by C. L. Polk
“What more could you want?”
Beatrice now understood that she could want a great deal. Didn’t Ysbeta have her doubts? “How many grimoires have you found, Miss Lavan?”
She gave Beatrice a smug look. “I have found twelve.”
Beatrice blinked. “So many? I only have four. Have you been here that long?”
“Two weeks. I have scoured bookstores here and in Meryton,” Ysbeta said. “Lavan House is nearly equidistant to both. I found more volumes in Meryton, however—I wonder why?”
“I don’t know,” Beatrice murmured. “But I wish to bargain with you. I will teach you conjuration, including the spell to bind a greater spirit—after I have copied the books in your collection.”
Ysbeta leaned away, scrambling for a response. “That will take several visits.”
“So it will.”
“We will have to appear to be friends.”
“I’m afraid so.”
Ysbeta smiled at the joke. “You will have no use for that knowledge once you marry.”
“Neither will you.”
Ysbeta turned her face to stare at the sea. “I have no wish to marry.”
“Miss Lavan. I have spoken with your brother, and he told me that your family came here to meet a friend of his.”
Ysbeta sighed. “What my mother wants and what I want are opposed.”
“Then if I may ask, what is your goal in Bendleton?”
Ysbeta tapped the pages of the grimoire. “Chasland is unique. Only the women of Sanchi have any access to the higher magics, and they keep their tradition so secret all I know are tales of what they can do. I met Susan, and she told me of the grimoires. So much knowledge is lost. Chasland has adopted the techniques of the chapterhouse. But Chaslander women have, I suspect, preserved or hidden Chasland’s tradition in these volumes. How are they made?”
“I don’t know how to make one. I’m sorry. I can only find them and read them.”
Ysbeta leaned closer. “I must appeal to you. Help me preserve the knowledge of magic unclaimed by the chapterhouse. Teach me what you know of the magic inside these grimoires.”
She had to understand what Beatrice wanted. Ysbeta wanted the touch of magic. She wanted the knowledge. She wanted the same thing Beatrice did. “I am happy to support you in your chase, Miss Lavan. Let us walk together on the path of the Mysteries. Such alliances are rare and precious.”
“So they are,” Ysbeta said. She slipped her hand inside the folds of her gown and produced her card. “Please consent to visit me tomorrow, where we will discuss this further. Do you play hazards?”
“I have played enough to know the rules.”
Ysbeta smirked. “I would believe that of a seven-year-old Chaslander, but not a woman fully grown. We shall play hazards. We shall use the time to negotiate.”
“You will not agree to my bargain?”
“If we’re bargaining, then I’m interested in far more than simply knowledge of one spell. I wish to learn all the magic you know. I want the contents of whatever grimoires you have. We will be inseparable friends for bargaining season. And Ianthe should turn up before it’s time for you to leave tomorrow, so you can see him.”
All the magic she knew. All the grimoires she had for all of Ysbeta’s. It was fair. “All the magic I know. My word on it,” Beatrice said, and offered her hand to Ysbeta. Ysbeta took it and gripped her wrist as mages did when they encountered a brother in the street.
“Be prepared for many questions,” Ysbeta said. “I am most impatient to continue my studies.”
“I will do my best to bring light.”
“Illumination,” Ysbeta said.
“Illumination. Thank you.”
“You learned conversational Llanandari?”
“I read a little. I should read more.”
“I have novels to lend. I look forward to your visit,” Ysbeta said. “Good afternoon, Miss Clayborn.”
They bent knees to each other in politeness, and Ysbeta Lavan left the conservatory, hardly sparing a glance at Harriet, who lurked just beyond the room.
Beatrice stopped in the doorway. Had Harriet listened? Perhaps she hadn’t heard.
Beatrice smiled and extended her hand. “Shall we practice our duets?”
Harriet stared at Beatrice’s hand with a scowl. “No. Why did she come instead of Ianthe?”
Careful. She assembled her words into the most plausible explanation for Ysbeta’s visit. “Ysbeta wished to discern my intentions. She has invited me to call on her in the coming days.”
Harriet’s lips thinned. “That’s not what you said. I just wanted to see if you would lie.”
And she had lied. But Harriet shouldn’t know that, unless she had—
Beatrice pitched her voice to a whisper. That Harriet, of all people would do such a thing! “Harriet, did you use a charm to eavesdrop on us? I thought you avoided magic! How could you—”
Harriet jabbed an accusing finger at Beatrice. “Don’t. You lied. You’re going to play with summoning. If I tell Father—”
“Then I’ll lose my connection with the Lavans,” Beatrice said. “Since you heard everything with your rhyming charm, you know that.”
Harriet stuck her chin out, but she didn’t have a ready retort. Beatrice leaned closer, pressing her advantage. “Ysbeta’s portrait sits at the apex of the ingenue’s gallery in the chapterhouse. She is the most eligible, most influential girl in Bendleton. Llanandari girls don’t attend bargaining season in Chasland—have you ever heard of such a thing, outside of novels?”
Harriet grumbled. “No.”
“Besides,” Beatrice said, reaching for the obvious. “If I’m closer to her, I’m closer to Ianthe. My connection to her is worth anything she asks.”
“But this? It will come to no good. You shouldn’t even know magic. You shouldn’t have those books. This is too dangerous.”
“I know what I’m doing.”
“You don’t.” Harriet said. “But I’ll keep your secret.”
“Thank you.”
“For now,” Harriet said.
“They’re secret! Harriet, if you tell Father about grimoires—”
“No.” Harriet flung up her hand, stopping Beatrice’s words on an open palm. “If you get too deep, I will tell Father you’re dabbling in magic.”
“But if he finds out about grimoires . . . Harriet, please. They’re secret.”
“Everything depends on you, Beatrice. You don’t know how to handle yourself in Bendleton. If it had been me—”
“You’d already have a string of suitors,” Beatrice said. “Very well. You will teach me what I need to know with all the connections I will gain from Ysbeta Lavan’s friendship. You will decide what I wear and advise me. All right?”
“I will handle everything,” Harriet said. “Do as I say and you’ll be a success. You need a nap, Beatrice. Ask Clara to make a rosewater and kelp powder poultice for your complexion, and to make a cream mask for your hands. You need to look fresh at all times.”
CHAPTER IV
“Ysbeta Lavan, in this house,” Father said. “My dear. You have done this family proud. Such a friendship must be treasured.”
Harriet glowered at her over a fillet of sea bass. Beatrice finished chewing an asparagus tip and nodded. “I feel most fortunate. Ysbeta Lavan is an influential young woman.”
“The wealthiest, most beautiful woman of bargaining season. Every gentleman will be vying for her attention, and with you standing by her side, a measure of that regard will naturally fall your way.”
Beatrice glanced at her plate. “Yes, Father.”
Father picked up his ale cup. “I don’t praise her to diminish you, my dear. Simply that her looks and her wealth mean she has the pick of any gentleman she cares for—but she can only choose one. And friendship with her brings you closer to meeting her brother, the highest choice of all.”
She’d met him. He’d talked to her, shared her secrets, and stopped the world when he
kissed her. But she couldn’t tell that last part, so she ate some of her greens and nodded.
Harriet fidgeted in her seat and picked at the bass. “It would have been better if your caller had been Mr. Lavan. He could have been visiting someone else.”
“Beatrice will outshine any other choice,” Father said, and cut roasted skirrets into bite-sized pieces. “She’s a lovely girl, and I’ve heard more than one comment about the strength of her talent.”
Perhaps her suitors would inspect her teeth and withers. “We only talked.”
A lie, but she would not reveal the kiss that staggered her even to remember it. Father would make an awful fuss, where the much more liberal Llanandari wouldn’t even blink an eye. She exchanged glances with Mother, who kept her opinions to herself.
Father shoved a forkful of sea bass into his mouth and talked around it. “Did you and Miss Lavan have a pleasant visit? Are you friends now?”
Beatrice swallowed a mouthful of bass, nodding. “I’m going to her house tomorrow.”
Harriet turned a jaded eye on Beatrice. “What has Ysbeta Lavan invited you to do at her house?”
Oh. Harriet wasn’t content to pick her gowns. She meant to hold Beatrice’s secret over her head. She could blurt out the secret any moment now. It would all come out. Her room would be searched, the attic found, her grimoires discovered. Father wouldn’t hear her explanations—would never understand them, or her, or what she wanted most of all. He would never hear her voice again, no matter how loudly she shouted or how bitterly she wept.
Father had never punished Beatrice with an application of pain to the flesh. Instead, when she had transgressed, he would forget her right before her eyes. She would cease to exist, cast out of the warmth of his love and regard while pain spread over his features, pain she’d caused by being such a grave disappointment. If he knew she had practiced magic stronger than a rhyming charm, if he knew she was going to teach another girl the knowledge inside the grimoires . . . but worst of all, if a man learned the secret of them . . .
Harriet must not tell Beatrice’s secret. If she tattled, Father would never look at Beatrice again. She had to be the one to ease Father into the idea of letting her assist him with the business. She nearly had the means in her grasp. And she already had the name she needed: Wandinatilus, greater spirit of Fortune. She would have the means to alter chance to find the gaps that brought surprising profits to the one who invested without trying to chase trends. She would be blessed with good timing, solid hunches, and the means to escape unwise investments. With Wandinatilus bound to her, she could raise the Clayborns to prosperity while Harriet made the match that would make her a happy bride.
But not yet. Not until she had bound the spirit and proven to Father that she was worth more as a thornback than as a wife.
“Beatrice?”
Beatrice held up her hand, asking for a moment to finish chewing. “She invited me to play hazards with her. I didn’t know there was a hazards course between here and Meryton.”
Father chewed thoughtfully. “Score well early in the game. Watch how she reacts. If she’s not a good sport, let her win.”
Beatrice reached for her own wine cup, but it didn’t still her tongue. “In other words, we must not threaten the powerful any more than women can disrupt a man’s need to be the better.”
“Beatrice,” Father said, sharply. “There is an order to the world. People may rise above their place, given hard work and the blessings of the Skyborn, but you ascend a great distance to join Ysbeta Lavan at her side. Cross her, and you will come tumbling down. Do you understand?”
“You can’t ruin this,” Harriet said. “Ysbeta Lavan’s friendship is a handful of pearls. Don’t lose this opportunity.”
Harriet was right. Beatrice didn’t care. “I would like to have a true friendship, rather than a tiresome dance of manners and obsequiousness.”
Father and Harriet turned identical stern expressions on her. Mother set down her empty wine cup and touched Beatrice’s arm.
“And you have an opportunity to gain one. They’re just asking you to be careful. To think about how your words and actions can ripple out past what you intend. Let your association bloom slowly—you grow a friendship the way you would a prized rosebush.”
“You’re right, Mother.”
“And that is the proper way of a clever wife,” Father said. “You will do well, Beatrice. I know you understand your duty, and you will be as clever as your mother.”
And she needed all the cleverness she could use to smooth her way. Beatrice leaned back in her chair, and a serving-man took her top plate away. “Perhaps in the morning Harriet and I could take to the track. It’s been days since we’ve taken out Cloudburst and Marian, and the park will be crushed during the Cherry Blossom ride.”
Harriet sat up a little straighter. “The whole track?”
“All twelve miles,” Beatrice said. “We’ll ride it and then I will get ready to call on Ysbeta Lavan.”
“That’s excellent. We should encounter many gentlemen if we ride the whole track.”
Harriet couldn’t just skip out to the stables and saddle her horse any time she wanted, the way she could at Riverstone—their riding horses were boarded a mile away in the stables Father had leased along with the townhouse. She was too young to go riding without company in town, and so depended on Mother or Beatrice to take her out.
“I’ll have the footman take a note to have them ready at nine o’clock,” Beatrice said. “And then we’ll ride the whole track.”
“Yes,” Harriet said. “And you’ll wear your blue habit?”
That wasn’t really a request. “I will wear my blue habit, and so will you, to match. May we, Father?”
Father chewed on a mouthful of bass and shooed them with his hand. “You may. It will be a fine morning for riding. And there will inevitably be gentlemen.”
She returned Father’s pink-cheeked smile and managed to finish her dinner.
Harriet didn’t utter a word of Beatrice’s dealings with Ysbeta Lavan for the rest of the meal, and even went to bed early to be fresh for the day. In the morning she made a huge fuss over Cloudburst, her dapple, and was in the saddle in a twinkling, arranging her skirts once she had planted her left foot in the stirrup. “Hurry, Beatrice.”
Beatrice settled into Marian’s saddle, fitting her right leg in the curve of the top pommel, and let Harriet lead the way to Lord Harsgrove Park. Harriet was a better rider than she, more comfortable, more daring, but she kept an easy pace as they rode through the morning streets of Bendleton to a wide swath of green, ducking under the blooming branches stretched across the gate to the park.
The cherry blossom–scented track was empty, and Harriet was silent for three breaths before she finally turned to Beatrice. “I really think you and Ysbeta Lavan shouldn’t dabble in magic.”
“I know you think we shouldn’t, but I have no power to stop Ysbeta from doing as she wishes,” Beatrice said. “And I know you could have told Father anyway, but you didn’t. Why?”
Harriet sighed as pale pink petals nodded gently overhead. “You honestly don’t know why I didn’t tell Father?”
“Because you’re my sister and you love me?”
“Because it would have destroyed everything,” Harriet said. “If Father knew what you were doing, this bargaining season would be over and we’d be ruined.”
“If the story got out,” Beatrice said. “I understand.”
“You don’t understand,” Harriet said. “You don’t understand at all. Do you have any idea how much all of this costs?”
“I do,” Beatrice said, lowering her voice so only the blossoms would hear. “I know this habit cost at least twenty crowns, and the riding boots six—”
“You have four riding habits,” Harriet said. “You have twenty day dresses and as many dinner and ball gowns. You have two dozen hats, sixteen pairs of gloves, the best cosmetics from all over the world, seven parasols, thirty-two pairs of s
hoes, and they all cost money.”
Beatrice shifted in her saddle. “Well, naturally, but—”
“We have a fashionable address in Bendleton. An ideal address,” Harriet said. “It has a view of the sea on one side and the south end of the park on the other. It’s on the right street. We have footmen, maids, and a housekeeper. We have memberships to the assembly hall, park privileges, a subscription to the theater—you really haven’t thought about it? Not even once?”
“I have,” Beatrice said. “I’ve noticed that Father took himself hunting through winter and cut his annual trip to Gravesford short by two weeks. But he’s simply making little economies, isn’t he? Father wouldn’t be going to all this expense if he couldn’t pay for it. I know the orchid expedition hurt our finances, but it couldn’t be as badly as I thought, since we’re here—”
“Father mortgaged Riverstone to pay for it,” Harriet said.
Beatrice’s heart flipped over. Father couldn’t have lost that much of his principal with the failure of the orchid expedition. Riverstone was more than a snug country cottage and its pastures, more than its trout stream and rambling forest. It was the foundation of the Clayborn fortune. It was their home! Beatrice had been born there. Harriet, too. How could Father have done such a thing? “He couldn’t have—how do you know this?”
“I saw the papers. I was looking for him, and he wasn’t in his office, but the books were out. I looked at them.”
Harriet was a bundle of curls and curiosity. She wouldn’t have been able to resist it. Father’s accounts, out on his desk instead of securely locked away? Beatrice would have looked too, if it were her. She had to get that grimoire back from Ysbeta. There wasn’t any time to lose! “We shouldn’t have come, then. We shouldn’t be here at all.”
“You don’t understand this yet? You’re our only chance, Beatrice.” Harriet stared down the trail, watching for anyone coming. “If he has to pack you away in disgrace, this whole bargaining season will be for nothing, and then the bankers will come to call.”
“If I don’t marry this season, it’s over. There might not be time for me to save us any other way.”