“Hah,” Annice said, amused. “And you don’t abuse it.”
“No. She helped me demonstrate I was fit to come back to the Courts when I did. Her brother helped too, he’s a ritualist. Anyway, she’ll be there. There’s Rathna Edgarton, she’s just had a baby, two months ago, but she should be there in June. She’s a Portal Keeper - she can talk about stones day and night. And her husband’s a Penelope. Mason had some of the training of Gabe, though not officially. He’s his father’s Heir. You’ve heard me mention Captain Edgarton. That’s his father. And then there’s Thesan Wain - well, socially, Fortier - but I heard from Seth she’s expecting, so she might not be there. They’ve not announced it formally yet. She’s the astronomy professor at Schola.”
“Right. Explains why you know her.”
“Also, she enjoys knowing interesting people?” Griffin shrugged. “And I do try to be interesting. And interested. Anyway, her husband Isembard is his brother’s Heir, and Garin - that’s the brother - is also on the Council, and his wife as well. Dour fellow, barely smiles. But Isembard’s always got good stories. He’s also a teacher at Schola. Protective magics. He might be interested in your big jet stones, sometime, if you wanted to talk more about them.”
“Huh.” Annice leaned back. “So a range of people. But they don’t sound too terrifying.”
“There are plenty of other people, but Thesan’s from good farming folk a generation or two back. You met her brother, she’s a lot like him in manner. Easy to be with if you’re a decent person. And Rathna’s parents worked in East London.” Annice knew how to translate that well enough, as decidedly not posh. There was a story there, somehow. “And Lamont’s wife, too. Her name’s Magdalena, she’s a little younger than he is. She does a bit of consulting as a theoretical magical researcher, but mostly she works on her own projects. There’s some family money on her side. She knows a lot of interesting people, though, too.”
“You think they’d be willing?” Annice asked, finally. “That’s the part I don’t know about. I mean, that and the clothes, though you have plans for the clothes. Oh, I got the confirmation - final fitting for that frock you thought I’d want tomorrow, so I can wear it Friday.”
“That, now, is excellent timing on my part, and Mistress Castalia’s. And I’ll check with her about settling up the account.”
It wasn’t just one frock - Annice had been promised several dresses, suitable for a range of events, and then some ordinary day clothes as well. But they’d aimed at having one ready sooner, for whatever came up, or a nice evening out like that summer. Annice hadn’t been able to resist a sea-blue, with little tiny round jet beads, proper jet, just enough to be subtle and decorative. There was a much fancier frock coming in a paler blue, suited for something more like the Council rites. She’d put herself entirely in Mistress Castalia’s hands, and Griffin’s, in terms of what she might need.
Shoes, at least, were simpler. Magical shoes were so much more comfortable and easy to walk in. She already had a comfortable pair from Griffin’s friend Owen, and a dress pair in the works. And, well, she and Niobe had some plans for jewellery. With any luck, she’d have not only Griffin’s piece done, but something to match it. And there were apparently such things as hairdressers and people to help with cosmetics. “So what do I need to know before Friday, then?”
Griffin grinned at her. “Well, we can talk through the menu. Charlus got me one. And the space. We can decide what topics you’d feel comfortable talking about, and which you’d rather avoid. A united front.”
Annice nodded. “Facets,” she said. “Oh! I should tell you about that. I learned something new today.”
“Bring out the food, then, if it’s ready, and tell me. Though I suppose potatoes are not the ideal medium for demonstrating gem cutting, they might give a gesture at the shape, with a little deftness.” The idea of it made her laugh, and now she’d have to try that. She stood to go get the food out of the warmer and pour more tea, while Griffin leaned back and watched her, entirely appreciative.
Epilogue
JUNE 22ND AT THE COUNCIL KEEP, WALES
Griffin was, on the whole, rather pleased with how the day was going. There was more than a bit of a crush, of course, with the several hundred people here. Even if some of them had drifted to the side rooms - or outdoors in the courtyard - during the formal presentations.
He was, of course, impeccably dressed, down to the talisman at his throat. Annice had presented it to him on his birthday, four days ago, a beautiful tie pin with his namesake griffin inscribed. The blue chalcedony glistened just below the knot of his deeper blue tie. Two smaller pieces, set as cufflinks, made up the matched set, and she was working on a fob for his pocket watch. All of them were gorgeous, but the thought and care - and the fact it was all Annice’s work - made them a treasure. Best of all, they were things he could wear every day, if he wished. They’d suit the rhythms of daily life, not just special occasions.
This was definitely one of the latter. Everyone was dressed well, the women in all shades of summer frocks, the men in sharply fitted suits. There had been some back and forth about whether to bring the chair or manage with the forearm crutches.
Lamont had been clear - quietly, but firmly - that he would push the staff at the Council Keep into some suitable ramp if required. But most of the gathering would involve people standing around talking, and the chair wouldn’t help with that. Everyone’s arses, right at face height, even before the part where people would back up without looking where they were going. Lamont had left the decision to him.
In the end, Griffin had decided on the crutches. But he’d also let Lamont know that if there was more strain than he hoped, he might take the next day off or work at home. The court was in Solstice recess. It wasn’t as if Lamont minded terribly. Whichever way it went, he should be sufficiently recovered for a day at the Midsummer Faire on the Saturday. He’d made arrangements for space in the Court tent, which meant he and Annice would have seating when they needed it without fighting with the crowds. If he weren’t up for much walking, she could go and take in the faire and come back to him.
And she would come back to him. That was the thing he was still getting used to, though every time it hit him, it made him happier. They both had busy lives, full of unique skills. And yet, morning and evening, whatever else had happened, they had the quiet time together. Sometimes entirely without words, for long stretches, sometimes chatting about the day or who they’d talked to or what they’d done. Nothing confidential, of course, all either cases Griffin was assisting in or clients Niobe saw, but all the rest of it.
Seth had turned around a suitable table exceedingly promptly - he’d refused to tell Griffin how many places in line he’d jumped, though Golshan had reassured Griffin privately that it wasn’t many hours of actual work. Most of the time had been spent waiting for stains and the wood polish to dry between applications. The last fortnight, he and Annice had begun having people over for supper once a week or so, and that was a tradition Griffin wanted to deepen.
Now, Griffin glanced over to make sure Annice was still in good company. Magdalena, Lamont’s wife, had taken to her - especially when they got onto theories of stones and magic. They were talking with Rathna Edgarton, who was gesturing vigorously about something.
Lamont leaned over. “They’re getting on splendidly, I think. Magdalena reminded me to arrange regular suppers out together. Good for the image, but it’s rare she’s the one encouraging me to get her out of her study.”
Griffin grinned as they inched forward. “You’ve both been very generous with your time, but we’ve enjoyed the suppers so far tremendously, all three of them. And it’s been a help, making the show of it.” The gossip of the choice had mostly settled, thankfully, though Nestor was pointedly civil and only that.
Finally, they made it up to the head of the line. Griffin felt the shift in Lamont before anything else, as Lamont let the magic of their oaths and the Courts settle on him. It wasn’t the same way as it was done when calling the truth magic, but it was a cousin. A recognition of their role and the land and people they tended. Griffin inhaled, doing the same. Lamont had talked him through it a fortnight ago, in one of the ritual rooms, until Griffin could do it smoothly, between two breaths.
Normally it would have been Griffin’s role to carry their token - a bound book, recording notable events in Trellech of the year, the usual offering. But because of his need for the crutches, Lamont was carrying it. He handed it over with a slight bow to Hesperidon Warren, the current Head of the Council. Then Lamont was speaking, his Court voice, all velvet and bass. “May I present my Heir, Magister Griffin Pelson, Esquire, Senior Solicitor and Keeper of the Courts, Yew Chair Primus. He has a long history in the Courts. I am confident in his magic, his skills, and most of all, his love of Trellech and all she is.”
Griffin had expected the first sentence, with the full title. He’d even expected the second. The third was a surprise. It was true, of course, Lamont wouldn’t say something untrue, not here and now. That was what the Lord of Trellech’s Justice brought with him, when acting with that robe of office so clearly in place.
Council Head Warren inclined his head. “It took you some time to decide.” That had a barb to it, but then he went on smoothly. “Be welcome, Magister Pelson, as Heir to Trellech’s Justice. We look forward to what you make of Lamont’s choice.” That was a suitably enigmatic approach. It covered waiting for Griffin to fall on his face - metaphorically or literally - or bring something interesting to the table.
Griffin extracted his right hand from the crutch, offering it for a handshake. “Most fruitful of solstices to you, Council Head. I look forward to getting to know many of the people here better.” Then it was time for them to move on down the line. The next few weren’t terribly difficult - Philomena Gordon, Frederica Hastings, and Owain Powell were all entirely cordial, with no hidden implications.
