Page 65 of Claiming the Tower
Her beloved looked exultant, like she’d come through some tremendous battle. Like she had after the Challenge, actually, it had the same feel to it in her magic and in her smile. “Things went well?”
“Exceedingly. Can you help me undress? I’m not sure what I can tell you, but oh, I want you.” Then Hereswith caught the misspoken word. “Well, I want you, but also I want to tell you.”
“Hereswith, are you drunk?” It was not something Bess had seen before— Hereswith was normally exceedingly cautious about that. She drank, people did, but Bess had never seen her past slightly tipsy.
“Yes? Not on alcohol. On magic, on getting something right?” There was a little gasp before Hereswith swung herself in a circle, her dress flaring out. “Definitely drunk on magic.”
“Goodness. Here, come let me help you out of that gown, would you? I’m not sure it’s up to vigorous spins.” As a mourning gown, it certainly hadn’t been designed for rapid movement. Hereswith stopped long enough for Bess to remove the over gown, then work on the buttons on the back of the dress. Once she got the yards of fabric off, she got to work on the petticoats and then the corset. Finally, there was a pile of cloth on the chaise to be dealt with tomorrow, and Hereswith was out of her clothing.
“Charm to clean up, a quick sponge?” Bess wasn’t certain Hereswith would think of it. There was a smell to her that Bess couldn’t place. It was like mist and night-blooming flowers and something sharper and brighter, coiled through with a thread of incense. The sharpness was like mint, but not like any mint Bess had ever tasted.
“I’ll go to with a sponge.” Hereswith disappeared down the hallway to the bathroom, while Bess did her best to tidy the discarded clothing some more and get the hairbrush out. The elaborate pins and coils ought to come out. For one thing, they’d be annoying to sleep on.
Hereswith didn’t dally with washing up, at least. Within five minutes, she was back; her face pink from being washed, a dressing gown thrown over her chemise. “Hair?”
“Are you sure you can sit still for it?” Bess said it teasing, and then Hereswith was laughing, full out.
“Won’t know until we try, will we? I do feel drunk. I expect it will last a bit.” She waved a finger. “I’ve nowhere to be until five tomorrow. Today. Later today. Gervase requests my presence.”
“Sit, then. Let me see to your hair, and you see what you can tell me.” The thing of it was, Bess wanted to know what had brought Hereswith this lightness. There might be a tinge of envy there, that someone else had done so. Bess shoved it down. She’d made Hereswith laugh plenty of times now. She’d also tended her through harder moments. They’d tended each other. More laughter in the world was a goodness wherever it came from.
Hereswith settled on the bench by her dressing table in a swirl of fabric. As she moved, she fluffed out the dressing gown so it hung over the back like a fall of green curtain. “I didn’t tell you what we were doing, did I?”
“Not beyond the fact this is a regular, yearly, appointment for the Council, that it took place late at night, and that no one had really explained the details to you.” Bess began to work the pins out of Hereswith’s hair, dropping them into the cup Hereswith held up to catch them as she went. It would take her a minute. Several of them had got looped through hair in odd ways. “Whatever were you doing, half these pins have been rearranged.”
“Magic. Diplomacy. Talking ...” Hereswith’s breath caught. It was the sound Bess had learned meant she was about to test what she could say out loud. “Talking with the Fatae.”
Bess felt a rush over her. It wasn’t a thing people did; it wasn’t even a thing people thought about doing. Except, well, apparently the Council. On one hand, it made sense. The Council was there, in large part, to make negotiations with the Fatae. Bess was no trained diplomat. But that presumed some sort of conversation at some point, either with them or with whoever they designated as a diplomatic voice or ambassador or whatever the word was. “They themselves?” Her hand paused on Hereswith’s head, while Bess tried to figure out what to say next. “I’m deeply curious now, whatever you can tell.”
“We all know the stories. Well, some of us better than others. But I know you loved some of those tales when you were younger. We’ve talked about that.” They had, when Bess had discovered the treasured shelves of books from Hereswith’s childhood tucked away safely in a corner of the library downstairs. Hereswith almost turned around on the bench, but Bess’s hand kept her still. “Finish my hair, please?”
Bess snorted. “Keep talking, then.” She went back to working the long hair into three tidy sections, brushing it down until the potion on the brush smoothed everything out, making it glossy. Then she began braiding it.
“We went through a portal— I don’t know where, Gervase wouldn’t let anyone see it. Presumably there’s a way for someone else to find out, though.”
“In case something happened to Gervase, quite.” Bess tapped her toe on the ground. “What are the practices around that sort of resiliency, then? Having a second who can step into place?”
“If Gervase dies— well, when, assuming he doesn’t retire first— it’s one of the most senior who takes it on temporarily. In order, but they have the right of refusal. Cornelius Tipson, in this case, then Asphodel Henry, then Titus Howard.”
“That’s an interesting question, given that the most senior are often not particularly energetic.” Bess couldn’t help her mind spinning off into all the practicalities. “Is it an energetic sort of position?”
“I suspect that depends on the day and the ritual. Here, however, it involved moving at a sedate pace along a well-paved path in a garden. Far less demanding than the solstice dances, and while....” Hereswith paused, which let Bess get a couple of twists of the braid anchored well at the nape of her neck, before going on. “There was magic all around, the entire place was made of magic. But it was not demanding on us. The negotiations were demanding, but the way non-magical negotiations are demanding, not more or less.”
“I am somehow vastly reassured that some things are eternal. And you know how to manage that sort of thing, the pacing of it.” Bess was just as certain of that.
“Oh, yes. Not all of the others did. I’m trying to figure out how long I need to wait before I suggest a little course of training on how that sort of thing goes in the non-magical community. And the pieces that do or do not transfer to other parts of our work. Gervase was workmanlike about it. He obviously learned by observation and solidly well. But that’s not the same as having actual training in it.”
“Was Magistra Ventry there?” Bess got a little further, now taking a step back from Hereswith to give herself room to work down the braid.
“No. Which made sense, with something they asked me about later. The Fatae.” Hereswith took in a deeper breath, enough to shift her shoulders. “We all processed in. There were the formalities, in various languages. What I could see was seven women. Older, but also ageless. Older than me, younger than the earth, you know?”
“But not young and nubile.” Bess contemplated that for a moment. “If you could be of any age, what would you pick? There’s a thing to talk about later.”
“Oh, that’s easy. This one. With perhaps slightly less creaky knees. I was happy when I was younger, but— bar dear Papa— I am happier now. More rooted in my happiness.” Hereswith’s answer was immediate, and she twisted to look up at Bess. Bess managed to keep the tail of the braid she was working on in one hand, but took a step to bend and kiss that mouth, taking her time with it. When Bess pulled back, Hereswith grinned at her, still sparkling with that giddy delight. “You?”
“Now is excellent. Though I agree with the knees. I wish I’d known you when we were more like school girls. There’s something of a fancy there, in my dreams. But I like things as they are now, and I have hopes for the next year, and the year after that, and the one after that. Quite a few, if I have my way.”
“Mmm.” Hereswith made an utterly contented noise and settled back on the bench. “Finish the hair so we can go to bed?”
