Chapter 38

JUNE 29TH AT THE DESCHAMPS FAMILY HOME

I n some ways, it was good that Vitus was so incredibly busy. He’d made it out to the Faire each day for at least a few hours, and he had hopes that some of the conversations would bear fruit. He’d scheduled an initial discussion with Theo Carrington about work. And he’d spent his spare hours and minutes rummaging through notes about what kinds of things might be of interest and a sense of costs and time frame.

In all the interstitial spaces, he thought about that conversation with Thessaly and the two funerals. He’d also stewed on whether there was anything he could do that might help anyone that didn’t involve inscriptions and rocks, which brought him back to Thessaly again. She’d sent him a note, yesterday, saying that the talisman was working very well. She’d had two decent nights of sleep. But it had been a short note, forwarded on from the Fox House club. Even he wasn’t able to spend more than an hour staring at it to suck out every drop of possible obscured meaning, so he’d gone back to his professional needs.

The Council challenge itself had been set for the autumnal equinox, which gave everyone near three months to prepare, considered a generous term. It was Vitus’s first time doing a piece for a challenger. But Niobe had done pieces for four challengers since Vitus had started his apprenticeship, and she’d explained the different potential approaches each time. Some people wanted something for protection from whatever happened in the challenge space, some wanted a way to bolster a particular magic or skill they had. Some wanted something more obscure, more about the mental aspect of the challenge than anything else.

Niobe’s piece for Justus Livingstone in 1885 had been focused on having the knowledge he needed come to mind quickly and reliably, and he’d come out of the challenge successfully. And with a generous bonus to Niobe afterwards, too, actually, besides recommending her to others in need of talisman work. And her piece for the challenge in 1883 hadn’t been successful. Hesperidon Warren had triumphed that day. But the challenger there had come out of it unharmed and able to try again another day. She’d been less generous, but it had still been a help to business. Vitus was suspecting Theo Carrington would want something more like protection. But part of what he was working through had to do with some newspaper references and general material about the family.

All of which meant that he was home on Saturday evening. His parents had received a last-minute invitation to join one of Father’s clients for a supper at one of the restaurants that set up at the Faire. Vitus had laid out his papers in the library, half a dozen books spread out in front of him. He rubbed the bridge of his nose, because he’d read the same three pages five times and he wasn’t getting any further.

“Anyone home? It’s - oh, there you are!” Lucas swung the door to the library open before Vitus could do more than turn in his chair toward the sound. He stood, reflexively, and his brother came over, clapping him on the shoulder in a cheerful embrace. “I was wondering.”

“We didn’t expect you tonight. Didn’t you say you had plans?” Vitus ran his hand through his hair, then tried again, because some of it, yes, was sticking up.

“My plans fell through.” Lucas shrugged. “The girl I was going to take dancing has a more serious suitor. I wish her well.” Vitus blinked at that, then pivoted and sat down on the end of the sofa with a soft thud.

“You were seeing someone?” Lucas hadn’t mentioned. Though they didn’t get a lot of chance to talk, Lucas had a limited amount of leave. That went triple for anything Lucas didn’t want to discuss with their parents around. “Mama and Papa are at the Faire for a supper with the Bellrights. I don’t expect them back until at least half nine.”

“So we’ve got a bit. Half-seven now, if you didn’t hear the chime. Look, how about I get a tray of cheese on toast, maybe an egg, and bring it back? You get yourself to a good pause with your papers.” Lucas seemed in good humour, whatever the rest of his day had held, and Vitus certainly didn’t have the wits to argue. “Ten minutes, maybe fifteen.” He went off without waiting for more answer than a nod, and Vitus heard him heading for the back stairs and the staff’s sitting room and the kitchen.

By the time Lucas came back with a tray, Vitus had cleared off the table. He’d stacked his books in a neat pile and had even fetched a bottle of wine and opened it. Nothing fancy, of course, but Papa prided himself on being a man who preferred wine and all its upper class connotations, over beer or ale or cider.

Lucas came in, beaming. “Here we are, then, that should hold us. Now, what has you here stewing over books?”

“Trust you to start in right away.” The thing about Lucas is that he didn’t dodge around delicate questions. From what Vitus had seen from his friends from Boar House, none of them were inclined to. It was just a question of how obvious the charge was. It suited Lucas well in the cavalry, where straight talking and common sense apparently went a long way.

“That’s not an answer.” Lucas leaned back, and Vitus focused on the plate in front of him, rather than look back at his brother. “Here, I’ll start. I was walking out with a girl, but we both knew it wasn’t serious. Magical, obviously, but she wants someone who’ll settle down and marry sooner than later, and I’m not that. Eventually, I’m sure.” He shrugged, then considered and undid his uniform jacket to end up in shirtsleeves, twisting to fold the jacket over the chair beside him. “You?”

It wasn’t anything Vitus had said out loud, not to anyone yet. He’d barely said it inside his own head, because it was ridiculous and impossible and wouldn’t do him any good. But here he was, and Lucas was asking, and Lucas was probably the only person he could say it to. “In confidence from everyone?”

“Everyone. I’ll make oath on it, if you want.” Then he held up his hand. “I swear on my tin soldiers.”

That made Vitus laugh, meeting his brother’s eyes. “A solemn oath, even more binding than one on the Silence. For you.” Lucas grinned back at him and then just waited. He had grown both more patient and more determined since their nursery days. Vitus took a breath. “I’ve fallen in love with someone where it’s impossible. And I’m worried about her.”

He heard Lucas let out a huff of breath. “Oh.” Then the tone of his voice changed. “Have a bite or two of food, some of that wine. And then tell me a little more, would you? Have you, anyone else?”

“Who would I tell? Not her, though she trusts me.” Vitus took his brother’s sensible advice, taking a few bites of his supper, drinking a swallow or two of wine, then setting the glass down carefully. “Thessaly Lytton-Powell. We’d talked about her before, but more now.”

“Oh. Oh, Vitus.” Those syllables were full of emotion, sympathy, and understanding. It was almost more than Vitus could bear. Except, like his conversation with Thessaly two days ago, it was far better to have company in the complexity. “Does she care for him? What does she think of you?”

“She’s...” Vitus had to stop and figure out how to put that in words. “She’s never said she loves him or talked about him like that. Thessaly’s pragmatic? Of course she is. She’s both a Lytton and a Powell.” He turned his hand palm up. “Thessaly let me look at her engagement ring yesterday. No talisman work, which is curious, but of course it’s harder to get that to take without her consent and understanding. But it was all coldly practical. Her role in having children, and protection of that goal, nothing about warmth or love or passion or whatever other emotion betrothal might suggest.”

“There’s a rumour - I can see if I can hear anything more about it - that Childeric Fortier has a mistress. If I have it right, a young widow. Her late husband was some sort of suitably skilled craftsman. I do not know what he’s like with the maids. I wouldn’t hear that sort of gossip.”

“Nor I.” Vitus said. It was the sort of thing someone might hear at a club, if they shared a club with whoever it was. It would come out either in their bragging openly about their prowess or in the whispers from people who didn’t approve. But they didn’t have an overlapping club or circle. “Why’d you remember it?”

“That’s a long story, involving a prank, three barrels of beer, a log rolling contest, an elderly mule, and a three-cornered hat. Fortier got mentioned as a tangent, related to the hat. I think. I might have been more than drunk at the time.” Lucas shrugged. “Every bit of information helps in a strategy.”

Vitus snorted. “What you do when you’re not here visiting?”

“Man’s got to keep up with his schoolmates.” Lucas shrugged, grinning amiably. “All right. So what have you done with this woman? Who you call by her first name?”

“She said I could!” It came out entirely defensive, and Vitus immediately blushed. “She’s had a horrible time. I met her at the St. George’s Gala, she did the illusion work for her own gown, her aunt’s, and then we got to talking. She did an illusion on mine and asked if I’d come so she could work on a vein of lapis. Then we met in the library, and a couple of times since. Her aunt....” His voice trailed off.

“Metaia Powell.” Lucas’s voice was quiet. “I’m sorry for her loss. Haven’t heard much about that, it’s not the sort of thing for the loud gossip of Boar House, and I’m not around enough for the quiet to reach me fast.”

“She was in Four Metals.” Vitus offered it, knowing his brother would translate that. “And much liked, though she wasn’t at most of our events. I’d never seen her. I suppose it would be tricky, as a Council member. I made Thessaly a talisman for better sleep. She said it helped.” He couldn’t help the way his voice softened at the end.

“You’ve seen her, then?” Lucas considered. “Without falling afoul of their mourning customs?” He was considering something. Vitus knew that tone.

“She asked me to meet her. A footpath along the back of their property, she lets me in the gate of the orchard. Well, she has twice. And she’s sent notes, mostly via her club, for forwarding.” Vitus considered. “She thinks in terms of strategy, she’s a duellist. But she also - she let me keep an eye out over her, while she slept. And she kissed my cheek, two days ago.”

Lucas was about to say something, then he let out his breath with an inaudible sigh. “I think that’s a woman who could use a bit of your kindness, brother. Someone to lend a hand. But it’s going to get your heart broken, and I don’t like that.”

“Don’t think I have a lot of choice in that, really. I’ve been turning it over and over, like looking at a stone for where to carve, and I can’t figure out anything that won’t hurt me. I’d rather be her friend and ache than leave her alone.” That was definitely the first time Vitus had put words to it, but he knew they were true.

“I’ll keep my ears open, then, for anything that might be relevant. And I wish you well, even if I don’t have a bloody idea what that looks like. Or could look like. You watch yourself, though. I don’t need to tell you that.”

“You don’t.” Vitus dropped his eyes to his plate again, remembering to take another bite or two before the toast was all sogginess. “I know it’s dangerous. And not just to me, if they took the idea she was at fault. But it’s not simple.”

“You don’t come in simple. Me, give me a cavalry charge. You can change the speed. You can change the angles, but fundamentally, it’s you and the horse. And they only go at speed in one direction at a time. I don’t know what to do with you and your inscribed stones and the nuance of this stroke or that line, never mind the people you’re doing them for. But you let me know if you need a shoulder. Or, I don’t know, someone with a shovel and a strong back.”

Vitus shuddered at that last image. “Don’t joke about that, please. It’s been a week, and then some.”

“Easy, there we go. Here, have a little more wine. And here, a strawberry or two. You’ve been working yourself into a fit, candle burning both ends, whatever else. Let me tell you a few stories, all nice and simple horses and foolish new recruits.”

Vitus glanced up, then nodded once, before returning his attention to his food, letting Lucas’s stories roll over him. By the time their parents came home, they’d settled into comfortable tipsiness, trading story for story. Some from school that hadn’t come up, some from Vitus’s travels, some from the Army. When Mama and Papa returned at ten, she immediately shooed Vitus up to bed, and he knew that was the sensible thing.