“I think it’s a ridiculous magical theory, honestly. People can get passionate about all sorts of things, and plenty of people do.If the bits about virginity were honest, it’d apply to men, as well as women. Yes? I do realise the, I don’t know, physical forms are different, but it’s still unfair. And I don’t intend for things to get far enough with Sigbert that it would matter. Though.”
Vitus coughed. “Though?”
“Father was being rather specific at supper. About pushing me to commit to the arrangements. I pointed out that it’s only barely been three months, it’s Sigbert’s brother, and Lady Maylis is committed to mourning for at least a year. Anything less would be a scandal, and a visible insult to Childeric. Also Sigbert, honestly. If they want a formal wedding, the kind of show they had in mind with Childeric, she needs to wait. At least to the nine-month mark to make it public.”
“Did you hear anything else about Magistra Landry?” Vitus had been wondering that. Her note after the twenty-third had been informative and also not. He’d read through the conversation with Dagobert and Laudine, and then her comments on tea and supper. “I got the sense there’s rather more there, but I can’t get a grip on what it might be.”
“I suppose it depends a great deal on the manner and cause of her death. She was not particularly elderly, nor was she infirm. Not that I think she’d have admitted to it while alive. But I never saw any hint of it in her.” Thessaly turned, so he could see her face better. “I think Philip or Alexander would have acted differently if she’d had some illness they knew about, or some weakness. Don’t you?”
“I didn’t see them nearly as much. And I’m not as skilled in that.” Vitus thought about the way they had been, the last time he’d seen all three together. “But no, you’re right. I keep wondering about the arrangement for the flat. I thought at the time that it seemed she was tidying up loose ends. Not wanting to have to deal with things.”
“But surely, if there were some magical working— what was she doing? And why Solstice? And it doesn’t seem to have done much, which. Well. I would expect anything she did to be effective, wouldn’t you?”
“If her reputation was even a seventh of the truth, oh, yes,” Vitus said, wholeheartedly. “I suspect we’re never going to have an answer to that mystery, yay or nay.” He moved to kiss her temple. “Do you think your father is going to be, erm. Especially difficult.”
“He can try. He will try, I’m sure. But he can’t get in here, and he can’t choose my trustees. There was half an hour of him trying to talk me round to letting him doing so. And there was a thread through it I don’t understand. Mother might find out more, but I don’t know if she’d tell me. And I don’t think Hermia spotted most of it, except that Father was being difficult.” She sighed. “Father wants power. And he thinks the Fortiers are the best route to it. He’s not wrong, but he is also not right.” Then she pulled away. “Will you come to bed? I want a better taste to the conversation.”
“Taste, is it?” Vitus gave her a moment to stand. “We could do something about taste, I suspect. And a great deal of touch, and likely also some sounds. I have not yet begun to demonstrate the range of possibilities.” He certainly had some ideas about what he might try. His mouth on her, to see what she thought of that, perhaps encouraging her to try the same, the other way round. He certainly hoped to draw out some cries of pleasure, and perhaps also the murmurs of contentment that she ought to have in her day. “Do I need to help tidy anything in here?”
“Oh, no. I told Collins we’d ring in the morning. She quite approves of you. For the record, she made sure to ask what you’d like for breakfast.” At that, Thessaly considered, and then she leapt forward. The velvet hung the air for a second beforeit was tugged along behind her, as she dashed for the bedroom as quickly as trailing skirts would allow. In her hands, that was remarkably rapid, and Vitus laughed and gave chase.
21
JANUARY 7TH IN TRELLECH
Thessaly was a tad unsatisfied with the day, though at least the late afternoon promised improvement. She had returned to her apprenticeship this morning. Magistra North could not, actually, complain about properly observing mourning. Her apprentice mistress would go up in a puff of hypocrisy, given how long she’d lectured Thessaly over the apprenticeship about attention to details and societal expectations.
On the other hand, she’d made her displeasure at the disruption very obvious. Thessaly had not been available to take on any of the burden of holiday decorations. Nor had she helped with the myriad adjustments to children’s toys. Nor any of the other tasks that were beneath a full mistress of the illusion arts, but common fare for apprentices. It did make the dolls better, mind.
Thessaly could still remember when she’d got her first delicate doll. Clara had a porcelain head and shining hair. Aunt Metaia had changed the hair and eyes to match Thessaly’s perfectly. Then she’d added a little dragon embroidered on the hem of the cunning little coat, as an extra treat.
That doll had gone to Hermia, in due course, and now reigned over the nursery shelves. Thessaly hadn’t begrudged that. A doll should be played with. Aunt Metaia had made the changes, bar handing Thessaly the coat to keep. Though now Thessaly thought about it, there was a particular social marker there, wasn’t there? That Hermia didn’t get her own doll.
She wondered suddenly how delicate the family finances had been then, or were now, or whether Aunt Metaia had offered to buy Hermia her own and their parents had refused. Or, as a third option, whether her parents just hadn’t cared that much. She added it to the little notebook she kept for questions for Amadeo Scali. Though she did not know whether it was something he could find out or whether he’d tell her if he did.
At any rate, Magistra North had only been able to disapprove so far with where Thessaly’s learning was. Thessaly had spent the morning sharing her notes and projects while she’d been at home, and they had all received a passing approval. And Magistra North had admitted that Thessaly could likely develop the skills to take on some of the work Aunt Metaia had been doing. Useful work, that was the thing Thessaly kept coming back to.
But Magistra North had been, even during the moments of agreement, disapproving. Thessaly had obviously failed to thread the needle between obligation and apprenticeship and grief or whatever one called dealing with Childeric’s death. At least that was done with until tomorrow, and it was a short week to return, since there had been Twelfth Night celebrations on the sixth.
Now, however, Thessaly had something to look forward to. Cyrus had been kind enough to set up a duelling engagement - four or five people, including the two of them - at one of the private salles in Trellech. He’d promised at least one other woman. When Thessaly had inquired of Emeline, Emeline haddeclined joining in. She preferred to keep her skill more private. But she’d promised to talk through what Thessaly might want to work on, after playing chaperone.
The salle was not difficult to get to, tucked into the far corner of Club Row. Emeline went first, moving to one side as Thessaly entered. Cyrus was already there, chatting with a man Thessaly knew, and a woman Thessaly did not know by name, though she’d seen her here and there. Cyrus immediately turned. “There’s a changing room there, and your companion is welcome to sit in the viewing area. And to check the salle’s warding. This is Magister FitzAlan, one of my colleagues, and this is Mistress Helena Audley, who I suspect you’ve heard of.”
“Oh, my.” Thessaly was delighted. “I saw the duel you had, the demonstration one, of course, with all its limitations, what, four years ago now? A delight. Oh, I am looking forward to this.” Mistress Audley was a good eight or nine years older. She must have been at Schola around the same time as Laudine, and Thessaly had not had a close view of that bout.
“I was a tad enticed myself. Do, please, call me Helena.” There was a murmur of agreements on first names all round, which also boded well. Cyrus had hopes that if this went well, it might become a regular circle of duellists. Thessaly hadn’t expected FitzAlan— he’d mentioned just preferring the surname, no title. But it made sense that Cyrus might also use the occasion to deepen a tie with his new colleagues.
With that, Thessaly went off to change, with Emeline coming along to assist with getting her out of the corset and bustle. If she were going to be significantly active, Thessaly wanted full freedom of movement. She had a set of rationals made up in a deep grey, suitable for exertion and a nod to mourning dress. More practically, they wouldn’t show dirt as easily. The billowing bloomers fastened in cuffs at the ankles, just at her boots. Over it, there was a dress that came down to about kneelevel. Still rather a lot of fabric, but much lighter than her day dress had been.
She checked her laces were still suitably tight since she had made a point of wearing her duelling boots for the day. Not that anyone saw much of the detail under her skirts. But the soles, the charmwork, and the way the buttons ran on the outside of her ankles all made them more supportive and sturdy for duelling.
By the time she emerged, the other two expected were there. Albert Horning had been a few years ahead of Thessaly and Cyrus at Schola, and Ismene Warden had been a bit of a legend by the time they started school. Ismene and Albert went to change, while Emeline made a proper circuit of the salle, confirming that all the protections were in order before she took her seat.
Cyrus, who knew at this point that Emeline was bodyguard as well as companion, just smiled at it. Thessaly took the opportunity to stretch. When everyone was assembled, she cleared her throat. “I’m afraid I’m rather out of practice several ways round right now, but I appreciate Cyrus setting this up so I can remedy that.”
“It is rather difficult to keep up the skills when one can’t be out in society. Have you considered building a salle? Cyrus mentioned you’re living up in northern Wales now?” FitzAlan was stretching as well, taking his time with it.
“There’s land, and I am considering it, but it will be spring, at least, before we could begin. We weren’t able to sort out optimal site choices before the winter. And then, of course, there’s the challenge of getting people to come. Or getting the right people to come.” Thessaly shrugged a little. The thing of it was, having a salle for her own benefit was one thing, but it would be lonely if no one joined her.
