by C. L. Polk
Beatrice picked up her punch cup. “What happened to him?”
“He failed the test,” Ianthe said. “A rightful fate for cheating. And just general unpleasantness.”
Beatrice nodded, smiled, and played on, her jaw and throat tight.
They won another twenty crowns. And another fifteen, then ten, and finally a server brought a second cup of punch, which Nadi drank too quickly. They spoke of music, of the upcoming performance of The Count of Always and Never, of the Blossom Ride and basket auction—
“You’ll join Ianthe and me for the luncheon, won’t you, Miss Clayborn? We’re claiming places next to each other,” Lord Powles asked, and simple as that, she had gained admittance to the highest collection of Bendleton society.
“I would be honored,” Beatrice replied, and finessed the trick with a nine. “But my basket would have to be fairly won.”
“It would indeed,” Ianthe said, “and I shall win it, if it pleases you.”
She shouldn’t encourage him. But she nodded, dropping her last card on the table. “It would be a pleasure to share luncheon with you.”
She and Ianthe had won the game again, and she tried not to smile too widely as Lord Powles jotted down another chit.
Ysbeta glanced at her for an instant too long on the next hand, eyeing Beatrice’s second cup of punch and the small pile of chits she’d gathered. She and Ianthe had only lost twice, and Beatrice had lost tally of how many crowns she had won in this game at two hundred and ninety. :Nadi, that’s enough for now. Ysbeta suspects.:
:But it’s fun,: Nadi said, shimmering inside her head. :Isn’t it fun?:
Oh, gambling was wonderful. She had never won like this, not even when the prize was a box full of buttons. Wait until she showed Father. He’d be so surprised to learn that she had won so much. Why, she could recoup every coin Father had spent on her bargaining season! She and Nadi could take it right out of their pockets.
:Yes,: Nadi said, wiggling in bliss. :You need Nadi. We can win and win and win.:
Her hand shot out and plucked up the cup of punch— :Nadi!:
:You said three.:
Her head tilted back, draining it to the dregs. It was lovely. Sweet, and complicated, and it made her soft and laughing inside. Elderflower punch was marvelous. She scooped up her cards and set the cup down in its saucer, faceup, signaling a refill.
:Not so fast,: Beatrice said. :There’s only one left for the whole night.:
“Miss Clayborn,” Ysbeta said. “Would you step out into the gardens with me? I suddenly feel unwell, and the air would be restorative.”
“But we just dealt—” Beatrice set her suite of kings down. “I mean, of course I will, Miss Lavan. The air, absolutely. You need air. As do I. Yes!” she giggled. “The air, indeed! Most necessary, is it not?”
“Most necessary,” Ysbeta repeated.
Beatrice scooped up her chits and thrust them into her pocket. Ysbeta offered her arm and led the way to the outdoors. But Ysbeta said she wasn’t feeling well—shouldn’t Beatrice be the one guiding her? It was absurd!
She laughed, a giddy, bubbling laugh that caught the attention of other card players. Ysbeta’s pace quickened, and soon they were in the cool caress of the ocean air, scented by sea wrack and primrose. Beatrice heaved in a great breath, and Nadi laughed in delight.
Ysbeta kept moving—down the wide stone stairs of the terrace to the shell-paved garden path, glowing white under the moonlight, the fractured shards crunching under their satin shoes. She hauled Beatrice along exactly the way Harriet would, to rush her to this sight or that, and Beatrice halted, stopping Ysbeta’s progress with a lurch.
“Don’t tug me about,” Beatrice said. “I don’t like it.”
“Don’t speak to me of what you do and do not like,” Ysbeta’s harsh whisper rose above the susurration of the boughs overhead. “Do you have any idea what could happen to you if you’re caught cheating?”
Beatrice gasped. “Miss Lavan! How could you—”
“You’re hosting right now,” Ysbeta said, shaking Beatrice’s arm. “Don’t pretend you’re not. I am good at Honors Taken. No one is as good as you have been at the table unless they’re cheating by sleight-of-hand dealing or magic. You did, didn’t you? What did you bargain for luck at the cards?”
“I—” Beatrice began, but Ysbeta shook her again, and it made her head spin. “Don’t!”
“Why did you do it?” Ysbeta let go of Beatrice’s wrist, choosing instead to stroke her arm. “You know what could happen—why did you risk it?”
This sudden tenderness was too much. Beatrice quivered. A ball of thorns caught in her throat. Tears welled in her eyes and Ysbeta made soothing, shushing noises, stroking her arm from elbow to shoulder.
Beatrice shook, trying to hold it all in—for if she didn’t, she would scream at the sky. She would kick the primroses until they were dead. She would want something to break, to tear, to strike.
“You can tell me,” Ysbeta whispered. “You have my secret. Let me have yours.”
It burst, a great dam broken by a sob.
“Father has spent everything on this bargaining season,” Beatrice confessed. “Everything! He mortgaged our home. He dipped into his principal! If I came home with even more debts—”
“Debts?” Ysbeta asked. “How much debt?”
She shouldn’t say. But Ysbeta wouldn’t tell, would she? “I don’t know exactly how much. But it’s gotten worse these past few months.”
Ysbeta’s eyes went sharp. “Did he invest in the orchid expedition a few months ago?”
Beatrice’s eyes watered. She clenched her fists. “He told us not to worry. He said there was no need to worry. He said—”
“He lost everything trying to profit on fashion.” Ysbeta caught her up in her arms, laying Beatrice’s head on her shoulder. “And now it’s up to you, isn’t it. You need a husband who will make up for the blow to the Clayborn fortunes.”
No she didn’t. No she didn’t! She needed to ally with a greater spirit. She needed to pass the ordeal, become a mage, and then everything would be all right, in the end—
But Beatrice couldn’t stop crying, and Ysbeta wouldn’t stop stroking her hair.
Footsteps crunched on the shell-paved path. “Ysbeta? Ysbeta, it’s all right. I know what happened,” Ianthe said. “Miss Clayborn, I am so, so sorry. Hold still.”
Beatrice gulped down a sob and gazed at Ianthe, who wore a look of deep worry on his face. Oh, she must look awful. Red and blotchy and—
She gasped as he laid his hand directly on the swell of her breasts, thrust half out of her bodice thanks to Clara’s tight hand on her stays. But his touch bored inside her somehow, sinking underneath skin and flesh to wrap around Nadi.
:No! No! Beatrice, help! Help Nadi! Help!:
Her whole body shook as Nadi tried to flee from Ianthe’s touch, still screaming. “What are you—”
“Quiet,” Ianthe said, and he clenched his hand in a fist, flinging it backward.
Nadi’s scream echoed inside her as Ianthe tore it away.
“There,” he said. “Are you all right?”
Was she all right? He’d just caught her cheating. He had proof she had been practicing advanced summoning, but Ianthe gripped her shoulders and gazed at her with deep worry and concern. He should be dragging her before the host, and then to her father—why wasn’t her world ending?
Ianthe peered into her eyes. “Miss Clayborn, listen to me. That strange feeling that came over you, as if your skin was over-full and you weren’t quite in control of what you did—that was a spirit. You were possessed. I am so sorry—but it’s all right. No one else caught on; you’re safe.”
She was what? “What did you do?”
“I banished it. I am so sorry, Miss Clayborn. That should never have happened to you.”
Heaven, her wits had completely deserted her. She turned her gaze to Ysbeta, who gave her a look that showed the whites all around her midnight eyes.
>
“So that’s what it was,” Ysbeta said, composing her features. “I thought you had been behaving strangely, drinking all that punch . . . but is it true, Ianthe? Someone cast a spirit into her?”
That wasn’t true at all, but Ysbeta leapt onto Ianthe’s explanation without a murmur.
“That’s exactly what happened.” Ianthe’s mouth was a grim line. “Someone wanted to disgrace Miss Clayborn to get the competition out of the way.”
“What?”
Beatrice and Ysbeta said the word in the same instant, and Ianthe winced.
“I shouldn’t tell tales,” Ianthe said. “But I am the subject of a rather aggressive competition.”
“Oh no,” Ysbeta said, perfectly guileless.
“Indeed,” Ianthe replied. “Eliza Robicheaux and Danielle Maisonette have each declared that they would be the one to attract my interest.”
“How irritating it must be,” Ysbeta murmured, “to have people decide that you are a prize for the taking, without even bothering to ask your opinion.”
“What is that—oh,” Ianthe said. “I owe you an apology, Miss Clayborn. We didn’t ask you if you cared to have your company wagered over. I had no idea how infuriating it was. I am sorry.”
Beatrice blinked. “I—thank you for your apology. I accept it. But what does this have to do with my possession?”
“I promise you I will explain, if my sister decides not to interrupt with her remarks,” Ianthe said.
“Oh, please don’t let me distract you, dear brother.” Ysbeta was grinning now, and Beatrice looked away. Was this funny? Was she a joke?
“I will attempt to keep it brief,” Ianthe said. “I have encountered each of the ladies a number of times this week—by chance, they claimed.”
“Wait,” Ysbeta said. “That woman with the overdone hat? The one from the café? That’s Danielle Maisonette?”
Ianthe sighed. “Ysy.”
“Sorry. Go on.”
He slid his gaze off to the side, his shoulders rising as the tale unfolded. “Miss Maisonette’s brother is here. I believe he waited until you had lowered your protection from the spirits by imbibing. The sensation of the spirit taking residence would have felt like a symptom of the drink. Then he could simply watch while the spirit gained control and disgraced you before the entire party. You would have been the talk of Bendleton.”
It was a dastardly plan, if it had been true. Beatrice would have been completely shamed, her prospects vanished entirely. Her family would have gone home to the mortgaged Riverstone in defeat, and Father would find that his contacts and opportunities had vanished in the face of scandal. Ianthe was angry on her behalf—and Beatrice’s neck flushed as Ianthe explained it all as if she were an innocent victim.
Perhaps he thought her too honorable to summon a luck spirit and cheat at cards. Perhaps he thought her too ignorant. Beatrice trembled. Why couldn’t she be cunning? Why couldn’t she be underhanded?
She was cunning. She was underhanded. And she was going to save her own skin, and let Ianthe believe what he would.
Beatrice widened her eyes. “Someone would do that? How awful.”
“But it couldn’t have been Robicheaux, of course,” Ysbeta put in. “He’s mundane.”
“I can’t accuse either of them, for Beatrice’s sake,” Ianthe said, “but I have no reason to welcome Maisonette’s company, and I will not.”
“I won’t either,” Ysbeta said. “That hat was dreadful.”
“I’m afraid our evening is over,” Ianthe said. “But I would be honored to walk you home, if you don’t mind the distance?”
“The distance is not so great,” Beatrice said. “Ysbeta, you don’t mind a walk?”
“It isn’t even a mile,” Ysbeta said. “And I would love to escape this place. Let us withdraw.”
They skirted the house and Ysbeta marched past them at a swift pace. Beatrice hurried her steps to keep up, but Ianthe caught her arm and gently slowed her to the sedate stroll that invited conversation.
“But—”
“She’s giving us a little privacy,” Ianthe said. “Sometimes my sister is considerate. But now we shall lay our cards on the table.”
Beatrice’s heart kicked in her chest. “What do you mean?”
“That story about Danton putting a spirit in you is rubbish. He did no such thing. You are dabbling with High Magic.”
A chill broke out over Beatrice’s skin. “And you’re going to report it.”
“Properly speaking, I should,” Ianthe said. “If it were not for you explaining your position earlier this afternoon, I probably would have without speaking to you. But now—”
“You don’t know what you’re going to do.”
“I don’t know whether to ask you how you accomplished it or tell your father, for your own good. What you are doing is dangerous,” Ianthe said. “Even in the safety and supervision of the chapterhouse, the act of conjuration is terribly risky. And you’re doing it alone. You must not pursue the mysteries without a guide.”
“Very well,” Beatrice said. “What chapterhouse will call me brother, Mr. Lavan? Which one? I will present myself immediately.”
“You know very well that none of them will,” Ianthe said. “But if Bard had caught you instead of me, you’d be in deep trouble.”
“I’d be headed home in disgrace,” Beatrice said. “Father would have to put a warding collar on me before I was married. The scandal would seriously diminish my prospects. I know.”
“Then why did you do it?”
“What else could I have done? The stakes were ten crowns a point! I had fifty in my pocket. My family cannot bear the expense of such amusements.”
“You could have told me,” Ianthe said. “I would have assumed your debt.”
“How was I to know that I could divulge the secret of my family’s financial straits to you?”
Ianthe waggled his head, conceding the point. “After our conversation this afternoon, I want you to be able to tell me any secret you like. If you need help, I will help you. We’re friends, after all. Aren’t we?”
“Will you help me learn more High Magic?” Beatrice asked.
Ianthe winced. “Even if it wasn’t utterly reckless and ill-advised, I could not. I don’t have enough experience to protect you. And I don’t think I have the nerve to do what must be done, if you faced a catastrophic failure.”
Beatrice shivered. “What would be considered catastrophic?”
“When you bargain, you have to set clear terms. What did you bargain for luck at the cards?”
“Three cups of punch. The sight of the sunrise. The beach on bare feet.”
Ianthe looked surprised. “That’s a good bargain. A very good bargain.”
“And since you exorcised me, I don’t even have to pay it.”
“I had to do it,” Ianthe said. “Every second brought you closer to being caught.”
“I know you were focused on my safety,” Beatrice said.
“And I know you aren’t going to stop using magic just because I said it was dangerous,” Ianthe said. “You conjured a minor spirit of luck?”
“Lesser.”
“And you successfully bargained something that simple,” Ianthe said. “I wish there was some way to keep you safe. I know you’re going to do this, no matter what I say.”
“You could report me,” Beatrice said. “You didn’t have to discuss this with me at all.”
“I have no wish to disgrace your family. I don’t want you collared until you die. I would be a hypocrite if I doomed you to those things while claiming a wish to protect you.”
“You’re going to let me go.”
“I must,” Ianthe said. “But please. Don’t step any further on the path of the mysteries. When an initiate of the rose trains further, his sponsor isn’t only there to instruct and advise.”
“What else is he there for?”
“If the worst happens,” Ianthe says, “your mentor has to contain the damage wha
tever the cost—even if that cost is your own life.”
Beatrice shivered. “Does that happen often?”
“The training is in place to protect against it,” Ianthe says. “Novices and initiates are protected and supervised. You are not.”
Beatrice could lose herself to Nadi, he meant. A spirit would be happy to don a mage’s body, if it meant it could run loose and do what it pleased. “Will you tell me how to protect myself?”
Ianthe’s brow wrinkled. “I should not. But if I don’t, won’t I be responsible for your misfortune?”
“A troublesome dilemma. I would prefer that you help me, of course.”
“Let me go to the chapterhouse and do some research. Then I can explain more if you’ll consent to an outing with me. I was going to take Ysbeta to Pigment Street, so she could invest in some art. She’s bound to give us a private moment, and we can talk then.”
“I have never seen Pigment Street.”
“Then come with us. I was planning to take her the day after tomorrow. I understand you two will practice at hazards tomorrow?”
“Yes. We’re going to be partners at the tournament.”
“If I make it back from Meryton in time, I would be honored to take you home,” Ianthe said. “I believe I will need the benefit of your insight.”
“What will you do in Meryton that leads you to want my insight? It’s not that poor girl with the spiritborn child, is it?”
“It’s Ysbeta.” Ianthe nodded at the figure of his sister, walking just out of earshot. “I need a solicitor. I must see if there is a way to protect Ysbeta’s wealth from her future husband, and we need a Church-trained lawyer for this, not just a business solicitor. Bard is my friend, but he’s a Chaslander through and through. If we don’t protect Ysbeta’s fortune, he’ll think nothing of taking it for himself.”
“Ysbeta is to marry Lord Powles, then?”
“That’s what Mother wants,” Ianthe said. “I tried to appeal to her. She didn’t budge.”
Beatrice nodded and held her tongue. Ianthe had been terribly understanding of her pursuit of magic, but she didn’t trust that he would take the news of his sister’s goals as easily. “I would be happy to offer whatever insight I can.”