Page 48 of Claiming the Tower
There was a gentler pulse. And then, inside Hereswith’s head, there was a flurry of images. She knew all of them. They were memories, the ones that had stuck, the ones that had her awake at night, wishing she’d handled something differently. It was strong enough, a drum beating against the inside of her skull, that she sank to her knees, the pointer dropping from her hands. She braced against the floor, as best she could, while the flood washed over her.
There was a growing headache behind her eyes and at the back of her skull, but she couldn’t fail now. Slowly, painfully slowly, she began to get a pattern. All the places she had gone along with what was expected, when her heart had wanted something else. Often her heart, her wits, her knowledge, and her good sense.
Deliberately, she tried to call to mind answers to them. There were the places she’d argued. The meeting she’d been sent out of, where Blanch had come to speak to her afterwards. Times she’d held her ground about some plan that would fail instantly, trading it for one that had at least some slight chance of success. All the times she’d wished to tear down what wasn’t working and do something different, but of course she did not have that power.
The rush of memories slowed, and finally Hereswith managed to look up. Her eyes were about at the level of the edge of the table, and she blinked to clear her vision. “You need someone who will make that choice, who will push for it. Who sees what needs to be done, and who will discard how it’s always been handled. The world keeps changing, the old answers—” She stopped, trying to get her words in order. “I honour the old answers, and the traditions, and the foundations we’ve built on. But sometimes they don’t serve anymore. Do they?” Then, her voice much quieter, the way she spoke to Bess or Papa. “Do you think I can do that work?”
The entire room went dim, and then the light came back, like a dawn. Everything was gone, except for one door in the far wall. She was in a circular chamber now, the right size to be the top of the actual tower of the keep. Hereswith took a deep breath, and stood, careful not to tread on her skirts. Once she’d taken time to tidy herself and will the headache away— not that it worked— she took a breath. She made her way to the door to find the handle turning as smoothly as all the others.
Chapter 32
Later that evening
Bess was certain that whatever was going on upstairs was more difficult than waiting was. But she was not, when it came down to it, certain how to measure one against the other. Once the Challengers had gone into the depths of the keep, there had been quiet for a few minutes. Servants or staff— Bess wasn’t sure how to categorise them, other than as being highly competent— came around with drinks and light foods. As they’d been warned, everyone would probably be waiting at least an hour or two, perhaps longer.
Marcus leaned forward. “I’m glad we get a further chance to talk, Mistress Marley.”
“Oh, Bess, please.” Bess said it immediately, ignoring the sharp look from Hereswith’s brothers. “Hereswith has spoken so highly of you.”
“Do call me Marcus, then. She flatters. Mind, that’s part of her job and one of her highly developed skills. And you know William, of course.” He gestured at the man next to him, who nodded amiably.
“She said you were clear she should make the Challenge,” Bess replied. “Which implies you think well of her skills.”
“Oh, yes.” Marcus glanced up at the head of the room. “Hereswith was a little worried about the protocol of this. How things are done matters to her, a great deal. The dance of it, how to make it flow and be elegant rather than ungainly. But I have no doubts about her— mmm.” He paused, and added to Hereswith’s father, “Sir, how would you describe how Hereswith moves in the world?”
Master Rowan— Bess would be formal here, in public, and especially with his sons right there, even inside her head— looked up. “She knows her own skills. That’s rare. But it’s also a lever to move the world, don’t you think? She does not fuss about what isn’t hers. Mind, Hereswith has had an increasingly broad remit, the last few years. I did not think she’d be so involved in diplomatic work when she was little.”
“Oh, I had a hint.” That was Wulfred. He was amiable as he told a story about going up to the nursery at one point to find Hereswith a row of dolls and toys. She’d been instructing them in the proper form for a dinner party and what conversation to make. That got into other stories of the family, and Bess listened to them attentively.
None were actually that surprising, given what she already knew, but they helped reassure her she was not missing some thread in the family history. That was the thing about the Rowans. They were surprisingly consistent in the face they showed the world. That made her think a lot more about Hereswith, actually.
As the time wound on, their drinks and plates were refilled. Finally, about an hour in, Edric Fitzroy came down. He looked oddly freshly scrubbed, as if he’d had an energetic bout with soap and water. His clothes were in good repair, but he was limping slightly on one foot as he walked down the centre aisle of the hall to quietly rejoin his family. The other conversations died down for a moment, before Marcus asked their little circle, “Do they tell us when someone’s been successful? If there are still others in the process?”
Bess could chime in here. “From what Hereswith learned, everyone comes out in their own time. If someone is successful, they’re taken aside to a room to wait until everyone has come out. Tidier that way. Though I’m sure uncomfortable for those who were not successful.” That carried them off into another conversation, pausing only when Euphremia Sibley came out. She was walking tightly, as if she were afraid her clothing would come apart if she breathed wrong.
Another half hour, and Antinous Groves came out. He was, in fact, injured in some way. His arm was wrapped up in a sling, his cape covering part of it. He looked rather white around the edges, and she thought he was trying hard to convince his family it was nothing significant. It took Bess a moment to realise what that meant, and she found herself staring at Marcus, who obviously was having the same thought. “Hereswith.”
“Hereswith.” He echoed her, then cleared his throat. “Sir, do you know what the steps are next? Or Bess, perhaps you do?”
“An announcement and formal welcome. But that assumes—” Bess was brought back to earth. “It could be she’s just the last one out. Sometimes no one is successful, I gather.”
“Hundreds of years of history. I suppose there are a number of outcomes.” Marcus shook his head. “We’ll wait, then.”
It was not as long as it might be, fortunately. Perhaps fifteen minutes later, they could see the various members of the Council filtering in to take up places across the top of the Great Hall. All except for Council Head Merriweather, Blanch Ventry, and one other, she thought. It would be rude to count them off on her fingers, she was sure. A minute or two after the last person moved into place, the double doors at the head of the hall opened. Beside her, Marcus murmured, “Nicely coordinated.”
Council Head Merriweather took a staff, bringing it down to ring against the floor three times. His voice amplified with a charm, he announced, “We are pleased to welcome Magistra Hereswith Rowan as the newest member of our number. May the magic of Albion flourish, with the skills and knowledge she brings to our company.”
They proceeded through a brief welcome— Hereswith was greeted by each of the Council before each of the other Challengers went up to give her some brief greeting. Somewhat grudging, in at least one case— Fitzroy was none too pleased about the outcome. Then the other parties began to file out, as Hereswith, Blanch Ventry, and Council Head Merriweather came toward Bess’s group.
Hereswith’s father pushed himself to stand, each of his sons reaching automatically to offer an arm to steady him. As soon as Hereswith got close enough, she embraced him, a definite show of emotion that Bess suspected was not the ordinary thing. She murmured something in his ear, then helped him to sit again, before beaming.
Beside her, Magistra Ventry was being patient enough. Now, though, she spoke. “There will be an announcement in the morning papers, and a longer piece about the event in the evening paper. Someone from the Trellech Moon will want to speak to you. Tomorrow is best, if you’re available, the day after otherwise. Make them come to you. It doesn’t do for the papers to get the idea we’re at their beck and call.”
Hereswith ducked her chin. “I provided a copy of my vita to Council Head— pardon— Gervase.” She caught herself, obviously shifting into a new mode. “But yes, I’ll see about arranging tomorrow.” Bess made a note of that, because that much she could be a help with.
“Good. We’ll find a time for you to be introduced to the private areas of the Keep. There will be a meeting next Wednesday with all our number. You will need a little time to wrap up your commitments to the Ministry, as we discussed.”
Hereswith looked up at that. “You need not worry, Blanch, that I will neglect tidying my commitments.” It was sharper than Bess would have dared, but Magistra Ventry just laughed, looking pleased.
