Page 16 of Enchanted Net
Still, they were back at the fact this was a library. She certainly would not suggest anything improper here and now. Thessaly had certainly read her share of romantic tales, but she wasn’t actually sure how one proceeded from a bit of fantasy to something real, anyway. If she were inclined, it would require more study.
The silence grew. He was the one making this odd and awkward. It was all entirely him. Finally, she raised an eyebrow at Master Deschamps, as pointedly as she could manage. He cleared his throat. “I do not wish to make enemies. Not when I am still establishing myself.” There was a tiny pause, then he added, “Or after.”
“Well, no. You are sensible. And forward-thinking, not inclined to let today’s choices destroy tomorrow’s. But will you trust me, that a conversation will not damage anything? And that I am interested in what you are working on, besides the question of the lapis lazuli illusion.” She glanced around. “Do you have a few minutes? Perhaps we might sit and talk for a little while. Enough that you will be reassured that no member of the Fortier family is going to emerge from the shelves like an avenging ghost.”
His mouth opened and then closed again. She could see him swallow. “If you insist, Mistress. May I get your chair?” The thing of it was, he had fine manners. They weren’t the sort that was entirely about the show of it, or even the show of his magic. They were practical, like Aunt Metaia when she was at home. She set the two books in her hand down on the desk in the library bay while he came around to pull out a chair. Thessaly arranged herself with a little shift of her weight and magic so the bustle would not bulge in awkward ways. She let herself sink down to sit on the front half of the chair precisely as she’d been taught. Not that either bustle or corset really permitted much else.
After a moment’s hesitation, he sat down at the short end of the table, at an angle to her, but without the table between them. She kept her feet tucked under her chair, her skirts falling around them. She was sure that brushing his ankle or foot would startle him into fleeing.
“There. And thank you, you know just how to be a help. Far too many people are about form over function.” She set her hands on the table, considered their lack of gloves again, and decided to ignore it. Besides, at least two-thirds of the reason for gloves had to do with magical interference. She was confident both in her own ability to spot that in this setting and the fact Master Deschamps seemed exceedingly unlikely to try something of the kind. “What brought you here this afternoon?”
“Oh. Erm.” He cleared his throat. “Mistress Lytton-Powell, I was thinking about a question that Niobe - Magistra Hall - posed to me. About which stones take which types of enchantments most elegantly. A number of stones can be made to suit, but the question of which ones make it...” He looked up, searching for words, “Smooth. To purpose. Comfortably.” He looked back at her, meeting her eyes deliberately.
There now, he was actually engaging. That was excellent. “Do call me Thessaly, please. Otherwise, we shall be forever making the simplest comments.” Her double-barrelled surname just made that worse. “I don’t know the materia nearly as well as you must, but, oh, something like amber or perhaps citrine for light? Or I saw a piece done with pearls that tended toward a glow, that shimmer of something beautiful and perfect.”
“As you wish. Thessaly. And I am Vitus, then, please.” Then he was nodding enthusiastically. “Just so, yes. Though pearls are rather tricky to work with. Any sort of inscription into the nacre is likely to damage the pearl and cause it to flake and destroy itself over time. In that case, the enchantments lie in the entire structure. They might be anchored by talismanic pieces for a central focal bead, or perhaps in metal spacer beads or something of the kind.”
“I’m sure that complicates the design as well, magically.” Thessaly offered. “Competing influences, something of the kind? I was looking for an article about something related, about how many layers of illusion or enchantment work are practical before you begin to have contradictions. Or that is the idea, anyway. I’ve not read the chapter yet.”
Within minutes, she’d pulled the books over, thumbing through to find what she was looking for. A minute or two after that, his hand brushed hers, as they were peering at the page together, until he jerked his hand back. “Pardon.”
“I did not mind.” That had come out entirely too prim. “I hope we might become friends, even if you are nervous about it right now. In due course. More meetings in the library or perhaps a tea shop or some other suitable place.”
The thing of it was, she enjoyed his touch, the simplicity of it, the way he didn’t presume to reach for more. This still wasn’t an assignation, and she did not want to make things difficult again, but now she was wondering about what it would be like to have one. With him, in specific. She couldn’t remotely tell him. He’d bolt into the street. And if there were signals you gave to hint at willingness, well, that had not been included in any of Thessaly’s education.
Vitus withdrew his hand carefully, folding it into his lap. “I enjoy your conversation a great deal.” He wasn’t quite looking at her now, as if he couldn’t speak and talk at the same time. “And your ideas fit well with mine. The expansion of what I’d like to do, I mean. I - erm.” The sentence tumbled down into a pile of innuendo that she was fairly sure he hadn’t actually intended. He did not seem a man of that sort. But she did like his company, in ways she wasn’t sure how to describe. Maybe it was just that he listened as much as he talked, and that was decidedly novel at the moment.
“Then we will have to see when we might find time again. Do come round to Magistra North’s when you get a chance. Or write me there, and we can make a proper appointment, if that would reassure you. She’s quite interested in the question herself, actually, and she might have some useful references for you. Or connections.” There, she could lay that lure out. Magistra North had in fact mentioned that she was always on the look out for suitable talisman makers who could work to her standards. His apprenticeship with Magistra Hall was promising that way. Then, before she could say much more, they heard the bells.
“Oh, I beg pardon. I need to get home. I promised to escort my mother to something.” Vitus pushed back, then offered a bow. “Again, yes. I will write and find a time. Until then, Mistress - Thessaly.” Before she could do more than smile and nod, he was gone, and she was left looking after him. Once she was sure he was not returning, she stood again, and went back to hunting up the books she wanted.
She could not get the thought of him out of her mind. Vitus Deschamps did not have Childeric’s classic handsomeness, but he was more than pleasant to look at. He leaned forward, letting his interest show, not an aristocrat’s disdain, and that was appealing. And he’d listened to her. He hadn’t interrupted; he hadn’t seemed bored at all. By the time she set the books she didn’t need on the cart to be reshelved, she’d begun to wonder what it would be like to have him hold her hand. Or perhaps dance.
Certainly, she didn’t know any detail that would make him unsuitable for a private assignation. Vitus had been trained to discretion, that was part of his work. He came from a family known for probity and good sense, given his father’s work. He was from the crafting class, but that didn’t matter since they wouldn’t be discussing a marriage. It came down to whether she was interested, whether he was interested, and whether they could sort out something mutually agreeable.
Perhaps - no, for certain - she’d also figure out how to study up on how one might delicately suggest an interest. If she could bring herself to ask Aunt Metaia, maybe that would help. She certainly couldn’t ask Mama. Even if she decided she wasn’t interested in Vitus, just the idea of the option, it would be good to know for the future.
Chapter12
MAY 18TH AT THE DESCHAMPS HOME
May 18th
Saturday evening, Vitus joined his mother in the drawing room while they waited for Papa and Lucas to return. Papa had had some business in Trellech, and had promised to meet Lucas at the train station in good time for supper. Vitus was making himself useful as a tool for the winding of yarn.
Or, more precisely, Mama was winding yarn. Vitus was holding his hands a steady length apart, deep red yarn looped around them, while Mama wrapped it up into a ball. She had begun by wrapping it around her fingers, and now she was twisting the ball this way and that. They had been talking about nothing much in particular, before his mother asked, “What was it like living outside the Pact?”
It was a question Vitus had thought about a great deal, but one he’d barely discussed. Niobe had her own experience travelling on the Continent, but it had been a decade before, and with all the constraints of being a woman of the age and class that required a constant chaperone. Hers had been magical, of course. But it meant that she had never ended up alone, needing to deal with whether she might reveal her magic by accident. Vitus, on the other hand, had walked miles across various cities, exploring all sorts of places.
And in truth, it had taken some getting used to on his return. The Pact was the great triumph of Albion. In 1484, King Richard - the Third, but in Albion, he was so often just Richard, the only one who mattered like that - had made a great treaty. Those humans with magic would leave the Fatae alone, other than some specifically negotiated places like the Belin in the mines, or those who tended particular groves and ancient portals. And in turn, the Fatae would not lead mortals astray, and they had taught Albion a number of magical skills, including the crafting of portals, half a dozen healing techniques that saved lives every week, and various protections. They were bound by the Pact, what Vitus’s teachers at Schola had described as a country-wide geas, made real and whole by each and every person sworn to it.
Within Albion, if someone attempted to use magic near the non-magical, anything they might understand as true magic, the Pact would stop them. That person’s greatest fear would rise up inside them as a warning. If they did not, if they pressed on, fear was a powerful distraction and motivation all by itself. Sometimes, rarely, people died of it, pushing through the fear to some foolish action. But in the main, it worked well. And if a few people of Albion lived through chaos by what looked like pure luck, that wasn’t revealing magic, not in and of itself.
“It was different. It’s odd being back. Walking around Trellech, where all the magic is visible, all the time.” He used his right thumb to nudge a strand of the yarn into a better position to unfurl. His mother tugged gently at it as she kept winding her ball. He found that satisfying in a way he didn’t know how to describe, a particular physical contact between them. “It took getting used to, on the Continent. But it was easy enough for me. You know I’ve never been prone to a lot of show about it unless I’m working. And that part was all in magical workshops. No worries there.”
“And people who have magic just - do what?” Mama glanced up at him.
“They live their lives. Mostly in their own little facets of the world. They see these families socially and not those, and if you don’t have magic yourself, you’d never know they did. Sometimes it causes a difficulty when a girl falls in love with a boy, or a boy with a girl, and they’re from different sorts of families.” Vitus looked up at that, and that was a mistake, Mama definitely noticed.
