Chapter 33

J une 23rd

In the middle of the night

“Thess?” Thessaly had half-heard a noise, waking enough out of sleep to shove the jasper under the corner of her pillow. She did not know what time it was, besides still dark. She’d been asleep for a fair bit, more asleep than previous nights. There’d been some sound before her name, she was fairly sure of that.

“Mm, who?” Only as soon as she said it, she knew who it had to be. Who would call her that? “Hermia?”

The door cracked open - she could just see the edge of it crack open, a shadow against shadows in the waning moonlight. “Can I sleep with you? I woke up and...”

Thessaly hesitated. It wouldn’t help her sleep, but she also would not leave her sister on her own, not like that. When she talked to Vitus next, she didn’t want to admit she’d done that. She pushed herself upright, slipping the jasper into a small bowl on her bedside table. “Come, yes.” That meant wiggling over to one side of the bed, making sure the sheet and light blanket weren’t too tangled.

“I left a note.” It wasn’t like Hermia hadn’t done this before, though not for a year or two. It had started when she’d read some of the historical stories about sisters sharing a bed, and wanting that closeness, instead of the way they were often so separate. Fitchley, her governess, tolerated it - she had a younger sister herself - and Thessaly was fairly sure that Mama and Father didn’t actually know. They didn’t care much about what went on in Thessaly’s rooms or in the nursery, as long as they didn’t cause trouble or disrupt anything.

There were quick steps across the floor, Hermia pausing to remove her slippers, her hair in a braid down her back and smoothed back by the nightcap. It was one of Thessaly’s hand-me-downs, still good enough to be worn, but the lace had been mended twice. Then Hermia was in the bed, tucking her feet under the sheets and cuddling up close to Thessaly. Thessaly settled on her back, her sister’s head on her shoulder.

“Sorry I woke you. Were you sleeping?” Hermia’s breath tickled a little.

“I was. It’s all right. I—” Thessaly’s voice caught for a second. “I’m glad you came.” She was, too. She was glad her sister trusted her to be there. Only, in a few months, next spring, she wouldn’t be. She’d be in rooms in Arundel, away from her sister, away from her family, living by a different set of rules and assumptions. She might well have her own bedroom - she was fairly sure the Fortiers tended that way, though of course it wasn’t a thing anyone could ask about. Mama and Father did, though their rooms adjoined, with a door between them. “Did you have a nightmare, or just couldn’t sleep?”

Hermia was quiet for a long moment. “Both?” She sounded uncertain at first. Then, with more confidence, she repeated it. “Both.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” Thessaly wasn’t entirely sure what to say, but saying something mattered. Vitus had done that for her today. It had left her with enough ability to cope to pass it on.

Hermia shrugged once, then she asked, “Are Mama and Father fighting with each other?” She’d had supper with them - it had just been the family.

“Neither of them has talked to me about it.” But Thessaly had eyes and all sorts of other modes of perception. “Yes. I don’t know what about, though.” Not that Thessaly didn’t have a few guesses.

“But you know more than I do.” Hermia shifted, and that was a little more comfortable. “What do you know?”

Thessaly considered where to start. Not that all of this was new to Hermia. But their parents had kept Hermia out of most of the more detailed discussions about the betrothal and everything that led up to it. Her situation would be different, in several ways. “Did Mama tell you much about how they went about planning for me?”

“No. And I was younger then.” Hermia sounded bemused. “She said time for that later. I’m not old enough to go to that sort of party yet. Tell me?”

No one had actually explained all of it to Thessaly, though Mama had outlined a fair bit. “You know that when Mama and Papa married, there were all sorts of negotiations for how that worked. The relevant inheritances, and so on.”

“Mmhmm. And that’s why we’re the Lytton-Powells, not the Lyttons, because Mama’s agreements were partly about the name.” Hermia’s voice got more uncertain. “And money?”

“And a bit about money. Grandfather Powell gave Mama a dowry, and when it was clear Aunt Metaia would not marry, he gave her the same. Toward materials, I think. And then when he died, things were split.” Thessaly frowned. “Unevenly, I know that much, but I don’t know the details. Because Mama had us.”

“That’s both fair and unfair, isn’t it?” Hermia said. “And Father?”

“And Father’s family had expectations. How things are done. What Father’s expected to excel in and do. If either of us had been a boy, we’d have had different training. Illusion work, that’s good for a woman marrying well. There are all sorts of social things where it comes in handy, especially when it’s clothing and decorations, rather than lasting impressions, like Aunt Metaia.”

Thessaly let her eyes close. It wasn’t like she was seeing much in the dark. “But there’s, I don’t know how to put this. We have money, we’re comfortable. A big house, with more than enough staff. Maybe not as many new dresses and gowns as we’d like, but quite a few. But we’re not wealthy. Not all the jewels or magical treasures or whatever, like the Fortiers. Or the senior line of the Powells, or the Lyttons. And not…” This was the first time Thessaly had said this out loud. “Not a lot of stability, either, maybe. I’m not sure why.”

“And no land magic, either. And being on the Council, like Aunt Metaia - and Cousin Owain - is power, but it’s a particular kind, and it’s not, um. What’s the word?” Hermia did at least sound like she was following.

“Generational. Not really, no, though often families have people on the Council in succession. Quintessence Percival’s grandmother, I think. Or maybe aunt, much older aunt?” Thessaly couldn’t quite remember, and she certainly wasn’t going to go look it up.

“So what does it mean for Mama and Father now?” Hermia was keeping up, that was the sensible next question.

“It means the balance of power between the families has changed. Um, think of it like a hand of cards. One card is out of play, so you have to look for other ways to make a hand that does better. Father’s getting some pressure from his family, but I don’t know about what. You know he won’t tell us until he thinks it’s time.” If he ever did, not that Thessaly would say that right now.

Hermia nodded, her cheek rubbing against Thessaly’s nightgown. “What was he like when he told you about the arrangements? When did he tell you, I mean, compared to when anyone knew?”

That was a good question, and one Thessaly had both been wanting to think about and avoiding, the more so since this afternoon. “On a practical level, it’s a limited pool of people Mama and Father would consider as an ideal choice, in family terms. Of excellent family, ideally at step or more in power and influence up from where we are. And some of those people were already promised - Ignatius Knapton, say. Or people Father didn’t want to align with, like Temenos Sibley or Gerold Teague, not that he’s Heir. A couple no one was sure about - just not up to expectations.”

“Mmm.” Hermia wriggled a bit more into place. “And what sort of status mattered?”

“The peak of that is someone who’s Heir now, or maybe a young and unmarried Lord. Or Lady, but it’s not as if I could marry Genevieve Donovan and have children with her. Marrying a Council Member would be second best, but most of them are too much older and also too married. Father put out some feelers about Romulus Heath, not long after he challenged, but I gather there were already arrangements in progress with Helica.”

Romulus Heath was the youngest of the current Council, six years older than Thessaly, though Hestia Palgrave had been the most recent challenge, the year after Romulus. Romulus was a decent enough sort, if obsessed with alchemy and its implications for illusion work. With the benefit of hindsight and Childeric’s recent behaviour, Thessaly was beginning to think that Helica had got by far the better partner out of it. They certainly seemed happy enough, with two young children at home, and Helica now free to focus on her own interests.

Hermia giggled a little. “Helica Heath is not the best name.”

“That is the problem with marrying.” Though Thessaly Fortier actually sounded well enough, even if it wasn’t in keeping with the Fortier’s preference for archaic, preferably Merovingian, French names. It sounded well enough in French, though, which was a start.

“Did Father ask you about that when he was considering it?” Hermia got back to the topic at hand.

“When he started, he asked if there was anyone I would prefer to avoid, knowing what I knew of them at Schola and otherwise. Romulus - we’ve chatted at some of the discussions for illusionists, but you know how we all hoard our secrets and particular practices.” She shrugged, the shoulder Hermia wasn’t using as a pillow. “There were a couple I asked him not to consider. People who have reputations as a rake, in the careless sort of way, or where I knew they’d refuse some of what I wanted.”

“Like what?” Hermia’s voice was softer now.

“At least a couple would want me to give up duelling. Devote myself strictly to the interests of the family, even though duelling is - within sensible bounds - generally excellent for health and for magical capability.” Thessaly hesitated. “It’s not that Childeric and I are a grand love match. But I thought we could make a partnership of it, well enough.”

The verb tense was telling, and for a second or two, she thought Hermia would miss the implications. Then, no, there was the voice by her ear. “Thought?”

The problem with her sister was that her sister was also very clever, in her own ways. Thessaly let out a breath. “I don’t know what I think right now. He sent the oddest note, saying he was sorry about Aunt Metaia, but also very busy, he couldn’t call. All the Fortiers are like that, I guess, but Mama does not know why, and it’s not like we can ask.” It occurred to her that maybe Vitus might hear more information than Thessaly had - if not immediately, in the coming days or even weeks. Though the Fortiers would be at the funeral. Childeric had said so. And if they weren’t there, it would look awful in public.

“Mmph.” Hermia sounded disgruntled. “That’s not right. I mean, you and he get along, well enough?”

Thessaly nodded. “We have been. And back when we were making the arrangements, he was delightful. He took me out to supper quite a few times, we went to more parties. Childeric was charming. He paid attention to what I liked. Some of it was a lot of fun.” She swallowed. “I liked people looking at us, wanting to be us, more than a little. And now, I don’t know what changed. I mean, I don’t know what I did wrong. If I did something wrong.” That had been haunting her, more and more so.

Hermia moved, her breath now right on Thessaly’s face. “You didn’t. I know you didn’t.” It was said with all the absurd confidence of a sister who had trust in her, even if it was also one who couldn’t possibly know the answer to that.

“Hermia, it’s...” Thessaly let out a long breath. “It’s complicated. All tangled up, like your embroidery floss was, last month after your teacher’s cat got into it.” It had taken three different sessions in strong light and four hands to untangle it all. “He’s certainly acting like I did something wrong. Or something not right enough. And it’s not the sort of thing I can ask Mama or Father about.”

“No.” Hermia settled down on her shoulder again. “They’d think you had done something. Only you don’t. You’re very precise about what you do. Out in public. It’s why I watch what you do, and not Mama.”

That was a fascinating image, because Thessaly looked to Mama, assumed Mama had it perfect. Aunt Metaia had always done what she thought best, which was decidedly not always the most proper choice by etiquette. “I don’t have to solve it right now, probably. After all, if it got that far, Lord Fortier would talk to Father, and Father would talk to me, and I don’t know. I wouldn’t like it much, probably, but I’d know what I needed to do differently.”

“Wouldn’t enjoy being told, or wouldn’t enjoy doing whatever it was?” Hermia asked. “And is Father going to arrange something like that for me?”

“Both. Probably both.” Thessaly let out a breath. “The thing about me marrying well, sweet, is that it gives you more options. Less pressure to do it yourself. If you met someone you really liked, when you’re properly out in society, you’d have more choices, so long as they were respectable.” A talisman maker of good background, but not aristocratic, just for example, not that Thessaly would ever say that out loud.

“Oh.” Hermia nestled in again, and there was a long silence. Just before Thessaly was certain her sister had fallen asleep, there was a whisper. “I don’t want you to be miserable for that.”

Thessaly had absolutely no answer to that, other than pretending she’d fallen asleep.