Page 51 of Enchanted Net
“Oh. Oh, Vitus.” Those syllables were full of emotion, sympathy, and understanding. It was almost more than Vitus could bear. Except, like his conversation with Thessaly two days ago, it was far better to have company in the complexity. “Does she care for him? What does she think of you?”
“She’s...” Vitus had to stop and figure out how to put that in words. “She’s never said she loves him or talked about him like that. Thessaly’s pragmatic? Of course she is. She’s both a Lytton and a Powell.” He turned his hand palm up. “Thessaly let me look at her engagement ring yesterday. No talisman work, which is curious, but of course it’s harder to get that to take without her consent and understanding. But it was all coldly practical. Her role in having children, and protection of that goal, nothing about warmth or love or passion or whatever other emotion betrothal might suggest.”
“There’s a rumour - I can see if I can hear anything more about it - that Childeric Fortier has a mistress. If I have it right, a young widow. Her late husband was some sort of suitably skilled craftsman. I do not know what he’s like with the maids. I wouldn’t hear that sort of gossip.”
“Nor I.” Vitus said. It was the sort of thing someone might hear at a club, if they shared a club with whoever it was. It would come out either in their bragging openly about their prowess or in the whispers from people who didn’t approve. But they didn’t have an overlapping club or circle. “Why’d you remember it?”
“That’s a long story, involving a prank, three barrels of beer, a log rolling contest, an elderly mule, and a three-cornered hat. Fortier got mentioned as a tangent, related to the hat. I think. I might have been more than drunk at the time.” Lucas shrugged. “Every bit of information helps in a strategy.”
Vitus snorted. “What you do when you’re not here visiting?”
“Man’s got to keep up with his schoolmates.” Lucas shrugged, grinning amiably. “All right. So what have you done with this woman? Who you call by her first name?”
“She said I could!” It came out entirely defensive, and Vitus immediately blushed. “She’s had a horrible time. I met her at the St. George’s Gala, she did the illusion work for her own gown, her aunt’s, and then we got to talking. She did an illusion on mine and asked if I’d come so she could work on a vein of lapis. Then we met in the library, and a couple of times since. Her aunt....” His voice trailed off.
“Metaia Powell.” Lucas’s voice was quiet. “I’m sorry for her loss. Haven’t heard much about that, it’s not the sort of thing for the loud gossip of Boar House, and I’m not around enough for the quiet to reach me fast.”
“She was in Four Metals.” Vitus offered it, knowing his brother would translate that. “And much liked, though she wasn’t at most of our events. I’d never seen her. I suppose it would be tricky, as a Council member. I made Thessaly a talisman for better sleep. She said it helped.” He couldn’t help the way his voice softened at the end.
“You’ve seen her, then?” Lucas considered. “Without falling afoul of their mourning customs?” He was considering something. Vitus knew that tone.
“She asked me to meet her. A footpath along the back of their property, she lets me in the gate of the orchard. Well, she has twice. And she’s sent notes, mostly via her club, for forwarding.” Vitus considered. “She thinks in terms of strategy, she’s a duellist. But she also - she let me keep an eye out over her, while she slept. And she kissed my cheek, two days ago.”
Lucas was about to say something, then he let out his breath with an inaudible sigh. “I think that’s a woman who could use a bit of your kindness, brother. Someone to lend a hand. But it’s going to get your heart broken, and I don’t like that.”
“Don’t think I have a lot of choice in that, really. I’ve been turning it over and over, like looking at a stone for where to carve, and I can’t figure out anything that won’t hurt me. I’d rather be her friend and ache than leave her alone.” That was definitely the first time Vitus had put words to it, but he knew they were true.
“I’ll keep my ears open, then, for anything that might be relevant. And I wish you well, even if I don’t have a bloody idea what that looks like. Or could look like. You watch yourself, though. I don’t need to tell you that.”
“You don’t.” Vitus dropped his eyes to his plate again, remembering to take another bite or two before the toast was all sogginess. “I know it’s dangerous. And not just to me, if they took the idea she was at fault. But it’s not simple.”
“You don’t come in simple. Me, give me a cavalry charge. You can change the speed. You can change the angles, but fundamentally, it’s you and the horse. And they only go at speed in one direction at a time. I don’t know what to do with you and your inscribed stones and the nuance of this stroke or that line, never mind the people you’re doing them for. But you let me know if you need a shoulder. Or, I don’t know, someone with a shovel and a strong back.”
Vitus shuddered at that last image. “Don’t joke about that, please. It’s been a week, and then some.”
“Easy, there we go. Here, have a little more wine. And here, a strawberry or two. You’ve been working yourself into a fit, candle burning both ends, whatever else. Let me tell you a few stories, all nice and simple horses and foolish new recruits.”
Vitus glanced up, then nodded once, before returning his attention to his food, letting Lucas’s stories roll over him. By the time their parents came home, they’d settled into comfortable tipsiness, trading story for story. Some from school that hadn’t come up, some from Vitus’s travels, some from the Army. When Mama and Papa returned at ten, she immediately shooed Vitus up to bed, and he knew that was the sensible thing.
Chapter39
JULY 5TH AT ARUNDEL
Abare ten days after Aunt Metaia’s funeral, Thessaly found herself at Arundel. Childeric’s family had insisted, via Mama, and Mama had made it clear Thessaly would go. It would apparently not ask of her anything outside the bounds of mourning, but simply going made a statement. Thessaly didn’t think it would be a quiet gathering with Childeric and his parents and his brother.
Of course she went. She put on the black gown and the veil, because she didn’t much want anyone to see her face or her expressions, and she went through the portal precisely on time, at noon. A footman met her at the other end. He escorted her silently down the long avenue lined with trees to the front of the house, then in and up the stairs, around a corner.
It took Thessaly a moment to figure out where they were, a gallery above the great hall, the original heart of the manor house. A great carved wooden screen let her see what was going on below, especially at the far end of the room, but she was sure no one could see her. There were two chairs set out, a table between them, but there was no one else there. Below, the only people she could see were servants, bustling around, finishing setting things up.
The footman bowed, and she blinked at him. “May I bring anything, Mistress? It will be a little while before things begin. The water closet is straight across the hallway from the door. You are asked not to go further than that. I will bring tea when the other guests arrive.” That was even more baffling. It seemed she would be sitting here for some unspecified amount of time on her own. She hadn’t brought a book, nor anything that might keep her hands busy, like embroidery. Not that the light was really good enough for that.
Thessaly would not be rude to one of the staff, though. “If there is a book you might bring - a classic story, perhaps? Or perhaps a regional history?” Either of those would be socially acceptable, and easy to find again if she wanted to continue reading whatever it was.
He bowed once and disappeared without a further comment. He returned in five minutes, handing over a copy of something bound in blue bookcloth that turned out to be a series of tales about Sussex folklore. It would do. From there, she was abandoned. She carefully folded the veil back from her face so that it lay over her shoulders, and began to read.
She was entirely on her own for over ninety minutes. She’d made a trip to the water closet, read most of the book. Then she’d gone back to read some of it again, and fretfully looked down below to figure out what might be happening. It was a particular sort of power to demand she show up that early, and then leave her to sit. Just after one-thirty, another woman entered the gallery.
Thessaly turned at the sound, then blinked. The light was not bright up here, but there was more than enough to see that Laudine Fortier did not look well at all. “Mistress Fortier.” She didn’t rise. That wasn’t proper. But figuring out what to say next was tricky. “I hope everything is all right. We’ve not seen you or your husband. Or Garin.” Garin was honestly the easy one to talk about.
