirty years ago, in 1868, from a vein found in Canada. Magically, in terms of materia, it’s good for focusing the mind. Meditation, turning inwards, if that’s a tradition you favour, or calming and soothing, releasing tension. It looks a bit like turquoise in the veining and how it polishes, and it takes dyes well, for people who like that sort of thing. It’s a good one to use as a worry stone.”

Thessaly nodded, turning the piece over in her hand. It fit nicely in her palm, a cool curve that nestled in. But what she needed, perhaps, wasn’t cooling, it was something else. Aunt Metaia would have advised something with a bit of spice, and that made her breath catch again.

Vitus did not comment on it, he just let the silence be, until Thessaly had to say something. “I was thinking cooling isn’t what I need. And that Aunt Metaia would have recommended something with a bit of spice. She liked a curry or a bit of ginger cake for the purpose.”

Now she was watching him, and he blinked once, then just nodded. “Those are the important things to remember, I think. The little moments, the good advice. It is good advice. I’m afraid the scones I brought along are berry, though.”

Thessaly nodded once, then she considered him. “Have you lost someone you care about? You seem to have a much better idea of what not to say than many people. Given a somewhat small sample of examples right now.”

“I’m glad I’m not saying the awful things,” Vitus said. “Two of my grandparents.” He hesitated, as if the next thing was more important. It was the sort of adjustment that in a duel would have told her a new approach was coming and possibly a new vulnerability to explore. “My mother’s been quietly ill for a long time. I’ve thought, on and off, about what, what I’d need to be prepared for, if things got worse.”

“Oh.” That wasn’t a thing she’d ever worried about, not with either of her parents. Or with Aunt Metaia, and well, that hadn’t turned out that way. “Does it help?”

“If it means I’m not saying the foolish hurtful things to you now, then yes.” Then he ducked his chin. “Would you hold the jasper, see what you think about it?”

Thessaly eyed it warily, but she’d tried the other two, and it wasn’t as if Vitus didn’t know she’d reacted. This one was a smooth, rounded piece. “A cabochon, yes? Is that also what you call it? I know the terms for jewellery.” She didn’t quite add ‘of course’ on there, but it was something women of her background and class learned in the nursery. How else could she evaluate what everyone was wearing, or an offered gift or token?

“Still a cabochon,” Vitus agreed. “That’s red jasper. Nothing terribly fancy, as stones go, but it is insistently itself.”

She considered that, curling her fingers around it to enclose it fully, then opening her palm so she could cup both hands around it, the stone pressed between her palms. It felt good, deep down, in a way she hadn’t at all expected. She felt it, for one thing, not that core of ice and guilt and solid misery. Not that everything was all better. No stone could do that. No talisman either, she knew that. But it was hopeful.

“This one, please.” She didn’t want to give it back, actually. She kept her fingers curled around it.

“Hold it for a little, if you like. Or...” He considered, doing some mental calculations. “You can keep that, and I’ll make a talisman out of another piece. Would that help?”

Her fingers tightened around it, before she could even decide, her body acting for her like responding to an exchange in the duelling salle. That was a trained response, though, and this was something entirely instinctive. “Please. That’s very kind.” Thessaly swallowed, trying to figure out how to explain what she felt. She owed him that much, she felt, he was being so thoughtful and generous. “It makes me feel a bit hopeful. Like there’s something on the other end of what I’m feeling now.”

She couldn’t look up at him, just down at her hands. There was a silence and a pause, then his fingers reached out to touch hers, lightly, just resting, as if he were ready to pull away at any moment. “I’m glad.” She liked the sound of his voice, too. It was soothing, like the stone was. Warm like the stone was, too. “There’s a bit of fire in that, red jasper has a lot of iron, and it’s associated with Mars. Maybe that’s the right amount of warmth for right now.” There wasn’t any pressure there, and that was something miraculous and wonderful.

Thessaly didn’t want to move, and so she kept her hands right there, afraid any twitch would make him move as well. “How did you know it might help?”

“I wasn’t sure? But when Niobe and I were talking about it, I wondered. And this morning, I trusted my instincts. Trained instinct, about what might suit.” He shrugged. She felt the way his fingers moved. “Is this all right?”

“I like the way your hand feels.” That suddenly seemed like the most intimate thing a person could say to someone else. She closed her eyes, concentrating on the sensations. “I do feel guilty. I’ve been wondering if something I said led to something Aunt Metaia did, and that meant...” She couldn’t finish that sentence.

“That must be an immense challenge. Challenges, also for Mars. I’m sure you know that as well as I do.” Still, his voice was gentle, just weaving along through the words he was choosing, nothing sharp even when he was saying difficult things. “Is it something you’re going to solve right now?”

“Something I can’t solve right now. Not for a while or ever, maybe.” Putting words to that made her feel a bit better, even just naming that she might never know. “I suppose it depends on the investigation. And I heard they were busy with something else.” His fingers shifted a little on her hand, and she looked up, frowning. He winced. She saw that. “Is something the matter?”

“The other case.” Vitus considered, and now he turned his hand a little, enough she could slip her fingers into it. She shouldn’t, but she did. There was no one here to see, for one thing, and it felt good, and she desperately wanted something that felt good right now. Not something that felt like an impossible chasm or even the ordinary itchiness and discomfort of mourning dress. Vitus let her. He didn’t pull away. “Philip Landry was found dead in his flat. Two days ago, the evening of the twenty-first.”

“Oh.” Thessaly tried to figure that out. “We hadn’t heard. How awful. And for his mother and his brother. His mother’s, um...”

“Terrifyingly sharp?” Vitus said it with a little bit of humour. “Yes. I consulted with Philip a couple of weeks ago, and he was helpful. Kind, like you say I’m being kind. Not going terribly out of his way. It was easy for him, I think, but it made a difference to me. And now...” He cleared his throat. “Do you know the Landrys well?”

“Alexander and Philip, more than their mother. She is, as you say, terrifyingly sharp. And not very interested in things I’m interested in. Above all that? No, above is the wrong word. Beyond that. Not worth her time, which is entirely fair, honestly. But Philip is - was - an excellent duellist, and Alexander was coming along very well. Skilled by Schola standards, and improving every time.”

“And you, then.” Vitus hesitated. “You know, I don’t know how to ask how good you are in the scheme of things. I’ve seen your illusion work, but not your duels.”

It made her smile, or at least her lips gestured in that direction for what felt like the first time in months. Even if it had only been days, even countable hours. “Ranked in the first tier, the sort of thing where it depends who is at their best on a given day. Or location.” She shrugged. “I’ve the advantage that we have no salle here. I’m used to duelling in a dozen different places. Other people have the advantage of their home salle. I’ve never been able to rely on that.”

He tilted his head. “That’s an interesting way to think about it. Adaptable to the situation, then. That seems useful. And with your illusion work, as well. Is that a linked skill?”

Thessaly considered that. It was, in a nutshell, the sort of conversation she’d had a lot with Aunt Metaia and not very often with anyone else. Whatever this was, whoever Vitus was, she felt that way with him, comfortable with him, far beyond any sensible reason. And yet, the thing Aunt Metaia had urged her to do was trust that sort of feeling, whether it was in conversation, in magic, or in duelling. Not that they weren’t the same thing sometimes.

“The adaptability to the moment, possibly.” She gestured with her free hand, the stone held against her palm with her thumb. “Home is - it’s a perfectly reasonable house, but it doesn’t have deep roots. Mama and Papa were given it when they married. It hadn’t been in the family that long. There are things I love about it, but...” Her fingers clenched a little against his. “Aunt Metaia’s, that I’m going to miss a great deal. Besides missing her. Both. Separately and together.”