Page 67 of Apt to be Suspicious
“I— that is something to talk out with her. I’ve arranged invitations to three of the Commemoration Week balls, but that won’t be seen as an ongoing interest immediately. An introduction at the end of the Faire. Then I’ll be away. A bit more public when I return, taking her around in Trellech, something like that. If Ursula is hosting a party, that might do well.”
“Ursula is quite likely to be hosting some sort of party, yes.” Uncle Alexander had been rather quiet throughout. Edmund knew that just meant he’d been paying attention to a great deal. “I would like to know, though, why you are so taken with her in particular.”
“Cleverness. A mind that bends to the puzzle at hand.” Edmund shrugged slightly. “I want to be with someone who can do things I can’t. Who knows things I don’t. Who goes at the world in a way I wouldn’t think of. But someone who is aware of themselves enough to know some of how other people think. When we’ve talked, that’s come through. I think partly growing up in a vicarage. She wasn’t startled by Circe’s circumstances, though some of the magical parts were less familiar. You see?” Then he shrugged his shoulders. “I like how I am with her. How I feel. How I want to do things better, improve them. Also, how talking a problem through with her stretches, expands.”
“The Jupiterian response? Or something else?” Papa leaned forward a little, and he’d put the monocle in sometime when Edmund wasn’t focusing on him.
“A Mercurial one. The puzzle, the twist.” Edmund turned his hand palm up, down, then up again. “I’m sure Uncle Giles has given some sense of his feelings.”
Mama laughed. “Giles taking her on as an apprentice says all it needs to, really. I’m glad. He’s been cranky as a moulting bird with no one to mentor. Cammie’s a brilliant partner, but he does like training someone.” It was an aspect of Uncle Giles that Edmund had not quite pinned down, somehow. Of course, he’d had far less direct observation to go on there. It made him feel even better about having pressed for the introduction in the first place.
“From what I’ve heard so far,” Uncle Alexander clucked his tongue once. “Miss Stirling has quite a few interesting ideas. Not my field, beyond the use of the things. I suspect there will need to be consultations with Thesan or someone else of her level of skill for the chronological and locational magic parts. Not that there are many of those. But within the magical communities, such a thing as the idea she’s proposing would be beyond price.”
“Trouble, Uncle Alexander?” Edmund said it, then shook his head, negating it. “Pardon. Of course there’s trouble. Might we discuss the relevant parts for Greece and Italy before I go off this summer?”
“There you go.” Edmund got a nod of approval back. “Italy in particular is rather a challenge.” Uncle Alexander had spent time in Rome in the past, Edmund knew that, and had various connections. Papa had too, though more in Florence. “The chasm of the fall of a dictator leaves gaps that someone will fill. You followed the election.”
It wasn’t a question. Edmund had, not least because he’d known both Uncle Alexander and Major Manse would expect him to. But he’d have done it without that, even though the election of Italy’s first parliament had been just as contentious and difficult as any political dispute in the Roman empire. Some things were apparently eternal, including the violence in the streets on political grounds.
Now, six weeks later, things were simmering down, but Rome would be a challenge in a dozen ways Edmund could think of. And it would be even more challenging since Edmund was not Christian, never mind Roman Catholic. “Major Manse has some reading for me as soon as I’m done with term, beyond the papers.”
That, then, got Papa leading with several points, Mama chiming in here and there. The matter of Pen and her virtues was settled enough, apparently. All three of the adults had been clear that Edmund had made his choices. They would play out, and the family would see from there. Edmund appreciated the degree of implied trust. He just hoped he could live up to it.
Chapter 42
Tuesday, June 29th
“What would you like to do?” Pen blinked at Edmund. He was lit by the sun, his hair a corona again. He held out a hand, the sort of gesture that should have looked too grand but was just right in the moment. They were standing in a quieter bit of the Midsummer Faire grounds on the last day. She’d been out several times this week with friends, but that wasn’t the same. It had been the easiest place to meet him, a bit after luncheon.
“What’s on offer?” Pen clapped her hand on her head to keep her hat on.
“Music, dancing, drink. Food’s trickier still. Games of chance. Performances.” Edmund shrugged. “Or if you prefer somewhere quieter, we could go to Trellech. Or Ytene.” He said the last almost off-handedly, as if it were always on his personal list. They’d planned on that for tomorrow, when his parents would be available, as well as various other people. Apparently.
Pen tilted her head. “Which would you choose?”
“That’s not fair.” Edmund was laughing, though, his eyes crinkling. “I like all those options. As long as they’re with you.”
“You, sir, are a romantic. Not even attempting to hide it.” Pen considered the choices while watching his expression. The Faire had been wonderful, but it was also a trifle hot, certainly noisy. It was absolutely full of people who had opinions about her, about Edmund, or about various topics she didn’t want to entertain right now. She took a breath. “What happens if we go to Ytene?”
Edmund’s eyes nearly glowed to match his hair now, as if something was lighting him up from within. Perhaps given his magic, that was true enough. “I could show you the place. Most of the horses are here until tomorrow. We could walk around, have supper privately. Whatever you like. Mama and Papa and the rest won’t be back until late.”
It did not take Pen long to decide. “Ytene, then.” Edmund blinked at her, honestly taken aback, then he offered his arm. Pen threaded hers through, squeezing once to reassure him, glad of the contact. She’d discovered over the last month that she simply enjoyed touching him.
Oh, the kissing had been excellent, and the enjoyment they’d found with hands. But just touching him, the things they could do in public, even under the noses of the dons and proctors, those delighted. It was warm, comforting, and made her think of honey and softly woven blankets. They didn’t talk much as they threaded through the crowds, but the portal wasn’t too busy.
He went through first, and she came out in a suddenly quiet, verdant clearing. Everything was green, with rosebushes on one side blooming and scenting the air gloriously. Edmund was waiting a few steps back from the portal, but he immediately bowed, making it formal. “Be welcome to our lands and all they hold.”
Pen took a step forward before stopping and blinking at him. She knew there were a dozen ritual welcomes, but she hadn’t actually studied the nuances. She managed a reasonable reply, “I appreciate and honour your hospitality,” before she looked up and met Edmund’s eyes. “What am I agreeing to?”
“That, Pen, is me giving you the most generous welcome of the lot. You have excellent manners.” Pen felt herself frowning, because that seemed an awfully large step. “I consulted Papa about it. And Mama and Uncle Alexander.” Edmund offered his hand. “It— like all the ritual welcomes— can be revoked, if someone abuses it. Though honestly adjusting the warding is even more practical.” His tone made her giggle, despite the seriousness of the moment. “Do you want to put your bag down? Have some refreshment?”
Ten minutes later, she had left her bag, washed her hands and face, and been offered a glass of lemonade and a seat on the terrace. The terrace itself was not terribly intimidating, but it looked out on a long garden, with various ornamental bits of stone at the far end. “What exactly are your plans?”
“A walk around the grounds. The garden, the stables, though it’s the younger foals and their mothers. The mews, if you don’t mind hawks. Supper, if you like. We can do that up in my rooms?” He made that a question, adding, “Or the small dining room. My rooms.” Something in her face had given her answer then. Pen might have minded him reading it so quickly, but he was reliably accurate. And he made a point of checking, like he just had.
Once she had finished her glass— tartly refreshing and sweetened with honey— he offered his arm. They made a loop of the garden, then came to a stop by a large memorial stone that seemed remarkably out of place. It had hieroglyphs on it, not something she’d have expected in the heart of the New Forest. There was a name in Roman letters along the top, Peredur Judson, and a date of death in August 1917.
Edmund, rather to her surprise, dropped her hand gently and made a little formal ritual bow, pulling a small vial from his pocket and pouring out a little water into a small red pottery bowl, before saying something, presumably in ancient Egyptian. She thought it was. She was getting a bit better at telling when he was speaking Arabic, and it wasn’t that. Then he turned to Pen, focusing on her again. “I was born nine years to the day after he died. I think about that a lot. Uncle Alexander’s apprentice, before me. His chosen heir, in many ways. Professor Fortier’s best friend, too.” The words came out a little clipped, and Pen realised, suddenly, that this was an incredibly tender point.
