Page 1 of Elemental Truth (Mysterious Fields #3)

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OCTOBER 13TH AT ARUNDEL

T hessaly thought the entire day was inauspicious even without considering the numerological superstitions around the number thirteen. It was a Sunday, which was suitable enough for this sort of announcement, but that was perhaps all the day had going for it. She had, in fact, done the somewhat tedious maths required to draw up a basic timing chart of the stars, to look at the influences on the ritual. It was not promising, entire collisions in the sky, the movement of the planets entirely antagonistic. Even if they’d done whatever ritual there was a couple of days ago, that wouldn’t be much better.

On the other hand, Lord Clovis Fortier needed a new and formally named Heir. He had a remaining son. Anyone watching Dagobert, Lord Clovis’s younger brother, would understand there was trouble there, even if they had no idea what or how deep it ran. Thessaly had a sense of the depth, but no idea about the cause, and that still bothered her.

And of course, it was also entirely inauspicious for Thessaly, who had assumed that with Childeric’s death, she would no longer be required to appear at these Fortier events. She was no longer betrothed to him; she was no longer at his - or his family’s - beck and call. This time, Lady Maylis had at least sent a letter explaining why they wished her to attend, which was more than Childeric had ever bothered to offer. Not that the explanation was compellingly coherent, but rather merely a gesture at wanting to both include Thessaly in the family and perhaps wanting to increase the guests in attendance without being too crass.

That change would have been far more persuasive if it weren’t for the past six months, including the entire span of that entirely unpleasant betrothal, in which the Fortiers had told her next to nothing, repeatedly. She had danced to their tune because she hadn’t had much choice. Now she had more choice, but matters were still delicate. She had slipped out of the cage Childeric had wanted to put her in, that his family had helped him build and strengthen. But she was not yet, apparently, actually free.

Now, Thessaly was a heiress in her own right, more than enough money to support whatever choices she chose to make, including becoming a recluse. Which, frankly, continued to seem like an excellent option, especially if she were a recluse with Vitus beside her. She would much rather have had her Aunt Metaia back, alive, laughing and teasing. But if that wasn’t possible - and it wasn’t, after Aunt Metaia had been murdered - she would take the protection her aunt had given her.

And yet, by a different count, it was only a fortnight since Childeric had made his Challenge for the Council and died in the attempt. Thessaly did not actually have access to the full list of such things, but she had gathered that what had happened was unusual. Certainly, Childeric had been soaking wet, as if he’d been out in a fearsome storm. He’d had marks on his skin that Vitus had said came from lightning. No one talked about that. No one had during the days before the funeral, when the Fortiers - and Thessaly - had kept vigil. Certainly, no one had mentioned it since.

Worse, the fortnight had brought other gossip. Thessaly had wondered, when she’d heard a bit of it, if it might encourage the Fortiers to leave her alone. Instead, Vitus visited her last Tuesday, cautiously, and told her what he’d heard, then shyly added that his mother knew about his affection for her. They had not got carried away in demonstrating that affection. The mood had been too unsettled for that. But Thessaly had reassured him that she would be glad to see him again when he got a chance. And that she still wanted to figure out how to go forward.

Vitus was nothing like a Fortier at all. He worked for a living, for one thing— that was part of what was so delicate. He’d had three new commissions for talismans since the last time they’d talked, all of them for people who might become more regular clients. Of course, that was taking much of his time and attention. She’d hoped to have time with him now, but here she was, at Arundel, waiting for the Fortiers to do what they were going to do.

Another thing she liked rather a lot about Vitus was that he asked her what she wanted. And he did rather well at offering it. That was also definitely unlike a Fortier.

She might not have come, but the Fortiers had written to her parents, as well. And parents— even living a fair distance away, as the crow flew— still had a lot of influence over Thessaly. And they had more over her younger sister. It was not a duel Thessaly felt she could confidently win, and losing would have been worse than conceding.

Today, the great hall was set up for a small gathering. The Dowager Lady Chrodechildis’s chair— near enough a throne— was up at the front, with two chairs to one side for her son, Lord Clovis, and his wife, Lady Maylis. There was a chair on the other side, for Sigbert, the variation making things look unbalanced.

Dagobert and his wife had chairs in the first row, facing the front of the room, their son Garin beside them. Bradamante, who was the sister between Lord Clovis and Dagobert, and her family were on the other side. All three daughters were there along with their husbands, and a good handful of small children of varying ages. Thessaly counted them up in her head, four of them, including the babe in arms with accompanying nursemaid.

Behind, on each side, were a dozen or so others in total, all key allies for the Fortiers. The family was in mourning, and for a son, social gatherings were against all the codes and strictures of mourning. But the passing on of the land magic was an even older set of expectations.

Thessaly occupied herself considering the guests. Henut Landry was seated toward the back on the opposite side, also in deepest mourning and veiled. Of course, her elder son had died, three and a half months ago, right at the same time as Aunt Metaia. The Landrys had been closely tied to the Fortiers for nearly two decades. Henut had come begging refuge in the wake of her husband’s death, with Philip not quite ten and Alexander not yet born. She was like a statue, or perhaps a gargoyle, watchful and solid. Or she had been a solid presence, and now, as Thessaly considered her, there was something different Thessaly couldn’t name. It was like the leading of stained glass, strongly defined lines and edges shaping spaces that needed light from the proper angle to show what was there. She offered no illumination herself, nor any hint of what light might bring out the colour of what her presence implied.

Finally, though, the four key figures came out, from the rooms at the back, Lady Chrodechildis’s private rooms, and her sitting room. She came first, alone, then Lord Clovis and Lady Maylis, with Sigbert trailing behind, looking a little like a lost duckling. All four were in stark black, and with the women firmly veiled. Thessaly was too, though hers was light enough to let her see easily, with just a wisp of illusion making it harder for others to see her expression. She might be here, but she saw no reason to cause trouble for herself by letting her face slip at the wrong moment.

Her mother nudged her, lightly, with one elbow, treating her as if she were a small child who needed to be told to pay mind. Thessaly held still, focused on the Fortiers. Lord Clovis had settled his wife in her chair, and he stood, reading something that sounded florid and formal. It was also in French, an older form of it. Thessaly caught about one word in four, enough to be fairly certain it was a family history full of bragging and exaggeration. No one moved, no one dared pretend they weren’t enraptured, even if Thessaly was fairly sure that perhaps only Bradamante and Dagobert were following much of it, besides Lord Clovis. He droned on, a good fifteen minutes, before clearing his throat and accepting a jewelled goblet from his wife’s hand.

“We come here today to formally and ritually acknowledge Sigbert Thibaud Fortier as my Heir. He has pledged blood to the land and his magic to tending the estate, from now until the hour of his death.” That had an unpleasant echo to it. Childeric had, she knew, made the same vows at twelve. The ritual could not have been too damaging. Probably. She was fairly sure her calibration of the Fortiers’ sense of such things was still askew. “Stand, Sigbert, and make your oath.”

This was also in French, but there was a card for him to read from, and Sigbert at least had a pleasant voice to listen to. He gave it in French, then in Latin - Thessaly followed that one more easily, and then in English, he ended with a simple “I so swear on my magic.” Thessaly could see - they all could - the shiver of magic and fear that passed through him, at the touch of the Pact that was the bedrock for all such oaths in Albion.

Lord Clovis waited a moment, then spoke clearly. “We are, of course, completing the proper paperwork for our own Ministry, and for the necessary offices in London. There can be no question of the line of inheritance. My sister and brother have confirmed that in magic and in writing.” That was, Thessaly thought, jabbing a knife in at Dagobert particularly.

Then the thing was over, and people were released to light refreshments. It was still pleasant enough outside that these were served on the lawn, and Thessaly trailed her parents out there, while the Fortiers talked a little amongst themselves. Thessaly had drifted away from them - Father was talking to one of the other guests - towards the side garden.

“Thank you for coming.” The voice behind her sounded shy, and she turned to see Sigbert. It kept startling her to look at him. He was dark-haired, like his father, not Childeric’s golden hair that he’d got from his mother.

“Congratulations.” Thessaly offered, turning to face him fully. “It was clear, from your oath, you mean to do the thing properly.”

His mouth turned up slightly. “It would be a bad idea to swear by the Silence and intend the opposite, wouldn’t it?” Then he nodded. “I’m glad you came. It made Maman pleased, and not much does right now. Me included.”

It must, on the whole, be rather horrible to be Sigbert right now. Childeric had always been the shining one, certainly his mother’s pet. Sigbert had been younger, lesser, trailing along in his older brother’s wake. Another mother might have doted on her remaining son. Thessaly wasn’t sure whether not doing so was better or worse. Thessaly considered what she could say, settling on “I hope things ease soon.” She glanced back toward her parents. “And I understand that sort of response, of course.”

Sigbert ducked his chin. “You would, yes. They didn’t force you to come?”

Sigbert might be speaking more to her than Childeric had about what was going on, but that was not actually very difficult. Since their betrothal, Childeric had given orders and made pronouncements, but not much else. But force was a blunt term. What Thessaly felt had a lot of possible names. Implication, certainly. Pressure was entirely valid. Obligation absolutely applied. None of that was force, the way Thessaly would think of it in a duel, or in this context. No one had marched her here under charms. They had not compelled her. They had instead made the consequences of failing to do so visible.

All right, technically it was force, but it was not a sort of force any legal or practical judgement would do anything about. “I was clear about what would happen if I didn’t. And there was no need of that. I was glad to be here to hear it myself.” Before she could say much else, there was a gesture off behind Sigbert, that rescued her from the need for further conversation. “I think that’s your aunt?”

“Oh.” Sigbert turned. “Aunt Bradamante, yes. Do excuse me, perhaps we’ll get a moment later?” He lifted his right hand, and Thessaly saw a flash of turquoise on his hand, the same as she’d seen on Childeric. A family ring, maybe something worn by the Heir, though Thessaly didn’t remember it from before the summer. Thessaly nodded, watching him disappear into the small crowd again. Before she could bring herself to go back into the fray, her mother came up beside her.

“You should be speaking with the others.” Mother sounded terse, but of course, Thessaly couldn’t read her face well under the veil.

“Mother.” Thessaly inclined her head. “Sigbert wanted a word.”

“And now he is back talking with people.” Then Mother glanced around. “Your father is casting around for possible directions for a betrothal to come. So you are aware. Not here, not directly, but making it known he will consider suitable offers.”

Thessaly grimaced, glad her own face was hidden properly. It was one small freedom. “There aren’t many likely.” She knew the ranks and status of the potentials as well as anyone.

“He is reconsidering his priorities.” Mother tilted her head. “Go on and do your duty. I want a word with Laudine.”

That also was not actually terribly reassuring, but Thessaly knew that ducking the problem further would just cause difficulties. Instead, she took a breath, and went to go speak with Lady Maylis. Maybe it would ease things for Sigbert a bit more this evening if she did, and at least have some use for someone.