Page 54 of Claiming the Tower (Council Mysteries #1)

H ereswith finished the dance, turning to give her partner a proper curtsey.

Erasmus Forley had been a considerate partner.

Not particularly quick on his feet, but that wasn’t needed for the formal ritual dances.

There was apparently some ongoing debate about whether to add the waltz to the sequence, but that had not yet happened.

It meant that the ritual was built on older forms, adaptable to something more like an elegant procession than anything vigorous.

Now, they cleared the dance floor for other dancers, certainly more of that vigour in the offing.

The Great Hall of the Council Keep was brilliantly lit, charmlights glittering off the chandeliers and illusion decorations.

There were plenty of evergreen boughs, along with the red holly berries and the white mistletoe.

The crystal cast rainbow shadows as it caught the light, and made the golden ribbons on the garlands glow warmly.

They’d ended up near enough to Eridana Forley, Erasmus’s granddaughter.

She made a little dip at Hereswith. “I appreciate you saving me from the formalities.” In past years, she’d apparently partnered her grandfather.

She went on, “I’d rather watch the patterns of the dancing than have to be in the midst.” She was an astronomer, a few years older than Hereswith, well-established in the field.

It made sense that she might find watching the patterns and orbits of interest. “Grandfather, Lord Donovan wondered if you’d have a word, and he said to mention he’s opened an excellent brandy. ”

“Well, then.” Erasmus bowed to her. “I leave you to your own pleasures, Hereswith. Blessed Solstice.”

“And to you. “ Hereswith took half a step back after checking with her magic that she wouldn’t back into someone. She half-turned to find Bess coming toward her on a perfect angle, a glass of punch in each hand. She held one out to Hereswith. “Oh, thank you.”

“Shall we find a quiet corner for the moment?” Bess gestured, having found a spot that did not have people chatting or plotting— or both— already.

Once they’d gathered themselves, Hereswith let out a breath, took another sip of her drink, and considered the room.

The problem was that she was still, socially speaking, in mourning.

She had every reason to be here. It was a magical and ritual obligation of her position, but it was also not the done thing to be too actively seen enjoying herself.

That meant no further dancing this evening.

She’d worn black, of course, though in a finer silk than most would.

There had been no question in Hereswith’s mind that Bess should come.

For one thing, Bess had been quietly taking on arranging such social calls as Hereswith might arrange.

In February, they would be expanding that slightly to small supper parties, quiet and at home.

There, they’d be rotating through various members of the Council, their spouses, or some other suitable member of their family.

In May, when it had been six months since Papa’s death, she might reasonably invite a slightly larger circle.

The next few hours, she needed to be visible, but she could move from quiet conversation to quiet conversation. Now she looked around. “Did you have thoughts about whom to speak to? Now you’ve seen the room?”

“Mmm. Yes.” Bess glanced around. She wasn’t so crass as to gesture— others might well see that— but her gloved fingers twitched in her skirts, as if she were quietly counting people off. “I think the Farrells might be interested in a conversation. Or Claudia Howard. She was watching you closely.”

“Claudia, indeed?” The woman had not particularly been on Hereswith’s personal list, but she’d be glad to investigate. “Have you seen any of the Judsons?”

“Mmmm.” That had a quiet rumble to it.

Hereswith looked more closely at her friend, her lover, her increasingly other half.

And certainly Bess more than matched Hereswith in keeping track of the near infinite threads of this level of Albion’s society.

“Marcus intends to ask you to dance, mind, still. And perhaps introduce you to a few people.” Hereswith had made sure of his invitation, of course.

“That, I will accept, since I know he does not intend it that way. And it would let me get a closer look at a few dynamics.” She lifted one finger, the signal they’d agreed on earlier to indicate a possible affair or indiscretion.

Hereswith had thought, before tonight, that the great and the glittering horde of Albion’s finest families would have a certain amount more subtlety.

Why she’d thought that, she didn’t know, because people were reliably people.

The non-magical of this class and status kept some things private, but not nearly as many as they thought.

The same was true here, in Dinas Emrys. And those threads, like all the rest, could be telling in future, either about connections or about places where people would push away from each other in the aftermath.

“Marcus will not step on your feet. Whatever sweet nothings he murmurs in your ear will be about gossip and connections you might use. Since he cannot dance with me.”

Before Hereswith could say any more, Marcus himself appeared, bowing over Hereswith’s hand, making much of seeing her, and then offering his arm to Bess.

They made a pleasant couple on the dance floor.

Bess was as competent and tidy a dancer as she was in everything else, and Hereswith enjoyed the chance to see her in motion.

She thought, too, that Bess was enjoying the opportunity.

Bess might not wish to be one of the Great Families— she knew the costs there, as well as the benefits.

But she did like a beautiful gown, and she particularly enjoyed the music.

Those were both things Hereswith was delighted to provide.

For her part, Hereswith watched the patterns, thinking back to the conversation she’d had with Electra.

Some people here had fallen into habits that were far too rigid.

Shattering them would do no good— it would be a blow of misdirected anger.

But perhaps, given a little opportunity, there might be a chance to make something new out of something crumbling.

Hereswith could see a place or two, where a death in the family— sad though it was— gave a new shape to the remaining family members.

A new freedom, she thought, in a case or two.

A new cage, in at least one. Two, at least, like her own life, where the balance was more complex.

The dance finished, and Marcus escorted Bess back to where Hereswith was sitting. Her lover was out of breath, roses in her cheeks. Marcus bowed, and disappeared again, with a murmur that he’d be back soon.

Bess beamed. “We have been plotting.” She kept her voice quiet, and there was no one terribly near them just now.

“Plotting?” Hereswith raised an eyebrow.

“Your upcoming birthday. You should have a pleasant one this year, and Marcus had several useful thoughts on what might be appealing. May I plan it without telling you?” Bess held up a finger. “Entirely in keeping with mourning. Though I have plans for future years. A nascent list.”

Hereswith could not quite prevent the shiver up her spine, and she did not want to. “I rather like the idea of you having plans for future years. Yes, you may plan and surprise me.”

That, apparently, was a far better gift than the gown or the invitation to be here tonight.

Bess beamed, near enough glowing. “Grand. Now, shall I fetch you a cup of the punch? It will give me a chance to circulate and consider who you might wish to speak with sooner rather than later. Perhaps bring someone back with me?”

“That would be excellent, thank you.” Hereswith nodded.

Bess beamed again, then disappeared off into the crowds, a flash of her blue gown visible here and there.

Hereswith watched her go and then returned to watching the movement of the people.

She could see the landscape begin to play out.

She didn’t yet know all that was growing upon it, or all that might be nurtured.

But she could get a sense of the options.

And, with a little luck, a sense of who might be an ally in the weeks and months and years to come.