Chapter 6

APRIL 26TH IN TRELLECH

V itus was not at all sure of his footing in this conversation. It was as if he had found himself in some new European city, still only beginning to grasp the language and the way the streets went together, or where the river was. There was usually a river, that much he’d learned. The non-magical world ran on them, and the magical folk preferred them.

This woman, whoever she was, didn’t seem far from his own age. But he wasn’t sure if he knew her. None of the mannerisms quite fit with the women he’d gone to Schola with, not in his house or his year, anyway. That still left quite a few options. But the illusion work was skilled, and it wasn’t a design he’d seen before. Not that he was up on the most recent work in Albion, of course, and he also didn’t know every illusionist currently crafting in the art form.

She considered, then inclined her head. “Thessaly Lytton-Powell.” The name rolled like the dragon she wore roaring to the sky. He’d heard her name recently, of course, twice over, but more than that, she came from two of the most powerful families in Albion and was marrying into a third.

Before he could do something ill-considered, he made another bow, careful to keep it elegant. “An honour, Mistress. May I also compliment your dressmaker and your illusionist?”

That made her smile, something that didn’t seem terrifying. She shifted her fingers slightly around the glass, and he saw the dragon move, another sinuous twist of the magnificent head, before he realised suddenly he had made a gaffe. Vitus swallowed. “Pardon. Your dressmaker, alone. Your illusion work is - I don’t think I’ve seen anything like it. Might I ask about it?”

She blinked at him several times, then she held out her wineglass to him. He took it, unsure what she was doing. She reached behind her head, tapping the ties that held her mask in place twice, so that the fastenings loosened, then lowered the mask. He wasn’t sure if she’d used charms to enhance her looks - smooth her skin, bring roses to her cheeks, that sort of thing - but she looked stunning. Flowering with the abundance of her magic, that was a way to put it, something no charm could ever quite duplicate.

She was also young, younger than he’d guessed with the mask on. They had overlapped at Schola, if briefly. He had a faint memory of someone who looked enough like her, though that someone had been a firstie when he’d been a fifth year. And in Fox or maybe Owl House, not his own Salmon. No, it must be Fox. Someone from a family like hers must have been.

Now, she lowered the mask, indicating several small embroidered strands in different colours along the edge of the mask. “These anchor each point, and by focusing on them, I can adjust the illusion so it moves. The other part is, well, more or less a dance, certainly a performance. It comes out a little differently each time. It is not a rigid precision.” She considered, then added, “Your brother would not approve of it as a military drill.”

Vitus laughed. “Ah, but my brother is a cavalryman, and horses do not precisely behave the same way each time, either. It is a delightfully organic piece, and with much more nuance in the colour than I’ve seen in many illusions. It’s the range.” He glanced back toward the rest of the gala. “I am wondering how many other people appreciated it properly?”

“My aunt. But she had the advance knowledge to do so.” Mistress Lytton-Powell let the mask drape from her wrist by one loop of ribbon. She wore it charmingly like a dance card, then reached out for her glass. Vitus made absolutely certain not to fumble with it.

“If this is what you create when you are encouraged in your work, it is a pity more people do not notice.” There, that was a gallant statement. “Are you apprenticing then, or do I insult, and you have completed it?”

“Oh, not for nine or ten months more.” Her tone shifted, the kind of thing those of Fox House read in their infinite subtlety, and Vitus had to work to understand in all the implied layers. “Illusion work - if not this form of it - is a suitable skill for a society wife of the Great Families.”

“My congratulations, of course. My parents were at your betrothal. Mama was telling me how grand the festivities were. I am sorry I was away, and missed the chance myself.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Will your betrothed object to find you talking with another man? Or will his parents or yours?” It suddenly seemed an excellent idea to gain more information on that point.

“Childeric is off with his friends.” There was a clear neutrality there. She was not placing any judgement anywhere near that sentence. That was most curious. “And he and I have discussed matters. A conversation somewhere public and well-lit for a few minutes is well within our agreements. A hint of scandal is not. You understand, I am sure.”

“I understand that those are deep waters, not ones I normally navigate, Mistress.” Vitus let himself smile. “I must trust, then, that you will let me know should I overstep. And of course, I do not wish to keep you from the dancing.”

“I did want a breath of air. I will go in soon enough.” Mistress Lytton-Powell turned to him, looking him up and down. “Actually, may I adjust your costume? Would you mind terribly?”

Vitus blinked. It was certainly not a sentence he’d expected, or an offer. “What sort of change, please?” He thought quickly through what he was wearing in the way of his own work, just cufflinks, tie pin, and a protective talisman under his shirt.

“It’s rather a lovely design, your amethyst. But I’ve been itching to improve it. And you seem like a gentleman who wishes the proper translucence and shading in his accoutrements. Something as much like stone as it is possible to wear?”

She turned her hand up, palm flat, the mask bumping against her skirts as she moved. “May I? The amethyst first, but I also hope for an improvement in the surrounding matrix.” Before he could ask anything further, she added, “It will wear off overnight. I don’t have any of the fixatives handy. Obviously.” She gestured at her skirts. “I might carry them beneath my skirts, but I’d worry about breakage. Some people are so clumsy on the dance floor.”

She obviously did not permit that sort of clumsiness, the way she moved so deftly and gracefully. Vitus was clear it was a skill she’d spent endless hours perfecting, but he appreciated it all the more for that. Now, he nodded. “If you wish, I will not deny you.” He said the words in all gallantry - and honestly, he did not wish to offend. But something in them had more of an echo than he’d expected, and he did not know why. “Should I stand in a certain way?”

“Just your arms at your sides, away from where I’m working. Here, let me have your glass as well. They should be safe enough here for a moment.” Mistress Lytton-Powell considered the railing. “Or if not, I suppose there’s no one right below just now.” She balanced the two glasses on the flat of the railing and then turned back. “It won’t take very long.” Then she tsked once. “Your suit, is it wool or a wool-silk blend?” Those were the two most likely for Albion, and in spring.

“Wool.” He knew the silk could affect enchantments. Plenty of the men inside were wearing something of the kind. Anyone who routinely wore protective enchantments like armour in their clothing, rather than their accoutrements. “I’ve talismans in my cufflinks, tie pin, watch fob, and a pendant, if that might affect anything.”

It made her raise an eyebrow, but then she nodded, and before he could ask anything further, he could feel the effect. It was rather like a paintbrush gliding over skin, a tactile sensuality that reminded him of running his hand along the stone of the mines themselves when he’d visited. His other experiences of illusion work had been less sensual. As her hand moved, he could see the way everything shifted. She was using the embroidery and purple cloth as the base to form crystals that stuck out at different, realistic angles. They formed a broad line from one shoulder down to the opposite hip, rather like a sash or even a sword belt, made of gemstone.

Then she considered, bringing her gloved hand to her lips for just a second. There was something more like a pulse of magic. Now he could see the suit take on a shimmer more like stone, and with little cracks and shading. It faded out a bit as he craned his neck to look at his shoulders, but the effect was more visible across his chest.

“There.” She sounded pleased. “Thank you for that. It was bothering me. You were very close with the fabric. Do move. I want to see how the effect adjusts.”

Given the instruction, Vitus took a step back, then forward, reaching for both glasses again and offering hers back to her. She took it, lifting her glass in a silent toast, and he touched his glass to hers. It rang, suddenly a little louder in the surrounding quiet. He could feel and see how the crystals looked like solid stone, but they shifted as he moved, like living rock. Or the scales of her dragon, now he thought of that. “I am simply sorry, Mistress, that they will not last. Like a Fatae tale, I suppose, fading away with the dawn.”

“Should you wish to discuss a more permanent piece, I’d be glad to do so. At the moment - you know how this goes, I’m sure - you would speak to Magistra North North. Her shop is north on Trivium Way.” She nodded in the general direction.

“I know the place.” He did. It was just down from the stationery store his father preferred. “I would like that, though I should probably consider if I wish amethyst or something else.”

“The purple suits you. And the range of it.” Then she cocked her head. “Though you weren’t in Fox House, I think.”

“Salmon,” he agreed. “But much as I like citrine, it doesn’t suit me well to wear. Not in this sort of quantity, anyway.” He had somewhat mousy hair and the paler yellow did no favours. “I love lapis, but that’s even trickier to manage in a costume.”

Mistress Lytton-Powell got a speculative look in her eyes at that. Vitus knew that look much better. In anyone of Salmon - or anyone in the Four Metals, for that matter - he’d have immediately pegged it as a sudden contemplation of an interesting magical problem to solve. “I might have some ideas for that, but it needs a layered effect, and getting the veining right is a trick. I will do some research. Do call.”

Before he could say much more, there was a voice behind him. “There you are, Thessaly. I’ve someone I wanted you to talk to.” Vitus turned to see a woman, perhaps in her forties, coming toward them, or rather floating, as if she were in a small lake or pond. It was an impressive costume, if far more showy than Mistress Lytton-Powell’s at first glance. Her mask made him unsure who the older woman was.

“Aunt Metaia.” It gave him the beginning of a clue, but then Mistress Lytton-Powell turned. “This is my aunt, Council Member Metaia Powell. Auntie, I have been discussing some illusion work with Master Vitus Deschamps. Oh, and I meant to ask about your work, we haven’t had time. I will think about the lapis lazuli.” That seemed heartfelt, actually, not just politeness.

Vitus offered a bow. “Of course I won’t keep you. I’m glad to see your glass to safety, though, if I may serve in so small a way. Your costume flatters, Council Member. May I guess your niece had a hand in it?”

It won him a flash of a smile, something full of an approval Vitus didn’t entirely understand. “Oh, a man who uses his eyes properly. Yes, thank you, Thessaly did the work, and splendidly. Do come along, dear, or we’ll never find him again.”

They both smiled at him - their smiles made it obvious they were related - and Vitus just bowed once more as they went off, saying nothing further. He was left alone with two mostly empty wineglasses and a surprising number of questions. He couldn’t do anything about those, but he could go show off her work and perhaps have a few conversations that might lead to eventual clients in due course.