Thessaly reminded herself - twice - that a private room at one of Trellech’s best restaurants was not the place for a scene. For one thing, it would limit her future moves in whatever this duel turned into. And for another, all the privacy protections were engaged. The only people who would see the scene were her parents.
Not even Hermia. Thessaly had hoped to see her sister, but when she’d arrived, it had just been Mother and Father. Thessaly had left Emeline to have supper in the main dining room. There were tables set aside for that sort of thing, companions or chaperones who attended upon the other guests but did not dine with them. Emeline at least had reading material to keep her busy. She and Thessaly were deep in the specifics for the creation of the duelling salle. They had to finalise the initial plans for the dirt flooring and the underlying enchantment layers within the fortnight.
Now, Thessaly took a breath. She refused to permit the first half-dozen thoughts in her head to leave her mouth.Deliberately, she folded her hands in her lap, a duellist’s gesture showing she did not intend movement. Not right now. And there was the way Father would read it, that she was at least complying with the outward forms of being a modest and respectful daughter. None of the staff had entered since the main dishes were brought, and Thessaly was sure, without looking, that it was Mother’s doing.
Finally, she settled on a first answer. “The situation has changed, Father. Mother. For the Fortiers and for me. And yet you press me to formalise the agreements with Sigbert. Why?”
“You know perfectly— oh, you explain it.” Father jerked his chin towards Mother.
Mother at least had the good grace to look a tad uncomfortable. She might or might agree with him, but Mother knew this was not the way to get Thessaly’s agreement. “There are considerations for the family, you know that.” Her voice was conciliatory.
“To marry well. To have children with strong magic. To keep my marriage agreements. To benefit the family in large ways and small.” Thessaly ticked them off, her voice purely neutral. “And you appear to believe the only possible solution on that front is to marry Sigbert Fortier.”
“The Fortiers are a powerful family.” Even as Mother said it, it came out a bit feebly.
“The Fortiers are an increasingly dead family.” Thessaly would not have said that to Sigbert. She probably ought not to have said it here, but there was a remarkably satisfying intake of breath from both her parents. Thessaly would take those moments where she could, especially right now. “Parents concerned about the longevity of the family might sensibly have some concerns.”
“A run of ill-chance,” Father said, waving it off.
“One death out of season is chance. Childeric was, we must all admit, doing something that has dangers, known and unknown.” Also, Thessaly was increasingly sure that whatever the reason he’d died, he’d brought it on himself in some form. Hubris, possibly something beyond hubris. “And Lady Maylis, that might be grief, though she never struck me as a woman who would grieve herself to death and leave her son without her guidance.” If not the kindest thing she could say about Lady Maylis, it had the benefit of being true. “But Lord Clovis? Dagobert’s illness? Lady Chrodechildis’s? Or there are the Landrys to be considered. Perhaps there is something foul in the air or the magic or the water at Arundel. Surely that is not good for a healthy wife or a healthy babe. I am not eager to make my body an experiment.”
As she said it, she began to wonder about that. The research Vitus had mentioned, the original intention had been to trace pernicious effects in the water. Was it possible something had leached into the pipes at Arundel? That would not really explain Philip, though. Certainly, she had not felt entirely well during a number of her visits. Though she hadn’t spent an overnight there since Childeric’s funeral, and even the silent torture of the vigil had not been as exhausting as a more ordinary weekend there.
Mother opened her mouth, then closed it. Father ignored her. “You do not have much of a choice. There is Sigbert. There is Hemlock Wilson.” Who was indeed from a potent magical family, as the Lyttons counted it, but who was also approaching fifty and a recent widow from a second wife. “Clarion Hembridge.” He was well over fifty, known for grasping hands and being exceedingly tight with his accounts. Even if she kept control of Aunt Metaia's gift of her own money, he would not permit her to spend it, and he would certainly not permit her toduel. “You know perfectly well Sigbert is the best of the choices. He is young, he is energetic, you get along well with him.”
Thessaly took a breath. “There is Cyrus. We did discuss the possibility.”
“Smythe-Clive? Oh, he has shown some promise, I suppose, as such things are counted, but the family has no staying power, magically speaking. Nothing proven. Why waste yourself there? And he already has a daughter. Sigbert is in desperate need of an heir for his own lineage.”
She could not argue with that particular bit of logic. That did not, however, mean that she had to provide him one.
“Childeric made it clear, not long before he died, that he had no intention of keeping to our agreements. It has not made me eager to make more.” Not with a Fortier, certainly. Her mind might drift, in the wee hours and the deep dark of the night when she couldn’t sleep, to what agreements she’d like to make with Vitus.
“Sigbert is not his brother.” Father brushed it off, as she expected he would. “And you do have resources of your own.”
The problem was that she had a house where she could not live, not while she was pregnant, if she were carrying a Fortier. She would have dozens of responsibilities. Even if she made her primary home at Bryn Glas, it was not well set for raising small children. There was no separate nursery space where they could play and be louder without affecting the rest of the house. Vitus had been raised in such a way, she would have to ask him how it worked. But she could not raise children the way Sigbert had been raised, or Thessaly herself, in such a space.
And not that she’d seen all the private rooms at Arundel, just the second floor, where guests had rooms. But there was not a great deal of space for her and Sigbert to avoid each other, not while his grandmother had the other wing. Now she inclined her head. “Still. I am not in a rush to make promises.”
“You need not marry yet.” Her father’s voice turned conciliatory. “But at least begin the negotiations. You have said the Scali have given it some thought. If you must have a ball or a celebration, you might do so in September.” Her father’s fingers twitched.
She would be bound by the agreements once they were made and the betrothal confirmed, even if they did not announce it. That was the problem. “A celebration on the anniversary of Childeric’s death? People will comment.” This time, Thessaly did not manage to fully repress the tartness in her voice.
Her father glared. “Do not take that tone with me. You are still a daughter of the family, an unmarried daughter, and you will behave as you have been taught. Your mother assures me that any failure is on your part, not hers. And certainly Hermia is proving more biddable.”
“Where is Hermia? I had hoped to speak with her today.”
Mother cleared her throat. “Dining with friends.”
Before Mother could say any more, Father cut her off. “She knows her place. If you won’t arrange to marry Sigbert, I will ensure she does so.”
“Hermia’s only sixteen!” Thessaly almost pushed back from the table.
“Stay where you are.” Father’s voice rang out sharply, and she could feel his magic hold her in place. She could undo that, given time, but not without being obvious. “Sixteen is old enough to marry. She’s not at Schola, she doesn’t need to finish at that tutor of hers. Her embroidery and painting are already sufficient. And her music.”
The ladylike arts. Thessaly had done well at the painting, not so much the embroidery or music. The first was a help to illusion work, the other two were less so, and there were only so many hours in a day. She swallowed, and now she tasted bile. “What, precisely, do you want?”
“For you to agree to marry Sigbert and sign the agreements. I will not argue with when you wed, so long as it is within the year. I do not believe he would rush you beyond the point.” Father leaned forward. “But he needs stability to ensure the family line. Your children would inherit the title, the properties, the accumulated library and private magics.”
