Page 29 of Elemental Truth (Mysterious Fields #3)

29

JANUARY 25TH AT ARUNDEL

“ G rand-mère is in something of a mood. Please do excuse her.” Sigbert had met Thessaly at the portal. It was a week after her last and far more secret visit to Arundel, and her presence had been requested for a family supper. “Would you prefer a brief walk before going into the fray? The cemetery? Not at its best this time of year.”

Thessaly hesitated. She did not want to thrust herself into the heart of the family just yet. A bit of a walk would delay that. And Sigbert on his own was rather more tolerable than Sigbert with his parents and grandmother watching her every move. “If that wouldn’t be a bother.” She was dressed for the chill, one of the very proper cloaks with a fur muff and all the charms for warmth.

“Please, then.” They walked from the portal along the road.

“You should know that Father’s also not in the best of moods.” Sigbert said it quietly, as if he weren’t sure what he could say. “He had an injury last week, and he does not take infirmity well.” Thessaly held her tongue about how Dagobert seemed to handle it somewhat better, in that case.

“Oh, I do hope it’s nothing too serious.” She looked away, not least because she rather desperately wanted to know what Lord Clovis had said about it.

Sigbert shrugged, opening the gate of the cemetery for her. “A minor accident. Nothing worth discussing.” That, she thought, was an out and out lie, at least in terms of what Sigbert knew. He wasn’t quite looking at her, he was using the fiddly parts of escorting her to avoid being specific. He was deft, but not enough to hide things.

“And your grandmother?” Thessaly asked.

“Displeased that various matters are stalled. You accepting my proposal among them.” Sigbert looked at her this time, with a bit of a flush. “I’ve made it clear rushing you won’t do.” To be honest, Thessaly would at least like them to make an effort at wooing her. Sigbert was managing to be largely inoffensive. This did not entice her to join herself to him, body, oath, and magic, for the rest of their lives. “I gather she talked with your father again.”

“Ah.” Thessaly considered. “I have not seen my father in private since I moved to Bryn Glas. He does not speak for me, not in any degree that matters now.”

“Oh. Um. I will make sure Grand-mère understands that. I did tell her that she would do better to speak to you, but I fear she’s dreadfully old-fashioned. Such things should be done by the patriarch of the household.”

“We live in a new age.” Thessaly inclined her head. “A few moments at Childeric’s grave, and do you mind if I take a few minutes at Philip’s?”

“Oh, no.” That, however, meant she got a solid five minutes of silence. She counted off the time at Childeric’s, staring at a spot on the packed down earth, not really reading the stone, just making a show of grief she didn’t feel. All she felt was pity that he hadn’t made other choices while he could, and that wasn’t much of an epitaph at all.

Then, silently, they went round to the far end. Thessaly had not brought anything for an offering, but here she stood and murmured in her own mind that she remembered him, that his brother would return, that his mother would join him in due course. That he was not forgotten. Then she offered her hand to Sigbert. “Do you ever think that some day, decades from now, someone will come down here and be confused, why the hieroglyphs?”

“Oh, our records are excellent. We’d pass the stories down, of course. We have the others.” That got him off on a digression on some of the older graves. They began with the family who had established this manor after the Pact, when they had left Arundel Castle for the non-magical duke. That occupied them until they got back to the house. Sigbert was a tad awkward, but he told the stories with a bit of thought and care. It made her think better of him. Not so much better she intended to marry him, but enough to carry them through supper on a reasonable footing.

Lord Clovis was indeed a very poor patient. He was using a cane, and he looked pained every time he moved. Once they went into supper, he escorted his mother, looking displeased. Thessaly had pride of place next to Lady Chrodechildis at one end of the table. Sigbert was across from her, to encourage conversation. Dagobert sat at Thessaly’s left, with Lady Maylis across from him, and Lord Clovis at that end. It was not the done thing, putting husband and wife beside each other, but with only six at table, there were limited options.

Especially when it was clear Lady Chrodechildis wished to talk to Thessaly and ignore both Dagobert and Lord Clovis. Lord Clovis and Lady Maylis largely ignored Dagobert. And Thessaly was entirely too well trained in the strategy of the formal table to try to include Dagobert when his family was refusing to do so.

Sigbert did his best to keep the conversation flowing, with his grandmother replying readily enough to him through the first course. By the second, however, she’d turned the table and focused on Thessaly. “Now, tell me about your intentions in the coming months.”

“Oh, finishing my apprenticeship, of course. I have several projects that must be completed. And of course, the skills reward practice and attention.” Like duelling, not that she’d dare say that right now, not after last week. She did not want to draw Lord Clovis’s attention to that at all. “And I am still busy learning all about Bryn Glas, and reading through Aunt Metaia’s library.”

That got a slight flicker of something, not only from Lady Chrodechildis, but Thessaly caught more of it in Sigbert. That was interesting information. “What sort of books, my dear?” Lady Chrodechildis had shifted modes. Any child still in the nursery of a Fox household could spot that tone. It was not subtle. She was fishing for something. Did they actually think she was dim?

It wasn’t like Childeric had noticed her brains. Her parents had traded on the strength of her magic, and the fact it would breed true. The intelligence hadn’t mattered much. And she’d never cared about showing Childeric up. She hadn’t needed to slight him. She knew her own virtues and flaws well enough. For example, a certain stubborn refusal to do the easy thing and give the expected answer.

“Aunt Metaia had a different focus with illusion work, but the house has several pieces of her work. A chance to study them, at length, even though I wish I could talk them through with her.”

“And are those effects complex to do? I admit I don’t know much of the field beyond the decorative.” Lady Chrodechildis made a little laugh. “And I gather there are advances, rather regularly.”

Thessaly nodded, considering how to play this. She wanted her competence to be on display, but it would not do to be too competent, nor to hint at some of what she’d been reading. “There are differences if you want an illusion to be stable for an extended period, as compared to a brief one. Something on a building, for example, as compared to a dress or gown for a single night’s costume. I’d been focusing on the latter, but Aunt Metaia has some fascinating materials on, oh, tapestry restoration.”

“I had not realised that a topic of concern?” Lady Chrodechildis’s reactions continued to seem a little odd, as if she were distracted by something else.

“Oh, well, in a restoration, often, you want to make the repairs visible, in case there is some better practice in the future. But an illusion can cover the difference, without damage to the historical piece. If the threads have faded due to the sun, the illusion can restore the original shades, or smooth over mended patches. You still need the physical restoration, of course. Illusion will not mend the damage from hanging or some misadventure.”

“Indeed.” Lady Chrodechildis considered that more solemnly than Thessaly expected. She then launched into a discussion of some of the features of the estate, things no one had yet bothered to explain to Thessaly. Or rather, the explanation assumed some prior knowledge, and Thessaly was torn between admitting her ignorance or seeing where it led.

Finally, she cleared her throat. “Pardon, Lady Chrodechildis, but I’m afraid I’ve never seen that. I don’t think, well, I hadn’t wanted to intrude.”

It got a great deal of tsking in response, the sort that Thessaly interpreted to mean that someone had been failing to do their duty. It did not rise to calling out Lord Clovis or Lady Maylis, but it made it clear that someone had neglected a key aspect of something. As if this scolding were standing in for others, not suitable for the moment or the dinner table. As soon as they rose from supper, Lady Chrodechildis demanded that Thessaly accompany her to the west wing, and the gallery where portraits of various ancestors hung. “You stay here. Both of you men.” That was to her sons. Sigbert did not even get that much, which was also curious.

Instead, Thessaly and Lady Chrodechildis went through the Great Hall, up one flight and into the little entry. “That is my private study.” The next door was her private sitting room. They climbed another flight to the second floor, a long gallery stretching out over the length of that wing, with a surprisingly narrow door leading off the stair.

Thessaly sensibly kept her mouth shut, though she gazed at each portrait in due course. “You understand, of course, that we are an ancient family. We go back long before the Pact, with connections to the most noble and powerful houses on both sides of the Channel. I am in the decline of my life, but it is my hope to ensure that the family flourishes for generations more.” It put the thing plainly enough, but that was nothing Thessaly had not expected.

The next sentences changed that. “Our family— you knew I was a distant cousin of Vauquelin’s, yes?” Her late husband, who Thessaly had known only as an intimidating patriarch. She nodded. “We came over with William at the Conquest, and we made much of our lives here. When it came time for the Pact, there were, hmm. How shall we say differences of opinion? In the end, Richard won out, and the Pact was made. There was a Fortier on the first Council, though his portrait hasn’t survived. But we have always thought it limited magic more than sense. When I look at you, I see someone who might restore some thread. You come from old stock of Albion, not so ancient a noble family as the Fortiers, but there are few who can claim that. You are pleasant to look upon, healthy. There are no defects in your extended family.”

Thessaly certainly wasn’t going to interrupt. When Lady Chrodechildis paused, she managed a somewhat feeble, “And of course you want the best for the family.”

“It is a pity that Bradamante could not convince someone to marry in. You see my sons, both of whom have failed at tasks set to them, in multiple ways. I still hold out some hope for Sigbert, but his mother spoils him. You might, in time, provide some backbone.” Then Lady Chrodechildis turned. “What would persuade you to make the agreements?”

Put on the spot like that, Thessaly swallowed. This was every bit as much a duel as the one a week ago. She was far less skilled here, against a woman who had won this sort of match over and over for decades. Finally, choosing her words precisely, she said, “Childeric told me nothing. If I am to be anything other than a broodmare for your plans, I expect something far more equal, allowing me to lend my skills to the family.”

Lady Chrodechildis met her eyes, then she nodded, just once. “Do go now, Thessaly, dear. I wish to stay and consider the portraits further. Maylis will be down in the withdrawing room.”

“Of course.” Thessaly refrained from making an instinctive bob. She did not know how she had done in that, but at least she had said a piece of what she’d been feeling for months.