Page 2 of Enchanted Net
Alexander, that child, was enough younger than Thessaly they’d only overlapped at Schola for one year. He’d finish this June, soon to be launched into his own career. Now, he was standing just behind his mother. He was here because he was on holiday for the fortnight, and because he and his brother and mother still lived on the estate part of the time.
Now, Thessaly just inclined her head to him, letting him bow over her hand, and then his older brother, Philip. The other girls might have pined over the romance of his father, but Thessaly had often thought Philip more interesting. He hadn’t gone to Schola at all, and remained more French than of Albion and Britain’s magical community. Though, of course, he’d made all the proper oaths on the Silence and to the Pact.
Philip had a sense of certainty and mystery that were twined, somehow, not at all like the average boy or man of Albion. Some people talked in hushed whispers about how he couldn’t be trusted, he didn’t understand what was suitable for Albion. And others flocked to that sense of difference, like a moth to flame. Philip, for his part, mostly kept at a distance from anyone outside his family. Thessaly had found him interesting to talk to, well-mannered and considerate, and Alexander even more so. Both of them treated her as a person, interesting in her own right, which was not as common as she wished it were.
That, of course, brought her to Childeric’s parents. Lord Clovis and Lady Maylis were both looking splendid, the sort of confidence that came with knowing that everything was as they wished it. They greeted her parents, offering the proper formal welcome to their lands. It was the same as it had been all the times before. This was the welcome made to honoured guests who were not actually family, delineating in a few particular phrases what was and was not permitted.
It meant Thessaly could use her own magics, so long as they were not against one of the family. Likewise, she had free access to the public spaces of the manor. For her comfort, she could draw on the food, drink, and staff in all the ways expected of her class and station. Of course, they’d know if she made use of those, likely nearly as soon as she did.
Thessaly made her little bob and compliment, then Childeric bowed over her hand, playing up the formality before tucking it into his, a rare public touch. She nodded once at Sigbert, Childeric’s younger brother, before needing to keep her feet and her skirts in order as he escorted her to his grandmother’s chair. “Grand-mère, you remember Thessaly Lytton-Powell, of course.” It had been some months, actually, not since the ball the Fortiers had hosted over Solstice week. The other times she’d seen Childeric had been in Trellech, the show of being seen at suppers and the winter’s festivities.
“Lady Chrodechildis. Madam Fortier.” At least Thessaly did not need to navigate the difference in titles here. She could feel the coiling magic, just as she could feel the weight of her dress and where the fabric fell, or Childeric’s hand under hers. The woman before her had been Lady Fortier for forty-five years until the death of her husband some four years ago. She was a rigid pillar of propriety, determined that her husband’s legacy should not be squandered. And so she kept the courtesy title, but with her forename to distinguish her from Lady Maylis, the current Lady Fortier.
Now, Thessaly bobbed a little deeper, making all the little shows of respect she’d been trained in from the time she could walk. The arch of her hands, showing she was not working magic, her lips together but not tense. She could not help her stance. Even in a formal gown and delicate slippers, she persisted in standing like a duellist, ready to move. Fortunately, the skirts hid many things, and that was one of them.
When she raised her eyes just slightly, Thessaly saw the minute nod. Madam Fortier tapped her fan on her wrist. “You may walk in the gardens. We wish to speak with your parents.” Both sets, presumably, the way Madam Fortier said it.
Childeric might have baulked at the order if it had been his parents or his aunt and uncle. He had more sense than to do so here. He simply smiled and gestured. “This way, then. We’ll have a look at the daffodils, shall we?”
As soon as they were away from the others, he lowered his arm. Admittedly keeping hold of it while navigating doorways was awkward. He utterly ignored the rest of the waiting guests.
Admittedly, most of the people present were a generation older, but Thessaly caught sight of Jacinthe Howard and her husband. Jacinthe, Childeric’s cousin, had married Amalric Howard last year. They’d married as soon as she’d finished at Schola and before starting her apprenticeship. Thessaly enjoyed talking to them both, though she’d wondered about the speed of the wedding.
Neither she nor Childeric spoke further until they were outside. It was mild enough she did not need an additional wrap, at least. And, as she suspected, they were heading not simply for the daffodils, but for one of the estate’s cottages. Some people - parents, for example - might have worried they’d go off and do indecent things in private. But no, Childeric wanted to relax with his friends. Never mind that she couldn’t relax, not wearing what she was right now. She waited until they were well away from the house. “Really, Childeric, today?”
Childeric and Sigbert had taken over the vacant cottage without actually asking permission. Over the last year, it had turned into a spot where they could play cards, gamble, and generally not be bothered. It had a significant lack of regular sweeping, comfortable seating in any sort of structured gown, or other amenities. Also, a distinct lack of books.
“If it weren’t for you and your parents arriving, I could have been riding all afternoon,” Childeric said. “Tomorrow, though...”
It wasn’t as if Thessaly was going to win any arguments. “I can’t sit down there, in this frock. There’ll be dust.” Or other things, even less kind to the fabric than dust. If she stayed with him, she’d be cordially ignored by whatever nearby friend had got free for as long as they played.
“Go for a walk, then, if you like. An hour and a half, shall we say? Enough time for a game or two.” By now they were at the cottage, and he swept off without waiting for an answer from her. Thessaly wondered if anyone back in the Great Hall would realise they’d separated. Albion, at least, did not chaperone her daughters as much as Victorian England did. Especially not when, like Thessaly, they were quite capable of defending their own honour. But they did notice who was where, when, and with whom.
What she wanted to do was find the salle and at least work through some drills on her own. That wasn’t an option. It would require an entire change of wardrobe, the sort of cleansing charms that would disarrange her hair, and everyone in the vicinity knowing Childeric had left her alone. She sighed and resigned herself to a slow and stately walk around the orchards. She’d have chosen different shoes, if Childeric had given her any warning of his plans.
Chapter2
MARCH 22ND AT ARUNDEL
By Friday evening, the estate was teeming with guests. A massive pavilion had been erected on the great green lawn to the west of the house over the past day. Now, through the windows of the Great Hall, she could see it lit with glowing charmlights, each and every decoration sparkling with magic. The grass had been covered by a dancing floor, smooth and perfect, with paths to protect the dresses of the ladies present. The whole thing had also been warmed to be comfortable without a wrap. Not that too much skin was bare, of course. Not among the guests.
Here, tonight, there would be three sets of bare shoulders, a flagrant demonstration of raw magical potency. One set belonged to Lady Maylis and one to Laudine Fortier. The third were Thessaly’s. They were an overt sign, bright and sharp as some of the electric lighting now more common among the non-magical. It shouted that the Fortiers were powerful enough to ensure their complete protection. Other women, lesser families, might worry about some potion that would harm or at least embarrass, applied to the skin. The Fortiers did not.
The reality, of course, was that Thessaly had been layered with complex - and expensive - charmwork before dressing. It had been done by Magistra Landry, who at least had not expected Thessaly to make small talk. It had been a particular gift, after several days of being surrounded by chatter and commentary, unless she was entirely alone and asleep.
People gossiped about Magistra Landry, how she had ancient and exotic - and terrifying - magical skills at her disposal. She had been born and educated in Egypt, and of course they had approaches to magic largely unknown in Albion. If someone from Albion had done this work, it would have meant several steps - a bath, the careful application of alchemical lotions, retouching as they dried, then charms beyond that. This was far more efficient, potent magic anchored in a brush of an ointment mixing oil with finely ground herbs.
Some people Thessaly knew refused to be in the room with Magistra Landry, as if some of that might rub off. Thessaly did not know her well - certainly not enough to consider a first name. But today, the older woman had been thoughtful and careful, explaining what she intended and making sure Thessaly understood how it worked. Not all the details, of course. There wasn’t nearly time for that and certainly Magistra Landry would not be inclined to share her secrets.
And Magistra Landry had been efficient, thorough, covering the slight crescent of skin that showed if Thessaly lifted her arm, the nape of her neck, and up to her hairline. She took the care to make Thessaly turn and move in any way that might happen during the dancing. It was not the sort of thing one would do routinely, but it was a show of power, and she would do it again for her wedding. It had given Thessaly a chance to get more of a sense of the level of Magistra Landry’s skill and the controlled strength of her magic. People might well fear the harnessed power she felt. Certainly this was not a woman you wanted to make an enemy of.
But here Magistra Landry was, lending her skills to a minor detail of a betrothal of the Fortiers. Thessaly wondered how the older woman thought of it, whether she resented being at their beck and call for something admittedly trivial in the grand scheme of things. On the other hand, the Fortiers had helped her build her resources. And their help had let her raise her sons into competent magicians themselves, starting here and then in Trellech once she took up residence there.
Once she was fully dressed and arranged, Thessaly had been quietly escorted to the Great Hall, via the back of the house, to wait for the right moment. Her mother and father were already out among the guests. She had glimpsed them in a waltz. The older women among the Fortiers had already been out among their guests for an hour or two, but Thessaly had been asked to wait until the formal announcement. Now, Childeric appeared, bowing to his grandmother, then his mother, before offering his arm. “Father says it is the hour.” He then paused and took a step back to admire Thessaly’s gown, circling her. “My, Thess, you do look lovely. Quite the thing.”
It was excellent that he appreciated it, though Thessaly had been hoping, perhaps, for a little more in the way of specific compliments. Of course, he was in full evening dress. There was a nod to the Fortier heraldry of black, gold, and purple in the flowers in his buttonhole and the jewelled amethyst and jet clip that held them.
Her gown did the same thing, a golden shimmering cascade of silk the shade of the champagne that would be served at the announcement. The bodice and train had touches of purple, and there were over two hundred delicate pearls gleaming along the bodice and skirt. It was all woven enchantment too, and not illusion work. Hours upon hours of work and swaths of magic in the design and weaving had gone into making it glow as if with its own light. Thessaly looked stunning in it, and she wanted to make the most of the evening.
