The Underwater Ballroom Society

by Y. S. Lee

  Amy’s eyebrows rose; using the excuse of a sweeping turn, she pulled subtly back within his embrace. “I don’t believe Mr. Harwood is trying to gain anything from Lady Cosgrave or any of the other members of the Boudiccate.”

  “Ha. I went to school with him, you know, before any of us were old enough for the Great Library. The son of one of the oldest magical families in the realm, and he wouldn’t even pretend to take an interest in the subject. He should have been a laughing-stock from day one—anyone else would’ve been!—but somehow, by the end of our first year, he’d actually talked everyone into thinking him ‘such a good fellow,’ despite everything.”

  Llewellyn shook his head in open disgust. “Of course we all expected it to come crashing down for him in the end, when he’d finally have to fall into line and head to the Great Library with the rest of us, but no...he still wouldn’t budge. And he didn’t even lose anything for it!”

  Amy narrowed her eyes, studying her partner’s face warily. “Hasn’t he paid a significant price by not attending? He’ll never rise in the world as you and the others will.”

  “Just look at him,” Llewellyn said bitterly. “Does he seem to you as if he’s suffering for everything he tossed away? When you think of every man who’d fight and strive for the opportunities he was born with...”

  Aha. Well, there it was: for all that Llewellyn’s family was perfectly respectable and respected, they were certainly no Harwoods. Not a single woman in his family, past or present, had ever represented the nation as a member of the Boudiccate; no gentleman among them had ever risen to the highest magical posts in the realm. Llewellyn’s own ambition must have nearly choked him when he’d watched Jonathan Harwood reject it all—and Amy couldn’t help but understand how he had felt.

  But that wasn’t what made her breath catch in sudden realization. Oh!

  Finally, it all made sense.

  “What could make any man so careless?” Llewellyn muttered.

  Amy didn’t answer him aloud. But in her head she silently corrected him: Not ‘what.’ Her gaze scanned through the crowd until it fastened on a head of thick, curling brown hair—the same hair that ran all through the Harwood family—because the right question to ask, of course, was actually: ‘Who?’

  Jonathan Harwood was the least careless person she knew, but what he cared about, unlike Llewellyn, wasn’t power. It was family. And that was why she’d never truly understood his decisions—until now.

  He could always have studied his beloved history on the side while dutifully carrying on the family legacy in public...but only if he weren’t convinced that someone else deserved to take on the weight and power of that legacy herself. How soon had he realized his younger sister’s passion?

  It was impossible, unthinkable for any woman to study magic...

  But...not quite so impossible, perhaps, after Jonathan Harwood had taken that first public step to prepare his family and his cohort for that change.

  Amy could barely breathe as her thoughts whirled around that single, earth-shaking point, re-sorting and reassembling themselves around a concept she’d never dared to imagine before.

  “Miss Standish?” The music was coming to a halt; Amy blinked back into the world to find Lord Llewellyn impatiently repeating himself, a look of barely-veiled irritation on his handsome face. “I said, shall we make the announcement at the end of this evening? Or—”

  Announcement? Her mind still full of swirling schemes, it took Amy a moment to absorb his words. Then they clicked into place. “Of course!” she said, injecting warm enthusiasm into her words. “Our announcement.”

  Their wedding announcement—that must be what he meant. Of course she hadn’t actually proposed to him yet; she’d planned to do so, officially, during one of their three dances across the evening. But it would be foolish to be irritated by his presumption now when everyone knew that she would ask, and everyone knew, likewise, what his answer would be.

  “Ye-e-es...” His frown deepened even more as he released her, holding out one arm to escort her off the dance floor. “So your answer to my question is...?”

  “The end of the evening,” she said quickly. “After the demonstrations. That would be the perfect timing.”

  Every guest would be assembled and attentive at that point—and, better yet, it would give her plenty of time to compose herself first, after all the revelations of this evening.

  Smiling brightly, Amy patted his arm, stepped away from her intended, and slipped into the crowd before he could stop her.

  She didn’t aim for Jonathan or Cassandra Harwood this time. That way lay only more perilous confusion. Instead, she moved on a carefully selected path from one guest to another, mingling, laughing, asking thoughtful questions, and making certain each time to casually bring up Miranda’s most favored projects before moving on. It was a dance of its own, although she’d left the physical dance floor behind her. The careful shifting of moods and opinions, the thrill of persuasion and the buzz of the challenge—it all filled her with a brimming energy that felt more sparkling and effervescent than even the finest elven wine.

  This was the purpose that she’d been born for—and when she met Miranda in the midst of her rounds an hour later, the undisguised approval on her mentor’s face warmed Amy more than any fire. Smiling, Miranda drew her aside to murmur into her ear.

  “Mrs. Seabury,” she said, referring to the oldest and most intimidating member of the Boudiccate, “just stalked across the room to ask me where I’d found my new assistant...and to offer me more than a few political favors if I’d release you to her service instead!”

  Amy’s eyes widened, her heart giving a sudden lurch as that lovely warm sense of security slipped suddenly away from her. “What did you tell her?”

  “What do you think?” Miranda laughed and gave Amy’s shoulder a reassuring pat. “Trust me, my dear. Old Seabury lost her ability to talk me out of anything that really mattered years ago. I have far greater plans for you than simply to move on to another assistantship! Once you’re safely betrothed and we can start you on your way...” She tilted her head, her voice dropping even lower. “Is everything arranged to your satisfaction there?”

  She meant, Have you proposed?

  Ah. Amy’s fingers tightened around her wineglass. Of course she should have taken care of it by now...but then, Llewellyn had rather bypassed that necessity, hadn’t he? Still, she would issue her proposal by the end of the evening to make it official. So... “We’ll make our announcement after the demonstrations.”

  “Excellent. Perfectly timed, as usual.” Smiling warmly, Miranda nudged Amy around and raised her voice as the Fae ambassadress approached in a glittering blur of wings and color. “Your Eminence! Have you met my new assistant yet? She arranged this entire evening, you know...”

  Amy dived back into the political whirl with pure exhilaration and didn’t emerge again until thirty minutes later, when a firm hand closed around her arm just as she was shifting away from a large group. It was Llewellyn’s hand, and when she turned, she found his smile tinged with irritation. “I’ve hardly even glimpsed you tonight. Aren’t we due another dance by now?”

  “I—yes, of course.” Swallowing down a sigh—she’d been aiming at a particular target in her next group—Amy nodded, remembering Miranda’s advice. Time to take care of those final details. Once her proposal had been safely issued and accepted, everything would be perfectly sorted according to her plans. After all, once their betrothal was official, she couldn’t back out from the decision—not without ruining her political prospects beyond repair. A politician’s word was her bond.

  And there was certainly no reason to feel any panic about that! So—

  “Miss Standish,” said Jonathan Harwood, and Amy turned to him in a rush of relief even as Llewellyn’s grip tightened uncomfortably around her arm.

  “Mr. Harwood.” She beamed at him even as she gave her constrained arm a discreet tug. “Does your mother require my assistance?�
��

  “Ah...yes, I’m afraid. It’s a family issue.” He nodded to Llewellyn, his face carefully neutral but his gaze fixed on the other man’s still-tight grip around Amy’s bare brown arm. “Apologies, Llewellyn, but it shouldn’t take too long.”

  “Don’t you think it could wait, then, until I’ve had my turn?” Llewellyn’s grip didn’t loosen as he narrowed his eyes. “I appreciate that your purpose in life nowadays is to run your mother’s errands, but—”

  “Actually,” Amy said, with a firm and undisguised yank that took Llewellyn by surprise and threw him off-balance, “Mr. Harwood’s purpose in life is the study of the Daniscan invasion, just as my purpose tonight is to assist his mother in whatever she may need. You should read some of Mr. Harwood’s published articles, Lord Llewellyn. They really are quite enlightening.”

  She didn’t even attempt to hide her flare of irritation as she twitched herself free, a pointed rebuke in her gaze. There was a duty of attention owed to one’s partner, certainly, but there was also a duty of respect between equals. She would always make her own decisions for herself as well as—in the future, with luck—for the whole of Angland.

  Llewellyn might have just exposed a temper, but he had a brain, too—and he was far too clever to misread her message. As she watched with expectantly raised eyebrows, his cheeks thinned and his lips clamped together, visibly restraining an untoward response. Still, he lowered his eyes a moment later without letting any more thoughtless words escape. “As you say.” He sighed. “I’ll look forward to our dance, Miss Standish...the very moment that you are free to enjoy yourself.”

  Good. Amy took a deep, reassuring breath. For a moment, she’d actually wondered...but no.

  “I’ll rejoin you as soon as possible,” she promised—and, with a firm smile, took Jonathan’s arm. “Lead on, Mr. Harwood, do.”

  Jonathan didn’t speak at first, as they moved smoothly together through the crowd; when he did speak, his voice was muted. “There must be a better one that you can find.”

  “I beg your pardon?” Amy slanted a glance up at his face—and realized, with a start, that for the first time in her memory, Jonathan Harwood was utterly furious. The emotion radiated through every inch of his body and blazed out through his eyes, even as his face remained perfectly expressionless—a skill and restraint he must have practiced a great deal after all those years spent away in boarding school with other boys who felt as Llewellyn did about him. “A better what?” she asked, with genuine curiosity.

  He gave a quick, jerky shrug. “A better option, I mean, for you! I’ve been doing my best to hold my tongue about it, but Llewellyn isn’t good enough, and you know it.”

  What? Amy’s breath stopped in her chest for one stunned moment. Then it rushed back into place, propelled by sheer rage. “This way,” she said, and altered their direction. Smiling with all her might, she swept a path through the crowd to the next available pane of glass...where she was finally, finally free to drop her furious smile and openly glare at the dark water beyond.

  “Are you actually commenting on my options?” she demanded in a ferocious whisper. “You?”

  He gave an unmistakable flinch. Then his jaw squared and he stepped closer to the glass, his jacketed arm brushing lightly against her own and sending aggravating sparks along her skin. “Yes, I am,” he said firmly. “I know Mother thinks he’s fated to rise high in his career, but I can tell you, I’ve known him for years, and Cassandra’s right—he isn’t nearly as good at magic as he thinks he is.”

  “And you’re holding yourself up as a judge on that?” Fury nearly choked her. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to hold herself back.

  Of course he knew how she felt—he had to know. No one had ever accused Jonathan Harwood of being anything less than extraordinarily intelligent. That was what had famously driven his parents so wild with frustration. For him to utter such a remark after ten months of unmistakable warmth, bone-deep connection and a longing so desperate that some nights it had nearly choked her...

  “I understand and respect why you made your own decisions,” she said with tight control, her eyes still shut. “But do not taunt me about them now!”

  “Taunt?” He didn’t touch her, but she could feel the breath of frustration that he expelled, ruffling against her upswept hair. “What are you talking about?”

  If they’d been alone, she would have tipped her head against the glass in frustration. They were in public, though, and in full view of the crowd, so she kept her figure upright and relaxed. “You know perfectly well what I mean,” she said bitterly. “I don’t have the freedom to choose the man I most admire. That is not an option for me, as you so charmingly put it, because you chose a different path for your own reasons. So don’t pretend that I need to please you with my marital choice now! That,” she finished wearily, “is asking far too much of me.”

  There. Her shoulders slumped. She’d said what she needed to say. Now she would simply endure his answer, move back into the whirl of the ball, and...

  But no answer came after all. Finally, she opened her eyes to investigate.

  Reflected in the dark glass before her, his own eyes were wide and stunned-looking. “I...what?” he demanded. “What?”

  She stared at his reflection, wordless with confusion.

  Jonathan raked one hand through his thick brown hair, rumpling it hopelessly out of shape. She wished she didn’t find it so appealing. “Miss Standish—Amy,” he said, his voice hoarse. “Are you telling me...would you have actually desired...?”

  She shook her head in pure confusion. “What did I say that was so difficult to understand?”

  “But...” He took a deep breath, his broad chest rising and falling.

  “I know,” she said. “I understand now why you refused to study magic. You were clearing the way for Cassandra, weren’t you?”

  He swallowed visibly. “You’ve always been quick at putting things together.”

  “And I admire your decision. Truly.” It took all of her control to keep her head high and her gaze locked with his in the glass. “But I cannot allow you to judge my decision now.”

  “Of course you have to marry a mage,” Jonathan said. “I’ve always known that. But Llewellyn—”

  “I don’t care how good he is at magic!” Amy snapped. “You don’t need to be the best to do well in any field, and you know that as well as I do. Just look at half the husbands of the Boudiccate! Your father may have been a brilliant mage, but not all of them are. They don’t have to be.”

  “But they should,” Jonathan said, his jaw locked. “Cassandra is.”

  “Then it’s a pity I don’t wish to marry her—argh!” Amy let out a groan even as the inane words escaped her mouth.

  Good God. What was he doing to her? She never lost her temper so foolishly! She squeezed her eyes shut for one anguished moment.

  When she opened them again, Jonathan’s lips were twitching. “I’ll let her know of that terrible disappointment,” he said gravely. “Never fear: she’s currently madly in love only with magic, so you needn’t worry about breaking her heart, too.”

  “I should think not.” Amy gave a rueful shake of her head. She couldn’t look away from his reflected blue eyes, now so full of warmth and humor. It felt too good to feel his gaze holding hers—to feel that indefinable, inexorable connection beneath the skin.

  Once she wed, and moved out of Harwood House, it would become easier. It had to. When she no longer saw him every day...

  No. Her heart clenched. She couldn’t think about that now—not if she wished to hold to her purpose. “You know how the world works,” she said softly.

  “I do.” His lips twisted. “That...is why I’d never even imagined you would consider me as an option in the first place.”

  The moment felt as fragile as glass held between them.

  Cassandra’s voice shattered it. “There you both are!” She burst breathlessly between them. “Have you told her yet? What did she say
?”

  Jonathan gave a start and then winced. “Ah, yes.” He gave Amy an apologetic look. “The reason I came to find you in the first place.”

  “You haven’t even mentioned it?” Cassandra demanded. “What on earth have you two been discussing this whole time?”

  For one paralyzed moment, Amy’s mind went blank.

  Then she said brightly, “The upcoming demonstrations—”

  ...Just as Jonathan said, “Refreshments!”

  “Oh.” Cassandra heaved a weary sigh. “I see. You two were flirting again.” She cast her eyes up to the arched ceiling. “Well, if I’m the only one who’s even going to try to save this evening...!”

  “Save it?” Amy stiffened. “From what?” Her mind was already whirling through possibilities. Had one of the guests said something unmentionable to the Fae ambassadress? Had one of the mages done something disastrous to the drinks?

  If Mrs. Seabury had ‘accidentally’ smacked the Head of the Great Library with her walking stick again...

  “Father’s spell,” said Cassandra. “It’s on the verge of cracking if we don’t fix it now.”

  “What?” Amy’s heartbeat lurched. As her head spun, she yanked her gaze back to Jonathan. “And you didn’t even bother to mention—?”

  “She didn’t tell me what she needed you for!” His already-fair skin had paled at the news. “She only said that she wanted to talk to you privately.”

  “Because I didn’t want to waste time repeating myself!” Cassandra said impatiently. “First, we have to get everyone out of here, and then—”

  “Wait.” Amy held out one hand, forcing herself to take steady breaths even as the walls tightened around her. All those gallons—tons?—of lake water pushing in against them, only waiting to swallow them all the very moment the spell shattered... “None of the other mages here have noticed any particular danger tonight.” Even Mr. Westgate hadn’t considered the matter imminent, had he?

  “Because they don’t know Father’s spell, of course.” Cassandra rolled her eyes. “Do you think Mother would ever let any of them near his private papers?”