Page 64 of Claiming the Tower
That at least gave Hereswith a way to thread through the topic. “Such things are cultural, kyria. In ours, in the place and time in which we live, wearing black is a reminder to the wearer— and to all who see them— of the loss, of a different set of social customs. At its best, a reminder of gentleness and how to show care.” Some imp made her add, “It is often not so, because we humans are flawed. Some would challenge my presence here tonight.”
“For what reason, please?” The question was again clear.
Hereswith suspected her answer would not please Gervase, but she was not actually in conversation with Gervase. “The matter is different for women than for men. Men may return to their work, even their pleasures, quickly. There is a somewhat satirical text from a century ago about how a man, losing his wife, might not be seen in the chocolate houses for a week, but then could return. A place of social interaction, debate, sometimes rowdy behaviour. And a man might, in the same text, take a mistress in the third week, if he had not had one. For consolation in his grief, you understand.”
“And a woman?”
“A woman,” Hereswith said, “In the same text, might attend church the second week, handkerchief visible. She might attend a tragedy in the theatre the first month, and no one would press on whether she wept for the tale on the stage or for her husband.”
“But she might not take a man into her bed. Not without marriage.” The Fatae woman looked amused at something. “Do you have a family beyond your late father?”
“Not without marriage, no. And in such advice, not for some months, to ensure there was no child with her late husband.” Hereswith could not duck the second question, for all it was not one she particularly wanted to answer with her colleagues behind her. “Two older brothers, half-brothers, their wives and children and now a growing number of grandchildren. I live with a companion, in the home I have always lived in.” She hesitated slightly, then said, “I never wished to marry and leave that land. We are not Lords of the land, not like other estates. But there are the orchards and the stream and the way the meadow flows down to it, the way the windows frame the sky and trees and ground.”
“No marriage bed for you.” The woman nodded. “We take men to our beds— or we have at times. But marriage has been a tool to bind, rather than support. Tell me, what do you understand about our problem tonight?”
“A negotiation, conducted with the appropriate rituals and protocols. I am still new to the Council. I know I do not understand the history, the nuances, properly.” Hereswith did not look behind her at Gervase. That would not do at all. Besides, if he needed to get her attention, he could touch her hand or cough or step into her line of sight.
“Indeed.” The Fatae woman considered. “I am called Electra. Come with me.” Hereswith heard the shift of shoe on paving stone, and then it stopped as the woman raised her hand. “Just you. I promise I will return you unharmed in all ways in— shall we say less than fifteen minutes?” No one argued, and so Electra turned. The women on either side of her parted enough to let Hereswith walk down behind her, into the darkness, lit only by soft lights on either side of the path. There was no noise besides the slight sounds of nighttime birds— she thought she heard the rumble of a nightjar nearby.
Electra turned to the right, then into a garden that glowed with magic, luminous blues and purples, with the occasional green or gold of specific plants. It gave enough light that Hereswith could see clearly enough, with benches in a central circle by a pool of water. “Sit, please.” Electra took one end of the bench and after a moment, Hereswith settled on the other end, perhaps a foot of space between their closest knees. “You answered my questions directly.”
“Yes, kyria.” Hereswith felt that was not a sufficient answer. “My life before the Council was in diplomacy. I am entirely capable of avoiding answering a question, so prettily that most people do not notice the lack of information. But for all the negotiation clearly involves metaphor and symbol, I would not speak so to you unless that were the protocol.”
“Why not?” Electra asked it, then she lifted her fingers. “Speak freely, if you would. I am curious, and I will not hold what you say against you. Educate me, please, about how you do things. What you need to know to understand the problem.”
Hereswith sucked in a breath. “I am new to the Council, Kyria, of course. I do not know the customs, the protocol, the precedent. The plan for tonight was that I might quietly observe. I am used to that, and I have learned how to make the most of those observations.”
“You would go to parties, among the non-magical, and gather information. And you would organise things within Albion’s Ministry, argue for specific approaches or policies.” The description was incisive, and sharp enough that Hereswith looked up to meet Electra’s eyes for a moment. “Oh, we may not press a thumb on the scales of who is selected. That is not our role. But we pay attention to who might join the Council. No one quite knew what to do with you, I gather.”
“I’m fairly certain they still do not.” Hereswith hesitated, then said, “May I lay out what I understand of the problem, kyria, and have you correct my misunderstandings?”
“Do.” That had more warmth to it. “Please.”
Hereswith took a deep breath and then began. She had, she realised, picked up more of it than she’d thought. The problem was, fundamentally, the sort of tangle where both sides had established patterns, worn in grooves like a river through the landscape. The customs, the habits established, suggested one solution, but it was not actually satisfactory to either party. As she talked, Hereswith had the thought that it was like rose or blackberry bushes that had aged and hardened. It made them difficult to move, and now their thorns were getting in the way of the flowers and fruit.
When she ventured that metaphor, Electra tilted her head. “That is as good a framing as any we have come up with. And how would you resolve it?” Hereswith almost objected, but Electra lifted a finger again. “Nothing you say here counts as a negotiation.”
“That’s not true, kyria. You will know it. The words shape thoughts.” Hereswith waited a beat, then added, “But I might, I think, speak of how I would go about that negotiation, if given free rein.”
“That will do.” Electra nodded once, and let Hereswith speak.
“I have been thinking the last month about the Tower card of the Tarot. You are familiar, yes?” She got a nod, even though those were a far more modern tool than any these ladies would have known in earlier times. “The lightning strikes the tower, a figure falls. It is about the need for change and rebuilding. Yet, there is something beautiful in the moment, the flash of light, the power of the strike, and the chance to begin with something new. Setting the old behind, remembered, not forgotten, but no longer the—” She caught herself. “No longer the only foundation for what comes next.”
“Ah.” Electra nodded again, the sharp little movement that seemed pleased. “And so you advise what?”
“Looking at the foundation that is now present, beginning again. Acknowledging the customs that have brought us thus far, but looking for what serves in this time and place, what will please and suit both sides. You’d mentioned concerns about the factories and several of your places?”
“Yes.” This was more curt, but Hereswith was more certain now she had not erred. “The Council has not been quick to act.”
“There are places we have more sway and less. And the cities, by and large, they are not the places the Council— or the Lords of the land— control directly. But we might influence more. Certainly, I think, provide more information than we have been doing.” Hereswith could feel the little wicked grin that Marcus said she got when they were plotting in private coming out. “Information is the lightning come down from the heavens. Prometheus and his fire, the spark of inspiration, the light in the darkness.”
It took a moment, but then Electra was laughing. “Well said. Shall we go back? They will be worried. My sisters, as well as your colleagues. And worry is a poor way to rebuild the world. So much bother.” She stood, and Hereswith did so immediately, letting Electra lead the way back out through the garden, along the path, and into the crowd of people facing each other with dignified silence.
Chapter 43
Very late that night at Verdant Court
It was well past three in the morning when Bess heard footsteps outside the bedroom. She’d thought about staying up in the sitting room, but Hereswith had made it clear it would be a late night. Of course, that hadn’t meant Bess had actually slept. She had a charmlight on. She’d been dozing and reading in alternation. Now she set the book aside, pushed herself upright, her feet into slippers, and came to see what Hereswith needed.
