The Magic Council (The Herezoth Trilogy) (40 page)

“Good,” said Ursa, opening the door and
beckoning the guard to leave her station at the end of the hall. She told her
sister, “Good luck to you, I guess. You’ll sure be needin’ it.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

Of Infants and Interviews

Vane and his wife and aunt returned to Oakdowns
three days after his marriage. The manor was quiet, refreshingly so without
servants bustling all over the place, though it seemed more sprawling than
ever. August, who had only seen the grounds and never stepped inside, was
grateful the place reminded her little of Ursa’s mansion. The rooms were larger,
the ceilings lower, and all the walls a smoky gray instead of the creams and
greens her sister favored. Vane’s library could have rivaled the Palace’s,
though the shelves didn’t rise to the ceiling, and the master suite was nestled
in the far eastern corner, set away from the rest of the house by a long
hallway. Vane opened some curtains to mark the protesters’ presence, and in the
weeks that followed their numbers remained stable, though no one was foolhardy
enough to attempt damage to life or property.

The Podrar and Yangerton papers needed only
eight days to discover the Duke of Ingleton’s elopement, as marriage licenses
were public documents. Subsequent reports mentioned but made little out of
August’s connection with Ursa, whom by all accounts she had barely known and
never gotten on with. Ursa passed as a common criminal, one whose crimes had
nothing to do with August or with magic; indeed, with Vane a sorcerer, the
papers emphasized how the Duchess of Ingleton had never shown the slightest
propensity for magic. Vane only realized upon reading the articles how much a
point in his favor the fact might prove.

Carson Amison had returned to Yangerton
following his spat with the king about the Magic Council. He made no public
comments about the Duke and Duchess of Ingleton, which suited Vane fine. Thad,
however, asked a lot of questions, so Vane said he’d met August through her
work at the Palace. Greller’s son said nothing insulting or disparaging, though
he was far from supportive, at which Vane took no offense. He had not expected
much support from Thad’s quarter, did not need the man’s approval, and at least
could respect him as genuine. If Thad was hoping to meet August, he remained
disappointed.

By the time a month had passed and mid-April
brought a son for Zacry and Joslyn, as well as rain showers at Oakdowns, Vane
deemed it safe to bring his servants back. The crowds had thinned to some
thirty individuals with their banners sporting X’s at peak hours, with no one
remaining after dark. Worse than the protests were the reporters and curious
locals who swarmed around Vane’s property, determined to speak to
someone
about his marriage and his
unspecified intentions concerning the new council. Vane made clear in no
uncertain terms that any servant who so much as greeted a soul from the papers
would be dismissed.

Vane and August learned not to open the
mountains of correspondence that came from anonymous sources or (if the person
were more gutsy) names they did not recognize. Ninety percent of it was hateful,
either threats or insults or, most often, a combination of the two. The other
ten percent consisted of supportive messages from people who had known Vane’s
parents, usually residents of Ingleton who’d received a visit or a basket of
soup from Laskenay when she’d learned someone in the house was ill. Teena took
it upon herself to sort through the mail so that Vane wouldn’t throw out kind
letters with the malicious, which she piled up each morning and tied in a bundle
before tossing them in the kitchen stove. Reading the good wishes, August determined
to follow in Laskenay’s footsteps. She received occasional word from her maid,
whom she sent to market daily, about some family or other in need, and on such
occasions had Vane transport her out to bring an offering of food, or blankets,
or whatever else was needed. Whatever the rest of Podrar might think of the
Duke of Ingleton and his untimely marriage, those in Ingleton itself soon grew
to respect their duchess.

With May’s arrival, the first council interviews
loomed ten days ahead. Vane and August went to the parlor after breakfast to
discuss for the umpteenth time what to do with Ursa’s mansion, which August was
tired of keeping up for no one to live in or to use, when Vane stopped the
discussion at its height. “You seem preoccupied,” he said. “You’ve been all week.
Did you see a nasty letter?”

“I’m late, Val.”

“Late for what? Did you have plans with
Ben—um, Hannah?”

“No, I’m eight days late. I think I’m pregnant.”

Vane had never thought such conflicting emotions
could assail him all at once: joy to think of beginning a family with August,
and nervousness; frustration to face another major change in his life, another
adjustment on top of all the others; guilt for that frustration, when he knew
this change, at least, he should consider the greatest of blessings; dread to
think of how horrible the timing of this baby was. Rexson’s admonitions kept
running through his mind.

If
August is to conceive right away, the Giver help us all!

August’s voice came out a fearful whisper. “Val?
Val, say something. Please, I....”

She looked terrified. Beyond terrified. That
they would have been wise to postpone any risk of pregnancy was not lost upon
her.

“I’d ask you how you feel about this, but it’s
plain as day on your face. August, are you sure?”

“Not yet, no. I can’t confirm anything. I dare
not call a midwife.”

Vane scooted closer to August; they were sitting
on a plush settee. “We’ll be just fine, all right? We’re honorably and properly
married. Children come in that situation. No one can deny us the right to have
this child, no one. No one can consider it completely unexpected.”

“That doesn’t mean they’ll welcome the news.
People won’t, Val.”

“Well, people don’t matter. If there is a child,
we’ll
welcome him with sincere joy.
Or her.” He smiled at the thought of a daughter, a little girl with August’s
nose. Her nose was perfect, round with gentle curves. “You and I, and all who
care about us, we’ll make sure that child knows love. Make sure it’s protected.
We have the resources to protect it, whatever that entails. We might have
preferred this to come later, but if it’s coming now we’ll handle the situation
together. Let them grumble. Let them whisper. That can’t hurt us.”

“People can do more than whisper.”

He assured her, again, “Whatever it takes to
keep the child safe, we’ll do. We have every right to start a family together.
August, don’t tell me you haven’t pictured this moment since you were a little
girl. Don’t deny it was anything but joyful. Full of peace. Don’t let them take
that away from you, you understand? They can’t sour this. Please, don’t let
them do that to you. Be it now or years from now, any son or daughter born to
us will be blessed beyond anything I deserve to have you for a mother. Good
Giver, you’ll be an amazing mother. This child will know its parents, August.
I’ve always wondered what that would have been like, always, but I’m more than
content to live ignorant in exchange for my children never pondering such
things. This is a blessing. Despite any hardships, any inconveniences, it’s a
blessing.”

August nodded. Tears stained her face. She
snuggled in the nook formed by Vane’s shoulder and torso and let him hold her.

“When should we speak of this?” she asked. “Whom
should we tell? What do we...?”

“Later,” he hushed her. “There’s time for all
that later. Let’s just focus on the positive for now. Our delight in this.”

“Thank you,” August whispered. Vane smiled, and
kissed her. She threw her arms about his neck, Vane knew to prevent him from
drawing away too soon. She felt that closeness a comfort. When the kiss ended,
Vane made sure she settled back as tightly against him as before. He suspected
her weight would numb his arm before too long, and decided he did not care.

* * *

Vane and August told not a soul a baby might be
coming. They spoke of little else in private, struggling together to consider
the child an unadulterated joy, cursing the gossip that would no doubt ruin
their bliss in all too short a time. If August were pregnant she was only three
weeks along, far too early to judge she might not miscarry, so for the moment,
they waited, and Vane had the council interviews to serve as a distraction from
the mix of excitement, uncertainty, and outright fear that threatened to
overwhelm him each time he thought of a son or daughter.

Rexson and Zacry gave the interviews in the king’s
office. Vane held the first slot, during which he was not so much interviewed
as invited by the king to invisibly observe all the applicants to follow over
the course of the week. “I was planning to have six or seven members total: you
and Zac, of course; two members of the Enchanted Fist, just to appease the
group, because the rest of them had nothing to do with Dorane’s madness; and
then two or three from the remainder.”

“Two from the Enchanted Fist?” said Vane.

The king said, “Every one of them expressed
interest, every blasted one. They’re interviewing on the final two days. I
refuse to deal with them before then, and I want you here throughout. I want
the council’s membership decided by the three of us.”

Throughout the morning and afternoon, no
applicant stood out in a positive way. Their humble lives had not taught them
about politics, and Vane doubted some of them could read, though such was not
the case for two telekinetic sisters from Podrar who were possibly of Rexson’s
blood, products of his grandfather’s infamous romantic forays. A young farmhand
from Bendelof’s region who could ripen produce by touch seemed to have applied
for the thrill of visiting the capital. At the end came an adolescent girl from
Yangerton who, like Crale Bendit, could combust cloth and wood but was just as
interested in flirting with Zacry as in the council. Vane’s voice came from the
corner after the king dismissed her.

“How many left?”

“One,” said Rexson, massaging his forehead. He
shuffled the papers before him on his desk. “Another young woman.”

“Good Giver, no,” said Zacry. Vane chuckled, and
Zacry threw a balled paper at him. Then the girl walked in. She was tall and
rail thin, with large brown eyes that made her nose look tiny and strawberry
blonde hair that fell in a wavy bob. After greeting each other, she, Rexson,
and Zacry took seats around the king’s cedar table.

The king asked, “Where are you from, Miss Rafe?”

“Fontferry, originally, but Podrar for the last
few years. An old maid aunt of mine took over the general store my grandfather
used to run, and my brother and I came to help her.”

“Why are you interested in the council?”

“That’s not easy to explain,” she said,
beginning to blush. She looked past the king to the suit of armor on the wall.
“My power’s inactive, and growing up, I never told anyone about it except my
mother. None of my family has magic. I’m the only one, and we were never quite
sure where it came from, but that didn’t matter much, because it was easy
enough to conceal.

“I was never comfortable with magic, and I had
one particular friend as a child who, it turned out, was a sorcerer. I never
knew what became of him. I saw his mark by accident one day when I was eleven,
and I was terrified, because of all the stories I’d heard. I was terrified
without any real cause. I told my mother everything, and she exposed him. That
boy had to flee town, flee because of what I did in my misunderstanding, and I
still feel horrible every time I think about him. So when I heard about this
council, and I realized the potential it has to change society so that later
on, maybe people like that poor child’s family won’t have to relocate for no
fault of their own….

“I know advances won’t come easy. I know what
protests there have been. I’ve devoured the reports in the
Bugle
like they were honeycakes. But the potential’s there, I’m
sure it is, and I’d like to be a part of this council if you’ll let me. I don’t
imagine I’m what you’re looking for, but just applying, I thought maybe that
would help me find some peace for what I did. Maybe that boy’s applied as well?
His name was….”

“Francie, stop.” Vane popped into view, and
the girl jumped up.

“Vane!?
 
Vane, what are you doing here? How…?”

“I’m the Duke of Ingleton, Francie.”

“How is that possible?” she sputtered.
She advanced a few steps, as though to better see him and make certain who he
was. “That’s not possible. Teena Unsten’s your aunt, and she ran an inn. She
wasn’t any duchess or….”

“Teena was a stranger my mother left me
with when Zalski took control of the kingdom.”

The poor girl looked as though a
battering ram had hit her square in the stomach. “So it’s you? It’s been you
all along I’ve read so much about? You they’ve been protesting, you who ran off
to Partsvale to…? Of course, to Partsvale. Where else would you elope? You
talked so much about the Shrine.”

Francie’s knees began to shake, and Zacry
pushed her chair beneath her before she fell to the floor.

The king asked, “What exactly is your
power, Miss Rafe?”

“It’s not the kind of power people think
of when they consider magic. It…. I’ve had it as long as I remember. For a
while I didn’t even realize it was magic. I thought everyone could do it, until
I was old enough to wonder why everybody asked so often how I or someone else
was feeling. I never had to wonder that about other people.” She shot a
frightened, apologetic look at Vane, and he nodded encouragement. “When I touch
an object—any object, a pen, a glass, someone’s sleeve—I can sense
the emotional state the last person who touched it was in when they touched it.
At least, that’s how I’ve deduced it works. I’ve run little experiments to check.”