Chapter 41

JULY 12TH AT THESSALY’S HOME

“W hat did you tell Aunt Laudine?” Childeric’s comment came out as an accusation as soon as they were alone in the garden. They hadn’t even sat down yet. Actually, they hadn’t even made it to the bench on the far side of the garden, where Thessaly was aiming. It had a reasonable amount of shade.

He had come to call that afternoon. Mama had apparently expected him. She had told the two of them to go out to the garden; the weather was pleasant. Mama herself had barely left the front parlour other than to sleep since the funeral. She kept the lace curtains closed, letting in only filtered light. Thessaly was worried about her, but every time she’d tried to encourage Mama in something else, she’d been sent away.

Now she felt even more isolated. Not that she wanted to have this conversation with either of her parents nearby, or Hermia. It was complicated enough as it was. She was coming to this duel on the wrong foot. Certainly, she had no advance preparation other than what she had available to her at all times.

Thessaly squared her shoulders and took a breath. She was not prepared for this, but there was no need to make foolish missteps by rushing. “She assumed you had told me more than you did. That wasn’t hard, Childeric, given that you told me basically nothing other than when to come through the portal.” His expression hardened, and Thessaly added, “I can’t support you in what you’re doing if I don’t know what it is. Or avoid putting my foot in my mouth. I’d asked after her well-being and your uncle’s, and she was surprised you hadn’t mentioned that.”

Childeric stood abruptly, going to stare pointedly at a rosebush, his back to her. He folded his hands behind his back, everything rigid and unyielding. She didn’t beg him to turn around; she didn’t try to soothe him. Instead, she sat there, fingers running over the ridge of her betrothal ring under her glove, thinking about what Vitus had said about it. Protection of what she was contracted to do, not anything about warmth.

He stood there for a long time, but she was more patient than Childeric was. She’d trained patience just as much as she’d trained in casting illusions or in duelling. She’d had the discipline and care for the art form that meant endless rounds of practice. Childeric wanted to rush in and do something visibly heroic, then depart stage left, pursued by an admiring crowd. No, stage right. He thought the left side of his face was handsomer.

Finally he turned around, and he was all smiles. Thessaly thought suddenly of what Aunt Metaia had said, the afternoon before she died, about when Childeric turned the charm on, when he thought he needed to. He took several steps back over to her, perching on the bench again and reaching for her hand. “Do forgive me, Thess. I wanted to spare you the strain, considering, well, everything.” The last word sounded a little hollow, but Thessaly wasn’t sure if she entirely trusted her own judgement on that point, not right now.

“I’d rather know. Especially when it comes to inviting me to anything with your family. I feel so awful when I’ve not met their expectations. Or yours.” She threw that last phrase in on a hunch, and she saw the way his expression changed into something uncomfortably approving. “It’s so hard, with Aunt Metaia gone, and Mama - well, Mama’s taking it very hard. They were close. But I’m marrying you, and I need to know the things that matter there.”

He patted her hand, the way you patted a horse on the withers to settle it. “There, there, oh, I suppose when you put it like that, it makes sense.” As if her feelings had to do with her being a weak and emotional female who needed special attention. She might well be emotional at the moment, but she felt she had good cause. “There, there, Thess. No, you’re right. I am sorry I didn’t give you more warning about the announcement.”

Thessaly considered her options, all of them, even the distasteful ones. She could concede the field, forgive him, and go on to talk about something else. That would set a horrid pattern for the rest of their lives together. Also, she was fairly sure Aunt Metaia’s ghost would come and haunt her every night, or something of the kind. That wouldn’t do at all.

The second option was probing a little, with a decided leavening of praise, about why he’d chosen to do the announcement then and that way. What he hoped for with the Council, too, because she was fairly sure he wasn’t actually prepared for the work involved. Not that Thessaly knew all the details. But she knew there was a fair bit of work. Meetings, for one, and Childeric did not have much patience for meetings.

Third, she could confront him, and that would end messily, and Mama would be upset about it besides. Possibly also Father. She was entirely unsure how to weight things with her parents right now. They weren’t behaving like they had. Not with each other and not with Thessaly either. Possibly with Hermia, but Hermia was doing her utter best not to be a trouble to anyone and mostly in her room or the nursery.

Put that way, her choice was clear. She couldn’t dither about other variations, she had to stay nimble and keep moving forward. Whichever direction forward actually was, which was definitely part of her problem here. Thessaly took a breath and let it out. “Can you explain more of it now to me, please, so I understand better? I’m sure I’m missing something. Why you did the announcement that way, why you couldn’t tell me in advance, so I knew what to expect. You’ve been very distant, and I know you’re worried about your uncle, but is there something else?”

That last part hit a sore spot for just a second. She saw him react the way he had at the funeral, a sudden jolt, and she still didn’t know what it meant. Then Childeric shook his head, his smile false for a moment, then warming. “That’s a lot of questions. Let’s see. Well, first, Maman and Father wanted to make a fuss over it. It’s not every day anyone gets a shot at a Council seat.”

No, since generally it meant that one of the Council had died. Retiring was a possibility, but the sort of people who made it onto the Council were the sort of people who didn’t understand the concept of retirement. Aunt Metaia had been teasing Hereswith Rowan about it for years. Council Head Rowan was in her early seventies. And she’d had a whole separate career in the Ministry, doing diplomatic work, before challenging for the Council. Thessaly did her best to sound cautiously full of questions. “And why now? I mean, of course you want the chance, that much is obvious, but you’re very young for it. I mean, I know enough about all of them, and how long they’ve been on the Council.”

“Of course you do, dearest.” He patted her hand again. “Who knows when the next chance will be? It could be years, a decade. Now, right now, I’m in the prime of my youth. I can devote myself entirely to preparations - Father and Maman have worked up a whole schedule for - with - me.” That, now, was a telling admission. “They’ve even got Andreas Fulton to come in starting next week.”

Andreas Fulton was an excellent duellist, but not necessarily an excellent trainer. Thessaly had done three master classes with him and then decided that her time was better spent in most other pursuits. Even, say, flower arranging, which was almost never her choice if other options were available. Given the fee he’d likely asked for, he’d flatter Childeric, give him a few tips that might be some use, and not do any harm. She nodded. “I hope that goes well. He does know quite a lot.”

“And, of course, it would be a feather in the hat for the family. You understand that one, of course. The connections, the influence, everything that we want.” Now instead of patting her hand, he curled his fingers around it, the angle not quite comfortable for her, but she didn’t try to rearrange.

“Oh, I can understand that, yes.” Thessaly cleared her throat. “And the announcement? That’s what really hurts, Childeric, that I had no idea. And it was Aunt Metaia’s seat. I know it isn’t personal, but it feels personal.”

His face froze for just a moment, then he squeezed her hand. “I am sorry, dearest. I handled that badly. And Maman has scolded me. You needn’t do the same.” As if his mother and Thessaly were interchangeable. Or rather, as if Thessaly’s feelings about this didn’t matter at all. “We really have been terribly worried about Uncle Dagobert. Aunt Laudine’s done all she can for him, but he’s in a bad way. An orderly with him all the time, someone who knows all the right charms in case, well, he gets it in his head to do something dangerous.”

None of that prevented Childeric from sending a note, even if making a call was not feasible. Thessaly nodded. “I’m sorry it’s been so awful. Your aunt and uncle intimidate me a bit - like your parents, I mean, I am sensible about their skills and magic, and properly respectful. But I’ve enjoyed talking with both your aunt and uncle when we’ve had the chance. And it must be awful for Garin.”

“There you go, being soft-hearted. Now, I’ve answered your questions. And it’s not as if this particular problem will come up again, will it? You’re not likely to be in mourning again - that’s what made it so tricky to navigate. And of course, I’ll not be challenging twice for the Council.” He sounded so confident and self-assured, and Thessaly couldn’t bear the sound of it.

“Just, please, keep me informed? A note, if you can’t get away. I really do want to back you up. That’s my role now we’re betrothed, and certainly once we’re married. And I can’t do that if I don’t know anything about what’s going on. Please? Can you promise me that?” She did her best to look endearing and gesture at the fact he held all the cards here.

Childeric leaned forward and kissed her cheek, a proper, gentle sort of kiss, but impersonal for all that. “I’ll see what I can do. Sigbert’s not holding up his end, he keeps disappearing while we’ve business to tend to.” It wasn’t any sort of promise at all, and she knew it. He must know it. “Now, Maman and Father would like to invite you to supper at some point, when you feel it’s appropriate. When are you starting up with your apprenticeship again?”

“Just the family, not a larger party?” Thessaly felt she needed to check. It had only been three weeks, not yet a month. “I’m resuming the apprenticeship on Monday, but just going straight there and back.” She glanced up toward the windows. “Mama’s taking Aunt Metaia’s death very badly. I do feel I need to be here to support her.”

“I suppose that’s reasonable enough. Maman thought you might like a little time at Arundel, on your own. Perhaps the Friday and Saturday? You can choose whatever quiet amusements you prefer, have luncheon and supper with us. Father reminded me it’d be best for you to become familiar with the land and the land magic sooner than later, of course. A few walks, a look at the less public parts of the manor?”

The problem, Thessaly realised, was that she could scarcely ask for more information and then turn down the first offer of it. She inclined her head. “I’m - well, I’m not sleeping as well as I’d like, or any of that. But if you’d like me to visit you and your family, I’m sure we can arrange something for a night or two. And Arundel is lovely in the summer.”

“There, see how easy that is? It will give us more time to talk.” He patted her hand again, looking triumphant. “Perhaps we might walk, and I could tell you more about what plans we have for my preparation.”

Thessaly didn’t argue. That took far more energy than she had, and besides it seemed a poor strategy. Instead, she nodded, let him stand, and then accepted his arm as they progressed moderately around the circuit of the garden. There were robe fittings for protective clothing, discussions about which of the family talisman pieces might suit rather than a commission. Childeric had his duelling training, and then a number of other skills. Someone with a bit of planning sense had clearly had a hand in the arrangements. But the events that excited Childeric were mostly not the more sensible end of the scale.

It all seemed decidedly rigid, as if there was a path with no space for her, crowding her off onto the verge. And while it was pleasant to be outside, she found the whole conversation oddly draining. It was as if she’d turned into a shadow of who she preferred to be in the course of the hour they spent together.