A Ragged Magic (26 page)

Chapter Twenty-Six

T
he dance changes to a galliard and we spin with the music, jumping and turning until the last high jumps at the end. Laughing and out of breath, the dancers exit the floor as the musicians take their first break.

Connor and I join Hugh and Linnet near the wine. My pulse beats harder than even the athletic dance calls for.

“Oh dear, Francis. I hope the wine is not all spoilt.” A familiar sneer greets me and I turn slowly to my left. Melisande and Francis approach us, looking past us as though we aren’t here. A trick Melisande perfected when she was six, as I recall. Her topaz gown is not a good color for her, and the multitude of ruffles succeeds in making her look like a meringue. She sniffs petulantly as Francis steps toward Hugh.

“Don’t worry, dearest. Southern winds can’t spoil good, northern wine.” Francis’ voice is more nasal than I recall. He leers at me as they approach, his gaze fastened on my chest. The bright colors of his velvet tunic overpower his pie-like face and mouse-brown hair. He reaches past Hugh for a cup of wine.

Hugh grins in his face. “If it isn’t the groom! Well met, young Francis Danwright. The Star Lord’s blessing on you and your bride!” Hugh stares into Francis’ eyes, grinning Bhanu’s grin, until Francis starts to stammer.

Unable to repudiate a blessing from a guest, Francis pulls back his arm without taking any wine and stutters a thank-you.

“The Star Lord’s blessing on you, Indrani,” Melisande sniffs, more adept at the insult game. A mere blessing doesn’t disconcert her. “I should think you need it more.” She turns her back on the lot of us and pins the shrinking Francis with a pointed “Francis. My wine.”

Francis winces and looks petulant.

Hugh hands her a goblet with a flourish.

She flinches back, unready for such gallantry in response to her snub.

“You are of course right, dear lady. A couple such as you needs no blessing for a good life. I see so many younger couples rush blindly into things: it is wise of you to start married life as an older woman.”

Melisande flushes. I don’t quite muffle a snicker. She glares at me, and I give her Asa’s most beatific smile. Her chin comes up. “You’re very forward for such a backward people. In our country, a guildwoman waits for her betrothed to reach his majority. Francis worked hard until he was satisfied with his masterwork. He’s very particular.” I hear a few snorts from the people around us, and she tosses her hair. “And anyway, he’s lucky he did wait: otherwise he’d have married that witch!”

Silence ripples from her outburst over the gleaming crowd. Heads turn toward Melisande. Francis glares daggers at her as Hugh surreptitiously steps from the picture. Spice merchant Sandros speaks up from behind me. Connor pulls me close to hide my startled jump.

“Now, young lady, ‘witch’ is an inflammatory word to throw around. The guild council never did record the Owen girl so, since she died without trial. The Owen family didn’t get a full hearing in front of the guild. Never sat well with me, that whole business.” The burly trader’s deep voice carries to Gantry, who has just entered to an unnoticed fanfare. White with rage, he flows through the stunned crowd like a storm.

“Do you question the validity of a kirche verdict, Master Trader?” His voice like ripped silk covers me with a sheen of sweat. Gantry’s eyes flash over people and everyone shivers: I can feel his slipping control, and I think others can, also.

Sandros stammers an apology. “My Lord Bishop, I meant no disrespect. There was no verdict, is what I meant. You should have sat at their trial, my lord. I’m sure there was no mistake —”

“Mistake! Do you dare imply —”

A firm hand descends on Gantry’s shoulder. Archbishop Montmoore steps from behind Gantry and smiles at the stunned crowd. “Now, Theodore, let’s not discuss politics at a party, hmm?”

Gantry stares straight ahead, his mouth closed like a vice.

Montmoore reins him hard — the knuckles on his hand stand out in stark relief against Gantry’s fancy red robes.

“Of course the man meant no harm. We shall let wine-sotted remarks pass, shall we not?” Montmoore smiles a diplomatic smile and steers Gantry away from the knotted statues of nervous people. “Let’s greet our host, Theodore. No need for quarrels tonight.”

I can hear my heart beating hard, and I begin to breathe again, trying to keep my gasping quiet. I realize I’m not the only one to have held my breath as I hear others do the same.

Melisande, cheeks flaming, flees the room. Francis follows her, glaring at everyone. The music starts up again, another pavan, soft and soothing. I see Aman with his head bent, furiously whispering to a servant as Gantry and Montmoore drift toward the food. The music break is over early — a diversion, I suppose.

～

The party continues despite dramatics. We all dance several more sets, laughing and eyeing the guests. I take a few turns with Hugh, and we analyze the mood of the room. People seem out of sorts and tired, fewer dancing, some leaving early, claiming illness.

Francis makes his return, and drinks his usual copious amount. Most who are left are the younger set, closer to Linnet’s age, becoming more raucous and inebriated. Several people seem overcome by the wine and dancing, fainting and being carried off by their friends. The older traders and guildfolk stand at the wall, in the halls, murmuring to one another. They look wary and concerned.

Hugh jerks his head toward the stairs, and he and Connor make their separate ways toward them. Linnet stays with me, smiling and nodding to my nonexistent chatter. Her gaze darts after them now and again.

The wine in my hand feels heavy suddenly, and the room sways as if I’d actually been drinking it. I set my goblet down carefully on the table and look at Linnet. Her face appears the same bronzed color — the benefits of illusion — but the glow around her fluctuates in time with the pounding in my head and the pull on my magic strengthens as she struggles for power.

I lean forward, smiling brightly.

“What’s wrong? What happened?”

“I don’t know. We’ve never held this spell for so long. I think I’m just tired.”

I grip her hand in alarm. “Should we get out? Should we warn the others?”

She smiles a party smile, although her eyes are vague and wandering. “It’s fine, Asa. I just have had too much wine.”

I turn in time to catch Francis leaning close to hear us. I smile as wide as my mouth will go and pull Linnet closer to me. I back away from him and toward some chairs for the old, ignored, and weary. I feel I must be all three.

“Mistress trader, is there something the matter?” Francis at my elbow, hovering and in the way.

“No sir, my friend is just tired. I’ll sit with her and I’m sure she’ll feel better soon.” I try to speak quietly, as near to an Indrani accent as I can.

Francis takes my hand as Linnet sits on the edge of a high-backed chair. His hand feels as clammy as I remember, but his eyes seem more aware of me than ever they were when we were betrothed.

“You needn’t sit with her, mistress. She’ll be fine here without you. Of course you will dance with me.” His breath stinks of wine.

I sigh inwardly. Linnet visibly wilts, and I feed her more magic, even though I’m afraid of the consequences. Although overloading the spell is a worry, I find it far less frightening than the spell failing altogether. There are spells to ward off overload. There are no spells against death.

Francis continues to tug my hand, saying something about wine, or dancing, or toes. Where is Melisande? I look around. “Where is your lady fiancé, Mastersmith? Shouldn’t you dance with her?”

“Oh, we have danced the required dances. She’s retired early. I am fortunate enough to have a stronger constitution, and a love of dancing. Especially with such pretty ladies.”

Was he always like this? I also used to leave parties early. I sigh, pulling my hand away, and curtsey deeply to him. “My dear Mastersmith, I’m afraid I can’t dance with you. I really must stay with my friend. Pray forgive me.” I back fairly gracefully into a chair and sit, smiling with determination.

Taking Linnet’s hand, I congratulate myself for disaster diverted, or at least aggravation, and try to open the link between my sister and me a little more. She looks into my eyes, startled and confused. Double images flood my brain; me looking at her, her looking at me. I See as if through her eyes for a moment, and feel her looking through mine.

Emotions wash over me — exhaustion, grief, some excitement, and fear that the spell is too powerful for me to hold. I realize that these emotions aren’t mine, but Linnet’s. I blink and the feeling recedes. She pulls away from me magically. The sharing is reduced to a trickle, and we stare at each other, concerned. That was too much sharing.

Francis hovers again. “You look pale, mistress. Perhaps you should get some fresh air.” He holds out his elbow, but I ignore it.

“Preyasi. I’m going to get my brothers. Perhaps we should leave if you’re feeling so poorly. Wait here for me.”

Linnet nods slowly and I stand.

“Forgive me again, Mastersmith. I’m afraid my friend is feeling ill. I must find the rest of our party. Pardon me,” I say as I edge past him.

He pursues me to the entryway, where I sweep up Linnet’s and my cloaks. Francis follows. I hadn’t remembered how much he resembled a sheep. “Surely one dance won’t hurt. Your friend will recover,” he insists, trying to grab my elbow.

I shrug away. “My concern must be with my sister-in-law, sir. We should leave as soon as I find my brothers. Really, I do hope you’ll understand,” and I sweep past his outstretched arm.

Annoyance flashes over his features, but it hardly matters. We’ll be gone soon, and Connor will just have to figure out another way to get into the manor.

I head for my father’s study, remembering that Connor was to check there last. I pass the ladies’ retiring room, and the clumps of people in the hall have thinned out to nothing. I try to seem as though I might be lost, in case I do run into anyone. The hall is deserted, and I enter the study slowly, on the off chance someone is in there. I can always claim I’m looking for the retiring room.

The light from the hall shines into the dark room. I open the door a little wider, and slip inside. The room still smells of my father’s liniment and wool and old paper. The desk is an unfamiliar untidy mess. Da liked things in order, from wool to looms to papers to his children. But I used to come in here and sit with him, talk about books with him, in the evenings.

The light from the hall slants across the room, creating odd shadows. I don’t see Connor anywhere, but the large closet stands partly open. I walk quietly over and peer inside. It’s empty, but I think of the hidden safe, and walk in. The closet door swings almost shut behind me. Dim light peeks through, and I peer into shadows.

Shelves line the closet, and cloth and thread and yarn sit under dust covers. I bend down, run my hands over the mounds of cloth at the end of the lowest shelf, looking for the latch. The latch clicks and the shelf pulls out. The safe is full of a wrapped package: Aman never found it.

I unwrap the package to find three pieces of weaving. One I recognize as Linnet’s first work: a lovely purple sash she wove when she was six, fine enough to be worn at her coming out. I remember Da putting it away and saying he would always treasure it. Another work I don’t recognize — a small wall hanging, dark with what looks like stars in the form of a face. And the last I peer at, and finally know it. It’s my own first work: a scarf I made for Mum. It’s blue and green and gold — green and gold for Owen colors, and blue for her eyes. She never wore it, and I thought it was because it wasn’t good enough to wear.

I close my eyes and sit back on my heels. I hug the works tightly to me, trying not to cry. The wall hanging must be Keenan’s. I remember the sash of Linnet’s used to be in Mum and Da’s chambers, in a chest Mum kept up there. I don’t know why Da put these here, but I’m glad I found them.

There’s also a letter, a ledger, and a bag. I tuck them all as lumplessly as I can in with the cloaks. Hoping I can keep from dropping everything, I clutch the bundle to my chest.

Voices in the hall, and I shrink into the corner of the closet behind a table stacked with cloth.

“Are you certain the man can be trusted? He seems unstable to me,” a smooth voice says.

I hear the door to the hall close, and for a moment the room is dark. The lamps near the door light slowly as someone touches them.

“Be assured that Gantry can be trusted to do his job. He is here in Haverston for a purpose.” I recognize Montmoore’s scratchy voice. “Once that purpose is accomplished, he will no longer be a part of the plan.”

“I won’t be able to pull the other guilds or the merchants behind me unless they have some confidence that this will work, your Grace.” I recognize the first man as Aman.

“You must get their support. The mission here is critical to the rest of our plan. Once we have enough money and support, we can proceed. The throne will fall.”

My breath stops at this confirmation of Julianna’s worst fears. But the merchants? Why here in Haverston? What good would the guild do them?

Idiot. The guild controls the commerce, and all the goods and money that go through here. And Haverston is one of the few duchies the king can count on fully. If Haverston were against the king …

They could outfit an army. A vision swirls over me, short and sharp and painful: battalions on the move. They mean to outfit an army. I yank myself back to the present.

“How many are with us?”

“Not enough. But pressure is being brought to bear on those who owe me money — and there are a lot of those. The people of Haverston are restless, afraid, and hungry. King Peter’s mistakes with his son, and Julianna’s supposed witchcraft are bandied about often. But the people here are behind the duchess, your Grace. They won’t betray her easily. There must be proof of witchcraft and treachery before most will join.”

“Not to worry, my dear Guildmaster. There will be proof a-plenty.”

A frantic knock sounds on the door, and I hear hurried feet. “Guildmaster! You must come immediately to the ballroom!”