Chapter 37

JUNE 27TH IN TRELLECH

T hessaly felt absolutely drained of anything good by the time she got to Thursday. Aunt Metaia’s funeral had been exhausting and awful in so many ways, but it had at least been something she understood. Philip’s funeral yesterday had been something entirely different, a duel she didn’t know how to parse that used angles and attacks she’d never seen or felt.

Going had also caused an argument between Mama and Father. Thessaly had asked to go. She’d known Philip, not well, but more than the rest of her family, and she knew Alexander better than that. She’d duelled Philip, she’d talked to him, he’d been kind to her. One of the family ought to go, she’d argued. Mama had refused, and she’d even raised her voice about Thessaly going.

Father had argued back, out in the open, not in suppressed whispers and sharp tones. He’d said that whatever else they thought, having Henut Landry notice a slight wouldn’t be a good idea. It was not the argument she’d expected at all. And it came after Father sharing the commentary circulating at Bourne’s about how no one had trusted Philip Landry, not any of the right sorts.

But, illogically, he’d gone straight from that to insisting Thessaly make an appearance. He would escort her. It was not a social call; it was not forbidden by mourning custom. All of that was true, but it sat uncomfortably on Thessaly’s shoulders.

Thessaly did not have the energy or the wits to figure out why her parents were being quite like this. Obviously, the Landrys were of the professional class, not the Great Families, and that mattered to both Mama and Father. She thought Father might have come up on the wrong end of Magistra Landry’s sharpness at some point, the way he made a point of avoiding her when they were at the same event. But none of that ought to matter, when Philip was dead, and Alexander was mourning, and there were customs that indicated kindness and recognition of that grief.

She’d been glad to get Vitus’s note, first thing this morning, that he’d come by the orchard gate at half-one, and if she could meet him, wonderful. If not, he’d leave the stone after a few minutes. She’d managed to get away - Mama was lying down in a dark room with a cool cloth on her forehead and Hermia reading to her quietly. Father was out, tending to some legal matter, something he and Mama had been talking about in private.

Thessaly was, therefore, down waiting at the orchard gate at quarter past, looking down the lane, hoping for a sign of Vitus. Then, right on time, there he was, waving one hand at her while he closed the distance. She opened the gate to him immediately, and he came through. “It’s good to see you.” Those were the first words out of his mouth, followed promptly by, “I hope you are all right, considering, and that yesterday was not too much of a strain? I have some Welsh cakes, if you care for them, and lemonade.”

It was far more than Childeric had offered yesterday, or any of the Fortiers, during their brief afternoon call. They had been terse - polite, but terse - and they’d hurried out at the end. Thessaly ducked her chin. “I’m glad you came.” It came out warmly, the way she felt that this was a momentary light in her life that mattered. “And please. I— food’s still difficult, but the cakes sound worth trying.”

“Should I set a chime for an hour? Do you need to be back at any point?” He knew the way to the bench now. He went a little ahead, kicking a fallen branch out of the way with one toe, sparing her the need to navigate it. She nodded, and he set the chime as soon as she sat down. A minute later, they were comfortably arranged on the bench, a small cardboard box of Welsh cakes open between them, and he had opened a bottle of lemonade for her.

It tasted like sunlight, the tartness the taste she hadn’t known she’d be able to enjoy right now. Drinking it let her take a deeper breath for the first time in days. “Thank you.” Thessaly tried to find words for something beyond that, and couldn’t, settling back to “Thank you,” again.

“I’m glad it’s the right thing.” Vitus crossed one of his legs over the other. “First, I have your talisman for you. It should ease things, but I wouldn’t handle it much unless you’re ready to sleep, especially right now, if that’s been hard.” He reached into the satchel he’d brought and took out a small jewellery box, opening to reveal a polished and inscribed stone, mounted to be worn as a pendant. “There’s a soft ribbon in there, more comfortable for sleep, and—”He flushed, as if he were about to say something more indelicate than he actually did. “It might catch on your hair, a chain, I thought.”

“Not many would think about that. May I touch it?” Thessaly waited for his nod and then reached out a finger to stroke the surface. It felt cool in the way a breeze felt in summer’s heat. It was soothing, or it would be soothing, she was sure of that. She looked up to meet his eyes. “I can feel that it does what, I mean.” She stammered over the end, and pulled her hand back into her lap, then had to reach out again when he closed the box and offered it to her. She let it settle in the fold of her skirts, where she could feel the weight of it.

“It can’t take the grief away, but if there is some other way I could help, I hope you will tell me.” He hesitated, then he reached out a hand toward hers, and she nodded. A moment later, his fingers were resting there. She turned her hand over, so their hands matched palm to palm. His fingertips brushed against the inside of her wrist, hers just fitting into the curve of the heel of his hand. It made her think, ridiculously - because the original was a dance, not a moment on a bench - of the line from Shakespeare.

“Palm to palm is holy palmer’s kiss.” It came out of her mouth before she could stop herself. It must sound silly.

Vitus said nothing for a moment, but he was looking at her, then he cleared his throat. “I treasure your touch. Whatever form pleases you.” He inhaled. “Also, I have no desire to end like Romeo and Juliet. I am no Benedick, but that is a happier end to the tale by far.”

It made her mouth turn up. She felt it. “I neither. And our families are not feuding, not like that. Dissimilar, that’s a different problem. I don’t think Shakespeare has an answer for it.”

“We will make our own, then, whatever form it takes?” His voice angled up at the end, more uncertain, until she nodded. Then, more securely, he said, “Alexander came by this morning. His mother asked yesterday if I had a carnelian that would suit for something, and Niobe did. He seemed...” Then he stopped. “Were you as confused by the funeral as I was?”

“I don’t know how confused you were, but I was very confused.” Thessaly admitted it, relieved. “I am so sorry for them, for Alexander, perhaps most. He looked up to Philip no end. I’m not close to any of them, not friends, not even so much as you, now, but duelling and gatherings, the way you know people like that.” She hesitated, then added, “Did you understand what they were doing? I know what it felt like, but I don’t know what they were saying?”

Vitus blinked at her, his hand shifting a little under hers. “That’s more than I got?”

“It was - the best way I can describe it was a duel, a ritualised duel. That they were both, um. Taking roles. Roles that were real, not, um, acted? To go back a few sentences. But that was also following a framework. I don’t know what that was. I’m just sure that’s what they were doing. And the Fortiers didn’t like it. At least the ones who were there.”

That made Vitus blink again. “I didn’t get a good look at all of who was there. It would have been rude and obvious.”

“And we can’t ever be obvious, can we?” It came out of Thessaly’s mouth like a quote from Mama, and she covered her mouth with her other hand. “Pardon. I sound like Mama. I really don’t mean to. No, you were right. Everyone was on edge. Dagobert and Laudine weren’t there, and I wouldn’t have expected Garin, anyway. Lord Clovis, his mother, Lady Maylis, and both Childeric and Sigbert. Not Bradamante Nevill, Clovis and Dagobert’s sister. But I saw her husband. He’s had some business dealings with Henut Landry, I think, though not recently.”

“This is why you being a scion of Fox House gives you some advantages. Besides the other.” Vitus let out a breath. “What made you think they didn’t like it?”

“I don’t know exactly what caused it, but there was a point, part way through - I was maybe five or six feet away from Lord Clovis? - when all of them flinched. Like they’d all had a shock at the same time. Not Yves Nevill, though. He was right in front of me, and he didn’t move at all.”

Vitus was quiet for a long moment, long enough that Thessaly reached for another bit of the Welsh cake, breaking it off with her fingers awkwardly. She was ambidextrous enough for duelling and illusion work, and that did not actually transfer to cake. “I don’t know what to make of it. Or if it’s the sort of thing we really shouldn’t pry about. Alexander said nothing about it today, just picked up the stone. He was polite, just—” Vitus swallowed. “He looked awful. More awful than you have.”

Thessaly grimaced, but she understood what that meant. “Exhausted?”

“Exhausted. Like a tremendous duel or bohort match or something of the kind, something that had used all his vitality and then some, magically. And that had been emotionally challenging as well, not just hard work.” Thessaly knew enough how that felt, though she was rarely allowed to exert herself that far. It was not considered ladylike. Vitus added, “Did you talk to any of the Fortiers after?”

“No.” She considered that. “They wanted to leave immediately as soon as was minimally polite. I’d have said they’d seen a ghost or something of the kind, but I’m fairly sure they don’t permit ghosts or such magical untidiness.”

It made Vitus snort, briefly. Then he looked down at her hand, as if something had caught his attention for the first time. “Pardon.”

“You were looking at something?” Thessaly was curious now, and this was a thing she could admit to being curious about. Also, she rather wanted a distraction from thinking about the funeral. And especially from how it had seemed like whatever magic was in the room was searching for something, illuminating something, like focusing sunlight through a lens.

“Pardon, I’m curious now. It’s terribly forward of me, but might I have a look at your engagement ring? Properly, with my particular skills?” Vitus met her gaze evenly.

“You think there’s something I should know about it?” She took a breath and then tugged the ring off her hand. He sucked in a breath, as if he hadn’t expected that, then moved his hand, so she could drop the ring into his palm. He rummaged without looking in his satchel, pulling out a small leather kit and opening it one-handed, pulling out a jeweller’s loupe. Of course he’d carry one, the same way Thessaly routinely carried a selection of vials of powdered materia with her.

Vitus took his time examining the ring, holding it delicately but securely between his fingers. “The usual sort of charms for a ring. Find it if it slips off, to keep it clean and such.” The comment sounded like it was routine, that it was entirely what he expected. “A central - yes, that’s a ruby, not a spinel. Doubly refractive, of course. But moonstone, among the diamonds surrounding it, that’s interesting.” His tone suggested a professional neutrality, or at least he was trying for one.

“Not what you expected?” Thessaly leaned forward for a second, then realised it would change the light he was using and made herself settle back. “It’s a family piece, or the stones were. They had them reset for me.”

“It’s a ring about, well.” Vitus looked up, flushing slightly again. “The mix of male and female fertility, more or less. Though the ruby is dark enough and shading enough toward blue that it’s a reasonable enough hue for someone of Fox House. Both ruby and moonstone have protective qualities, too. But, pardon. More protection of you as a thing to be kept safe for future intended use than, say, a ring chosen for happiness or joy or love.”

Thessaly let out a puff of breath. “I suppose in the circumstances, I will take the protection I can get.” She felt like the air had been knocked out of her. It wasn’t a surprise. She hadn’t expected romantic adoration in any part of this betrothal. But she had hoped for the space for it. Apparently, she was the only one who had, the only one foolish enough to think that was even a possibility.

“There’s a little hope from the diamond. It’s often used for clarity of thought, and for preventing misunderstandings.” Vitus took one more look at it. “None of them are talismanic stones, that’s what I was wondering. Or worrying about, I suppose.” He admitted the last softly.

“I’m glad to know.” She wasn’t sure what she felt about the fact it wasn’t a talisman. Was she not worth the bother there, or was it a nod to wanting her to agree to whatever she wore like that? There was no way to tell without asking. Thessaly held out her hand, and he slipped the ring back on after a moment’s hesitation. She felt it settle again. “Both that it’s not doing things I didn’t know about, and what the inclinations are.” Before she could say anything else, there was a voice coming up from over the hill.

“Mistress Thessaly? There’s a caller. Your mother would like you to join her.” That was Fitchley.

It wasn’t remotely ladylike to swear, even the sort of language common at Schola. Thessaly stood, suddenly. “I have to go. Thank you so much for coming. And for telling me I’m not alone in thinking things strange. Wait until we’ve been gone a couple of minutes and then you can slip out. I left the warding so you could.”

She bent, before she could think better of it, to kiss Vitus on the cheek. They were well back in the orchard. Fitchley wouldn’t see Vitus. Then she was picking up her skirts a little and heading through the path, slipping the talisman in its box into the slit in her skirts and the pocket underneath. “Coming, Fitchley. Just a moment.”