Enchanted Net (Mysterious Fields #1)

Chapter 13

MAY 21ST IN TRELLECH

T hessaly had only been at the salle for twenty minutes, just long enough to warm up and have one bout. She’d been looking forward to this for weeks, it felt like a yearning like the night before a birthday and anticipated presents. The session promised enough of a challenge to keep her busy, though two people were running late. It wasn’t her preferred salle or her preferred set of partners, but it was what she’d been able to schedule given her apprenticeship and the increasing social demands the Fortiers were making. Thessaly had been prompt. She’d changed into rational dress, suited for duelling, before everyone else was ready.

She’d started paired up with Herman Phipps. Herman was not one of her favourite people - he had absolutely no conversational skills - and he was not one of her favourite duelling partners, either. He thought that strength made up for skill or delicacy of touch. Thessaly was certain she’d have a bruise from a concussion charm on her décolletage in the morning. That was, however, what alchemical creams were for. And a fichu with a good illusion charm to back it up.

Thessaly had won the match tidily, after drawing it out to about six minutes. Master Forester had asked her to when they were getting ready. He’d wanted to get a better measure of Herman’s stamina - and what skills collapsed when he tired. He knew Thessaly was more than skilled enough to play a match out as requested, at least against someone of Herman’s quality. And he’d naturally sweetened the request by promising her a bout at the end of the session, which would keep her on her toes. Especially going into it tired.

They were a few minutes into the second bout when there was a knock on the door. It didn’t disturb the duellists - Lambert Kellan and Decimus Monkton were well matched and better trained. The knock came again, louder, but before whoever it was could demand again, Decimus pulled out an interesting trick, bringing Lambert’s feet out from under him. He fell to his face in the dirt of the floor, gesturing immediately to signal he yielded. Decimus immediately offered him a hand up. It was only once they were standing and Master Forester was clear there were no lasting injuries that needed tending that he called out, “You may enter.”

To her surprise, the person at the door was Father. “Just here for my daughter. There you are, Thessaly. We’ve somewhere to be.” Father’s voice was all bonhomie. “Do change, promptly, please.”

“Father?” There were so many things Thessaly wanted to ask, and so few she actually could. Anything she said here and now would turn into gossip. She was absolutely certain of that. And well, Father had been more pointed about certain matters, the last fortnight or two.

“I thought I’d mentioned last night, but your mother suggested perhaps you hadn’t heard me.” He absolutely hadn’t mentioned it, but of course she couldn’t argue.

Thessaly swallowed down a lump of feelings. “Master Forester, I beg your pardon. I must have forgotten this morning. May I write to see about rescheduling, when convenient to you?” It would put the numbers off for this session, and Thessaly had arranged enough such sessions to know how much of a bother that was. “Father, it will take me a few minutes to change. Perhaps you’ll wait outside? I can come out of the changing room to the foyer, so everyone else can get on without further delay.” Otherwise, she’d be waiting for the end of a bout to cross the salle safely.

Father nodded once, briskly, and strolled off to the entryway. Thessaly ducked off to the changing room. She had no idea where they were going, but it wasn’t as if she had a change of clothing with her. She had the dress she’d worn for her apprentice work. It was a serviceable and reasonably flattering gown of deep brown with copper and green touches, but it was three years old and beginning to show it a little around the cuffs and hem. And she certainly wasn’t wearing her best corset. She’d put on the one most suited for duelling today, like a sensible person.

Fortunately, the corset didn’t need help, and one of the salle’s staff was still in the changing room, so Thessaly could get a hand with the buttons up her back. Within ten minutes she was tidy again, though her hair only managed it thanks to a couple of hastily applied charms to keep the wisps from coming down. There certainly wasn’t time to braid and pin it again. At least Herman hadn’t been too challenging, and the current frock was cut high enough that whatever bruise was darkening wouldn’t show.

Father was pacing back and forth in the entry, but of course there wasn’t anyone to see him. Just the usual protections. Those wouldn’t care about pacing, only about someone trying to enter the salle without warning. Thessaly ducked out of the side door, stopped, clearing her throat. “Father?” Then she hesitated, but going into this with no information would be worse than whatever came of asking. “I really didn’t hear you say anything last night. May I know where we’re going?”

“Sortis Hall. Your uncles are expecting us.” His chin twitched. “We’ve a portal reservation in eight minutes. You took longer than I expected.”

He took off, striding along, utterly ignoring the fact that she had to scamper to keep up. Well, at least the more visible parts of the scampering were hidden by Thessaly’s skirts. She’d worn the boots with the best soles, but she was still out of breath when they reached Portal Square, just barely on time. Three minutes later, they were through the portal, coming out on the cobblestones outside Father’s family estate, the main one. Like the Powells, they had properties across Albion, but this was by far the oldest and largest, the heart of the family’s interconnections, nestled into Wiltshire.

Father took off again, but slightly more slowly. Without speaking, they went straight along into the house, then into Uncle William’s formal study. It was all dark wood and oxblood leather, every detail chosen to be explicitly masculine - and explicitly exclusionary. Thessaly trailed her father, half a step behind. It was only once she was in the room and Father was closing the door behind her, that she got to see who was there. Uncle William, Uncle Edgar, and only Aunt Amia, Uncle William’s wife. Thessaly liked Aunt Lysanne, but everyone on Father’s side of the family felt she hadn’t really held up to the family standards.

“There you are. Have a seat, Harold.” That was to Father, of course. “And you, Thessaly, here.” It was not a chair either by Father or by Aunt Amia, but between her uncles. Thessaly sat, because again, arguing would not do any good. “Now, Thessaly, we wanted to have a word or two about how to make the best use of your marriage.”

Thessaly folded her hands in her lap, matching Aunt Amia’s pose as perfectly as she could. If she did what Aunt Amia did, it would be harder for her uncles to find something to complain about. Aunt Amia had long since mastered every piece of that art, and she was teaching it to her daughter and son. “Yes, Uncle?”

“Now, we’re quite pleased that Harold could come to an agreement with the Fortiers. But it is time, Thessaly, for you to do your part for the family. And to set an example for your younger cousins, of course.” There was a small hoard of them between her uncles, though Aunt Amia’s children, as Uncle William’s second wife, were still something of an unknown quantity. Charles was at tutoring school, preparing to go to Schola a year from September. And Margot was still in the nursery, though she’d had some early indications of magical promise.

“Of course, Uncle. I understand that.” She glanced from Uncle William to Uncle Edgar, then back.

“Now, it was quite difficult sorting out a proper match for you. Far more difficult than it was for Ferdinand and Henry.” His sons by Aunt Esme, his first wife, were solidly married, with little cousins in the nursery now. “Or for Lily and Mark.” Those were Uncle Edgar and Aunt Lysanne’s two. “We wanted to match you to someone who would extend the family connections, of course, but also the family magics and tendencies. Now, despite some other concerns, no one here will bother to argue with the strength of your magic, and your skill and speed at wielding it.”

It was something, she supposed. She also offered - besides the combination of two lines of magic and a whole host of Powell family enchantments in her head - excellent marks at Schola. Both in theory and in practice. Not that Uncle William mentioned that. “Thank you, Uncle.”

“However, it was unexpectedly difficult to find a match for you. Not just due to Harold’s choices in certain areas, or your mother’s preferences, though both of those were relevant.” Thessaly had spent five years living and breathing Fox House and its subtleties, and Uncle William was being more obvious than usual. He was not pleased with Father about something and he was rubbing Father’s nose in it. He was also displeased with Mama, but that was as usual. “There is rather a dearth of suitable partners. Several we’d considered, during your schooling, turned out not to be up to snuff.”

Aunt Amia chimed in, “There’s a fair bit of gossip about it right now, actually. More than the usual number not completing their apprenticeships. Of course, it’s always a trifle hard to tell. People don’t talk about it, naturally.”

Thessaly considered her years at Schola, but she’d have to go back and look at lists to figure out if the numbers were significantly different. Her year didn’t seem so much different from those a year or three older, up to Childeric’s year. And it was a bit early yet for those more than a year or two younger than she was. They were still in the earlier stages of apprenticeship or whatever they were doing next. And of course, some, like Cosi and Odile, had gone on to marry promptly, and weren’t doing an apprenticeship at all. “Thank you, Aunt. And Childeric is who the family - everyone - felt best.”

“In all respects. An excellent family, thriving estates, sons with strong magic.” Uncle William leaned forward. “Now, we need to discuss your social calendar, on your own and preferably with Childeric, for the rest of the season. And give a start to considering the winter festivities.” Even though it was May, of course everyone was planning ahead.

Father cleared his throat. “Your uncles have generously agreed to assist with some of your frocks. But for that reason, knowing which events you will be at is a consideration.” How many new gowns, whether they were for events with a particular colour theme or costume, and most importantly, who would make them.

Thessaly inclined her head. “That’s very generous, Uncle William, Uncle Edgar. Aunt Amia, I am sure you have some ideas already? You always have such an eye for dress.” There, that was deftly navigating a thread between who was providing the money and who wasn’t, while acknowledging that Aunt Amia would have a fair bit of say. Her Uncles - and Father - cared that the dresses and gowns and whatever accoutrements sent the right message. They did not deal with any of the bother of making it happen.

“We’ll schedule a time with my modiste in the next fortnight to get a start. She’s already considering fabrics.” Aunt Amia’s modiste was, well, a trifle stuffy and fond of more ruffles than Thessaly cared for, but she did fit things well. “It’s not the sort of thing we’d leave in your Aunt Metaia’s hands. This isn’t her realm of understanding at all.”

Uncle William snorted. “And besides, she’s cautious with her money. As she ought to be, I suppose, but unwilling to extend herself for you as we are.” Oh, that was definitely her uncle digging in a thorn about Mama. And also about Father’s finances, now. Thessaly was sure of that, even if she had no idea of the details. Father did not discuss such things with her, even though - as Aunt Metaia herself had pointed out - some of it definitely concerned Thessaly directly.

Now, Thessaly chose the proper reply, deflecting from the unpleasant jibe. “I expect to have tea with Lady Fortier - and Childeric, of course, and some of the other family - later this week. I assume I may directly inquire with her? There are, well, there are all sorts of nuances to the landed estates I don’t understand yet. Never mind the Fortier customs in specific.” None of which the Fortiers had actually explained to her, though they might have mentioned it to Mama. This, at least, would give Thessaly a direct reason to inquire.

“Oh, yes. And of course, if she prefers her modiste, defer to her judgement, at least so far as any family engagements go.” Aunt Amia bobbed her head, entirely ignoring the larger question of the demesne estates.

Uncle Edgar picked up. “Now, the other thing we wanted a word about is to get a better sense of the range of the Fortier assets. How they deal with who they know, as well as the more physical sorts of things. You’ve been out at Arundel now enough to have a sense of who is seen and not seen at smaller events.”

This was the sort of sharp observation Thessaly had expected someone to pick up. “I do not have all my notes, uncle. I apologise. But I can certainly talk about the gatherings I’ve been at.” She could remember well enough who had been at some event, even if she would have to check her records on which one. Like Mama had taught her, she kept lists of that sort of thing, to avoid repeating the same frock or conversation topics too often. It was habit by now to come home and scribble down what she remembered while Alma took her hair down and brushed it.

From there, the conversation wound along, working through the events that Uncle Edgar knew about, with Thessaly filling in the smaller teas and less formal gatherings. They didn’t finish until nearly suppertime, but Father chivied Thessaly off toward the portal when her Uncles didn’t ask them to stay for supper. Once they got home, she’d discovered they’d missed supper there as well, and Mama was annoyed. Father had gone immediately off to Trellech and one of his clubs. Thessaly had given up on the evening and had a tray in her room. Then she settled down to go through her notes for a summary for the next time Father’s side of the family needed an accounting.