Chapter 9

MAY 11TH AT brYN GLAS, WALES

T hessaly had just finished the fourth round of drills when she heard her aunt. “Tea, dear?” It was a lovely day out, warm and dry enough that Thessaly had come to work through her duelling exercises outside in the meadow beyond Aunt Metaia’s more structured gardens.

She had not actually been able to set up a duel this month, either in the past or soon. And June would be worse, between the Council rites and the Midsummer Faire. Thessaly had hopes of one in a week or ten days, depending on whether a couple of people could get free. It had to be a couple, for propriety’s sake, and ideally at least one other woman. Palantina Monkton and her brother Decimus, maybe, or Eveline and Cuthbert North, but both pairs of siblings often had other obligations. She’d have to hold her thumbs for good luck and hope.

“Coming, Aunt Metaia.” She wiped her face off with her handkerchief, then looked around to make sure that everything was fit to be left. She undid one lingering cantrip in the southwest corner and mended a bit of torn up ground ten feet from her. Then she considered the knees of the pantaloons she was wearing under her calf-length frock. Aunt Metaia approved thoroughly of rational dress, especially for active pursuits, but she did not approve of grass stains at the tea table. Nor did she approve of letting stains set and making more trouble for the maids later.

Fortunately, another charm took care of that one. One final bit of magic pulled all the wisps of hair that had come loose into a tidier form. Thessaly felt quite suitable to be good company again. She had come up here in a burst of frustration, after a somewhat aggravating morning being quiet and attentive while Lady Maylis was at home to callers. Even though she’d just been sitting there - with Childeric beside her for about half of it - she’d turned up at Bryn Glas feeling exhausted and out of sorts.

By the time she made it back to the table on the garden terrace, Aunt Metaia had settled in. Three kinds of scones and several small decorative pastries stood on the tiered stand, along with neatly sliced sandwiches. “Oh, tea.” Thessaly let out a relieved sigh. “Please do thank Cook for me?”

“Are they not feeding you at home? I swear, Thessaly, every time you come here, you seem to be starving. Though you worked up an appetite, too.” Aunt Metaia settled into her own chair. She was wearing one of her favourite forms of aesthetic dress, a loose peacock tea gown over a darker blue underdress, uncorseted. The fabric, though, was radiantly gorgeous. The shade shimmered from blues to greens to a hint of purple like the bird, a far richer weave than Mama normally wore at home. “Has the tree stump been thoroughly defeated, then?”

Thessaly ducked her chin, because that was an edged question. “Thank you for the chance. I wanted to scream most of the morning.” She felt far more alive here, she realised, than she had at Arundel, or even at home. As if she could flourish here and not there. That was an uncomfortable thought, and unhelpful to boot, and she set it aside.

“A particular frustration?” Aunt Metaia poured the tea, without looking directly at Thessaly. That was pointed, too. Aunt Metaia might be Thessaly’s favourite aunt by far, and Thessaly was fairly sure she stood high in Aunt Metaia’s list of favourite relatives. But that didn’t mean Aunt Metaia wasn’t terrifyingly competent in her own right, and by the standards of Albion’s Council. She was an acclaimed Mistress of Illusion, far beyond Thessaly’s own skills at the moment. She also held an equal mastery of Sympathetic magic, and she was entirely adept in any social or academic duel.

“Lady Maylis asked for me to receive callers with her. It was,” Thessaly broke off, because there was no good way to say this. “It was very rigid.”

“And how do you feel about that?” Aunt Metaia’s voice was calm, comfortable.

Thessaly considered. “I know making a good marriage is expected. For my sake, for the family’s sake, for the sake of the next generation. Childeric can be charming, and I know I’m very lucky that his family thought me suitable.” Aunt Metaia knew all of that. The Powells had been a powerful family for many years. But neither they nor the Lytton’s - Papa’s family - had held the land magic, at least not any of the lines that led to Thessaly.

Aunt Metaia nodded. “The Fortier lands are flourishing, both magically and otherwise. They’ve had a charmed generation or two, as well. Two handsome sons in the current line. A nephew, and then of course there are Bradamante’s children.” That was the sister between Lord Clovis and Magister Dagobert. She’d married out of the family, but of course remained close with her brothers and mother.

“And Arundel is a stunning estate.” They’d talked about where Thessaly and Childeric would live, as part of the betrothal agreements. The time between the betrothal and marriage was partly to fit up the entire first floor of the manor at Arundel for their particular use. By the wedding, they’d have their own drawing room, workroom, study, and library, as well as adjoining bedrooms. Sigbert had rooms above, where Childeric was now, and the other end of that floor was the nursery. Lord Clovis and Lady Maylis had the ground floor on that wing, with the kitchens and staff spaces in a courtyard off that side of the house. “And Lady Maylis hinted they might also see about a town house in Trellech in due course. Besides the family one.”

Aunt Metaia nodded, tilting her head. She was considering saying something, Thessaly knew that look. “And you know, I’m sure, that there aren’t too many people your father considers suitable among people around your age.”

Thessaly grimaced. “No. Mama and I went over that. I know the lists as well as anyone, of the Heirs and notable families. Ignatius Knapton was promised young, and Temenos Sibley’s still in his Guard apprenticeship, it’s not suitable for him to marry. Lionel Baddock shows no signs of marrying yet, he refused any discussion of it.”

“Also, Lionel Baddock’s looking for someone with a larger dowry than your father would settle on you. As are a couple of my colleagues on the Council. The Grimly boys, or Gaius Roberts or Oswald Martin.” Aunt Metaia pursed her lips. “Has Harold ever discussed that with you?”

Thessaly blinked. She’d known Aunt Metaia was not entirely pleased with Father for some reason, but no one had said why. “Not in detail, other than that I’ve read the marriage agreements.” That had, in fact, been curious, but no one had included her in the financial discussions. “There’s a settlement for me, but no dowry.” The settlement would come from the Fortiers, with an increasing amount as she fulfilled the terms of the agreement when it came to children.

Aunt Metaia nodded. “Just so. Now, I believe it’s your life and your marriage, and you have as much right to know the financial details as anyone. More than me, for example. Your father has disagreed, but I was hoping he’d do the right thing once the arrangements were settled. Apparently not.” That was decidedly disapproving.

Thessaly looked down, uncertain what to say. Aunt Metaia reached out to touch her wrist and went on. “It explains why Harold was so pleased the Fortiers thought you the best choice, that they wouldn’t require a dowry. And you bring a great deal to the marriage. Strong magic, good health, excellent breeding, sparkling intelligence, but there are no direct intermarriages in your line and the Fortiers for generations.” Thessaly glanced up to catch her aunt smiling. “As to a settlement of your own, I have some thoughts, dearest. I’ll let you know more soon. Still in progress, right now, don’t ask.”

Thessaly said, mock-primly, “I would never. Besides, it’s rude.” Besides, she knew Aunt Metaia lived comfortably, but she had no expectation of any of that coming to her.

“And we can’t have that.” Aunt Metaia was teasing. “And they are treating you well? Besides the social tedium?”

That was a harder question to answer. “I told you last week about Childeric pressing me about the apprenticeship. Magistra North has been so kind, and so helpful. I know you arranged that. I want to learn as much as I can, even if I won’t use most of it where anyone can see. And I keep thinking about how you talk about needing more people to help with the illusions that keep people safe.”

“For one thing, who knows what the future holds.” It was one of her particular motifs. Aunt Metaia was known for shifting one way and the other. She made the most of the tools that came to her hand at the moment, for what she wanted to do. Now, a good half the time, that involved some sort of twist, because Illusion magic was excellent for both pranks and getting people to see something in a new way.

Thessaly nodded. “I am not yet old enough to be permitted the interesting things, though. I have to establish my reputation first.” She said it solemnly enough, but then she met Aunt Metaia’s eyes. “At least, that is how things go, yes?”

It made her aunt chuckle. “You must show you know the way things work before you can toy with it, yes. And I have heard the gossip about you being someone to watch to set fashion, rather than follow it.” Then she paused, sobering. “If you are sure you want to walk that path. It will, of necessity, be a narrow one, with everyone watching you to falter for some time to come.”

Thessaly shrugged.

Aunt Metaia said nothing for a long moment. Finally, carefully, she went on, “A betrothal is not the same thing as a wedding. If you changed your mind now, any time before you marry, I would support you. I want you to know that.”

Thessaly blinked, then she swallowed, unsure how to respond for a moment. Then, slowly, she put words together. “That means a great deal, Aunt. You’ve always been so kind, and so clear. It’s been such a gift. But I know how the property entailments lie, and of course there’s Hermia to think of. And I...” She let out a huff of breath. “Making a living as a consultant, a specialist, that is also a hard road. I know that much.”

“I suppose you saw enough of my younger years.” Aunt Metaia nodded. “Now that I am on the Council, everyone will leap for my touch on their magical projects.” She had specialised in long-standing illusion work, at least when it came to what she did for others. That kind of magic went into renovations and remaking rooms or buildings entirely, anchoring it in appropriate materials. Thessaly had much more of a visible gift for the more flexible, like clothing and costume. Like the costumes for St. George’s Day. “I suppose I cannot blame you for wanting comfort. Even when it comes with tedium.”

That made Thessaly smile a little. “And the agreements give me a fair bit of freedom, at least in private. My own workroom, time for duelling, all that. As long as I keep up the necessary obligations. I won’t be bored.”

“No. Though it is not, I hope I have demonstrated, necessary to marry to avoid boredom. I, for one, am rarely bored.” They’d more or less finished the tea sandwiches and baked goods. “Come in, will you? I wanted to show you a few things in the library.” Aunt Metaia rose, and they went in.

Thessaly had always loved this house. It was far less formal than home, certainly less than any space she’d seen at Arundel. Aunt Metaia had gone full heartedly for an eclectic collection, full of mediaeval ornaments and vibrant colours. Vines taken from an illuminated manuscript climbed along the entry wall, carvings with little individual faces peeped out of the woodwork, stained glass framed the tops of the window. The sofas and chairs had soft cushions, not itchy horsehair.

The library was Thessaly’s favourite, even beyond the cosy little bedroom that was hers whenever she visited overnight. The walls were lined with bookshelves, there were three kinds of chairs in front of the fireplace as well as a plush rug, and every book seemed to hold wonders. Behind the shelves and on the walls that weren’t covered by books, there were scenes to match out of myth and legend. Those were full of magic with touches of illusion that meant they shifted slowly over the course of a day.

Aunt Metaia went over to her desk. One side was stacked high with books, which meant Aunt Metaia was deep in some project or another. The spins were turned away from the room, toward the corner. Aunt Metaia pulled a couple of titles from the other side of the desk, where three books had been waiting. “On loan. I tracked down copies last week. You’d been asking about that challenge with lapis lazuli.”

Thessaly nodded. “He hasn’t called, but I’m still interested in the problem. Lapis lazuli is nuanced, not straightforward. Not the shape, not the veining, not the shades of it.”

“I heard a little more about Deschamps.” Aunt Metaia waved a hand. “You know I’ve all sorts of connections. He seems to have been accurately forthcoming with you. Likely to finish his apprenticeship within the next few months, especially if he can establish his own clientele. Magistra Niobe has been vocally pleased with him, and putting him forward. And he has an excellent reputation for thoughtfulness. Not brashness.” Aunt Metaia considered. “In trade, as is his father, but you might reasonably dance with him once in an evening without a scandal.”

The way Aunt Metaia put that made Thessaly snort. “Mama was pointing out that now is about the proper time for me to consider where to be giving my patronage. I am delighted with my dressmaker, of course, and my shoemaker. I would consider a new milliner. Mine keeps needing to be dissuaded from entire birds. It might be the fashion, but the balance on one’s head is a problem. Besides, well.” Thessaly found the tiny bird eyes to be distracting, honestly, when faced with them. And while that wasn’t a problem when the hat was on her head, it was when she was waiting to put it on. “But you’re right. I could cultivate some connections. Would you recommend considering him in that vein?”

“See how he sets about his work, but you might consider a small commission over the summer. Even though the Fortiers have their own preferred talisman makers, you might want something as a token for your husband-to-be or someone else in his family. Having your own sources preserves the secret better.”

Thessaly nodded, then considered. “Aunt Metaia? You understand the dynamics of it, but you never married.” Now she’d got herself into this sentence, it was suddenly tangling around her.

“Oh, that.” There was a laugh. “There was some pressure to, of course, but I’d made a case for my own work. And there was no, hmm. Politically obvious match for me. No particular benefit to the family.”

“Didn’t you want, I don’t know?” Thessaly stalled again. She did, in fact, want children, in due course, and marriage was the way toward that. “Your own family?”

“I have you. And there’s Hermia.” Thessaly’s younger sister was reaching the age where Aunt Metaia could talk more in depth with her about magic and enchantment. “I like a baby or a toddler, but much better when they can go back to Nanny and their mother. Even you, dearest.” Aunt Metaia shrugged. “I enjoy being able to talk to people in depth. And children grow into that, but they don’t start there. I am quite content. Also, I rather suspect I’d not have ended up on the Council, or at least not when I did, if I’d had children. Given the timing.”

Council challenges were risky on every level, magical and physical. And emotional and mental, as well, from what Thessaly knew. Aunt Metaia had been not yet twenty-five when she made her challenge, decidedly on the young side. If she’d married as Thessaly would, she’d have been a year married, maybe the perfect age to be expecting or have had a baby within the last few months. The two things did not go together at all well, no.

Thessaly just nodded. “Thank you, aunt. Would you show me the books, perhaps? Or would you be able to show me Warrington’s Third? I still don’t quite have the knack for it. It comes out blotchy for me. Or did you have something you wanted to talk through?” Thessaly gestured slightly at the desk. “You have a lot of books out, I see.”

“That’s still in the early stage, not fit for talking about. As to the knack, there’s a trick there, the shape of your hands. We can certainly do that. Talk here, and then the workroom, and I’ll see you off in time for supper at home. How’s that?”

Thessaly went through the mental maths, well worn, about how much time she’d need to change into a suitable gown for supper at home. They ate on the late side, usually half eight. It would give her and her aunt an hour, plenty of time for a little experimentation.