Page 17 of Enchanted Net
“There’s a story there, then? I hope with a happy ending?” Mama blinked once, then she looked back down at her hands. The shift of the red yarn was rather hypnotic. Soothing, in a particular way, as well as practical.
“Oh, when I was in Florence. Not the Rossi, I was working with Marco Rossi. But a cousin of theirs, Marco’s parents are the head of the family. Gianni, he fell for a young woman, Renata Casini. He had magic, of course, like you’d expect, and she didn’t. The families didn’t trust each other much. They didn’t have all the other connections that made a match sensible to anyone who wasn’t twenty and madly in love. Also lust.” Vitus had to smile. He’d heard this story from both Marco and Renata while he was there, complete with the replicated tirades of several sets of aunts and multiple grandmothers.
“And what happened, dearest?” Mama glanced up again.
Vitus shifted a little in his chair. There was noticeably less yarn between his hands now, and more give as a result. “In the end, Marco’s family had her - just her - over for supper, suitably chaperoned by a woman both families knew. They explained it to her. They had a potion ready, one that blurs the memory for a few hours. She was reasonable and delighted there was a simple enough solution. Her parents know now, she said, but they treat it as a folk custom that works, as much as anything.”
That part confused Vitus, though of course he hadn’t said so to them. Coming from Albion, it felt like a dangerous risk, and one that could come back and bite like a viper without warning. “And now, she doesn’t have magic herself, but her children seem likely to - they’re still a bit young to be sure. And they’re thrilled. She could get Marco’s brother apprenticed. His magic isn’t very strong, but he’s turned into a grand smith, making door hinges and latches of all things. But Florence needs a lot of them. They do wear out.”
“Oh, well. The dears.” Mama, Vitus was clear, would be quite happy to have grandchildren of her own, sooner rather than later. A moment later, she confirmed that. “You could think about marrying now. Or if not marrying, at least see who you might make a match with.”
“You are putting the cart before the horse, Mama, in your fondness.” Vitus kept his voice even. It wasn’t her fault she’d touched a sore spot. “I need to establish myself before I’d feel able to commit to supporting a wife. Even if she were also a crafter, with her own work, as seems likely.” At least, that was the way the sensible logic ran. “And besides, a lot of the women I’d be interested in are already betrothed or married, or they’re still finishing their own apprenticeships.”
Mama peered over her glasses at him. “Have you been counting them up, then? When you go to your club or about your day?”
He had, actually. “I am human, Mama, and I do hope to marry.” Now he looked down. “Some of them are not for me, though.” Vitus cleared his throat. Then there was absolutely no good way to finish that sentence.
Lucas saved him in the end. Behind him, there was a clatter of sound, the door opening, Lucas swooping in. “Mama, you look well. Vitus, you look well occupied. How are you both? Papa’s just putting his things away. He’ll be five minutes.”
“Mama was encouraging me to marry, or at least look at likely prospects.” Vitus said, while Mama picked up the ball of wool she’d dropped in her skirts and wound the last bits up more quickly. “If you meet any likely women, do introduce us?”
“It seems unlikely, but I will indeed. Anything for my brother.” Lucas clapped him heartily on the shoulder. “I need to make the last train, but that gives us a few hours. What sort of things are you looking for in a wife, then, beyond a tolerance for your being late to supper?”
“I am entirely on time today,” Vitus said, with some attempt at dignity. He couldn’t help thinking of Mistress Lytton-Powell - Thessaly - yesterday, though, her face popping into his head as entirely unavailable and yet also a fair bit of what he thought he might want. She was beautiful, and that was relevant - he was a man who loved beautiful things, his work was making useful things also beautiful or beautiful things also useful. But that wasn’t what mattered. She was clever and opinionated and undeniably skilled at her own magical arts. She had taste, which absolutely did not reliably run with the magical skill, as he knew all too well from his own work. And she, for whatever reasons she had, seemed to enjoy his company.
He certainly couldn’t forget the moments he’d touched her. She hadn’t shifted away from his touch either time. There had been something steady there, in her magic, in her person, even when she’d just nearly toppled off the steps. It had simply been comfortable for him, and he shouldn’t allow himself to want more of that, no matter what she said about being inside her agreements. Wanting wouldn’t get him anywhere good.
He said, after a moment. “Cleverness, kindness, competence of her own, whatever her form of magic might be. A good eye for beauty and the world, noticing things.” Vitus glanced up at his brother. “I did mention to Mama that most ladies who might suit are already betrothed or married, or enough younger they are not yet done with their own apprenticeships.”
“I will think about it. Who knows, perhaps something will come to me late at night.” At that point, Papa came down, and they went into supper. Late that night, once Mama and Papa had both retired, Vitus offered to walk his brother back down to the station. He could use the time to think.
They walked in silence until they were on the road. Lucas cleared his throat. “Is there anyone, then? Suitable or unsuitable?”
“Already promised elsewhere. She made it clear a conversation was no problem.” He cleared his throat. “And she offered to consult with me on a project.” Vitus thought for a moment about not saying more, but he’d already come this far. “Thessaly Lytton-Powell. Betrothed to Childeric Fortier, but she was rather fierce about not being immured in a tower because of it.”
“Huh.” Lucas considered that. “She duelled at Schola. Not in public much. She had private tutoring. I wouldn’t have known about it, but Harald Totham was in her sessions. He’d talk about it sometimes. He was a couple of years ahead of me, in Boar, you remember? She was good, even by his standards, and he’s been around some of the best, given his family. What’s she doing besides the betrothal, then?”
“Illusion work. Didn’t I tell you about the gala?” Vitus glanced at his brother. The moon hadn’t quite risen yet, so he had a lantern with a charmlight, set to look like a candle from any distance at all.
Lucas paused for a step, turning toward him. “You didn’t mention a name. Someone like her, then. Clever. Competent. A different sort of magic than yours, but illusion. She’d appreciate the art of the thing, wouldn’t she? We don’t give you enough of that at home. Papa and I do tend to the functional.” Lucas considered, and Vitus braced himself for his brother to ask more about her. Instead, Lucas changed the topic. “Is Mama intending another scarf for me, do you know? The chaps will mock me if it’s that red.”
“For the orphans, or whoever needs one, I’m fairly sure. But she didn’t say. I’ll find out.” Vitus considered his brother. “Something more sombre would be appropriate?”
“Black would do, or a grey. I can’t wear it in uniform, anyway. Or if you wanted to encourage her to a blanket, I could use one of those come winter. There are draughts, and I can only magic away so many before someone notices. That could have some bright in it, make the place a little more cheerful. I’ve a room of my own now.”
“That’s got to be a delicate balancing act. I could probably do you some talismans that would keep them from your bed. Or something of the kind. Let me think about that. I might need to experiment.”
“Best of brothers.” They were most of the way to the station. Lucas patted his shoulder again, and they shifted over to talking about nothing terribly obviously magical. It gave them a little to catch up on the latest personal news of various cousins.
Chapter13
MAY 21ST IN TRELLECH
Thessaly had only been at the salle for twenty minutes, just long enough to warm up and have one bout. She’d been looking forward to this for weeks, it felt like a yearning like the night before a birthday and anticipated presents. The session promised enough of a challenge to keep her busy, though two people were running late. It wasn’t her preferred salle or her preferred set of partners, but it was what she’d been able to schedule given her apprenticeship and the increasing social demands the Fortiers were making. Thessaly had been prompt. She’d changed into rational dress, suited for duelling, before everyone else was ready.
She’d started paired up with Herman Phipps. Herman was not one of her favourite people - he had absolutely no conversational skills - and he was not one of her favourite duelling partners, either. He thought that strength made up for skill or delicacy of touch. Thessaly was certain she’d have a bruise from a concussion charm on her décolletage in the morning. That was, however, what alchemical creams were for. And a fichu with a good illusion charm to back it up.
Thessaly had won the match tidily, after drawing it out to about six minutes. Master Forester had asked her to when they were getting ready. He’d wanted to get a better measure of Herman’s stamina - and what skills collapsed when he tired. He knew Thessaly was more than skilled enough to play a match out as requested, at least against someone of Herman’s quality. And he’d naturally sweetened the request by promising her a bout at the end of the session, which would keep her on her toes. Especially going into it tired.
