by Y. S. Lee
“But she let you?” Amy pointedly raised her eyebrows.
The younger girl’s skin flushed, but her jaw firmed stubbornly even as she dropped her gaze. “I found my own way in,” she muttered. “Just ask Jonathan if you don’t believe me.”
Jonathan’s silent nod was confirmation enough.
“Very well.” Amy took a deep breath, adjusting to the news. Was she only imagining the creak of the rounded windowpane nearby, as if it were suddenly facing excess pressure?
Surely that was pure imagination. And yet...
“We’ll have to be as discreet as possible,” she said, even as she cringed internally at the thought of it.
Where were all two hundred of the guests going to go? The ballroom inside Harwood House hadn’t been used for any public functions in decades. Not only had it not been decorated for tonight, but it had fallen into the most casual of family usage across the years. As Amy imagined the reactions of every visiting dignitary to being shuffled inside tonight to find its thirty-year-old decorations and tattered, comfortable chairs piled with newspapers around the fireplace...
What excuse could possibly explain that, apart from the truth?
But Miranda... “What did your mother say when you told her?”
Only silence answered Amy’s question.
“I beg your pardon?” Amy’s eyes widened. “You haven’t even tried to tell her?”
“She wouldn’t listen to me!” Cassandra’s face flushed deeper. “I couldn’t even get her away from the group that she was talking to. And if I’d dared utter the word ‘spell’ to her in front of all of them...” She shook her head, her fists clenching at her sides. “You’re the only one who might actually get her to pay attention.”
“I...see.” And Amy did see, all too well.
Oof. Well, she had promised Miranda to deal with any dramas that arose tonight, even if this wasn’t quite the sort of excitement that either of them had had in mind.
How long did they have before the spell gave way?
Amy squared her shoulders. “Right,” she said briskly. “Cassandra, you need to find Mr. Westgate and tell him exactly what you’ve just told me. Beg him, on your mother’s behalf, not to share your secret with anyone else, but when you are speaking privately with him, don’t hold a single detail back.”
“Will he believe me?”
“Probably not,” Amy admitted. “But he’s the only one I know who’s already worried about the spell, so he’s the most promising mage for you to approach. In the meantime, I’ll find your mother—and Jonathan, would you please start charming all of the non-mages outside for an evening walk around the grounds? You can tell them we’ve decided to hold tonight’s magical demonstrations on the lakeshore tonight, to take advantage of the weather.”
“Of course.” He moved away without another word, heading for the closest group of fan-wielding politicians.
Cassandra hung back one more moment, her face taut with anxiety. “Do you…are you certain you can’t come with me to talk to Westgate? If—”
“Don’t worry,” Amy said firmly. “I’ll tell your mother that you did it only under my instructions.”
Miranda might well not forgive her for that—and the plausibility of that result was enough to make Amy’s stomach twist with a sickening mixture of loss and shame.
But Amy had been given charge of all of the details for tonight, and that meant protecting everyone in this ballroom, no matter how she had to do it. So as Cassandra darted off, Amy lifted her chin and set off to tell her mentor everything that Miranda Harwood would least like to hear from her tonight.
She was halfway across the room when Llewellyn caught up with her. This time, he didn’t physically take hold of her; clearly, he was capable of learning that sort of lesson, which she filed away as a promising sign for their joint future. But his voice rippled with impatience as he said, “Finally! I thought he’d never be finished with you. What was he nattering on at you about before his sister arrived? If—”
“My lord.” Amy didn’t slow her stride across the room, her fey-silk skirts swishing purposefully around her long legs. “I am glad to see you. I need your help quite urgently.”
“You...do?” She heard the frown in his voice, although she didn’t take the time to look around. “With what?”
“Can you cast a spell to amplify my voice? I’d like to make an announcement.” She could already sense a ripple in the crowd as Jonathan worked his own, good-humored form of magic on the various guests, but he couldn’t possibly make his way through the entire crowd in time.
“I thought you wanted to wait until after the demonstrations?”
“What?” She took one baffled second to absorb his words—then realized what he meant. “Oh, no, that isn’t the announcement that I meant. No, this is urgent. Can you help me with it quickly, please?”
He let out an irritated huff of air. “Perhaps if you would slow down and take the time to give me the courtesy of a proper explanation, so that I could make my own decision about the matter—”
“Never mind.” It was only a few more steps—
There. She came to a halt, smiling serenely, in front of Lord Cosgrave, Lady Cosgrave’s good-natured husband, who was standing gossiping with a group of fellow mages. “My dear Lord Cosgrave. Would you do me the favor of providing me with a moment of amplification?”
He slanted a startled look at Llewellyn, but stepped forward agreeably. “Of course, Miss Standish.” Murmuring something under his breath, he gestured toward her—and Amy felt a sudden, thrumming power in her chest. Perfect.
“My lords and ladies and distinguished visitors,” she said brightly, and all of the music and chatter broke off as her voice rang around the circular ballroom. “May I have your attention? On behalf of Mrs. Harwood, I’d like to invite every lady and non-mage among our guests to enjoy a delightful evening stroll around the Aelfen Mere. The musicians will accompany all of you to perform in the open air for your enjoyment whilst the mages remain here to prepare for their demonstrations afterward. If you could all move as quickly as possible, please, our marvelous mages would deeply appreciate your assistance. Thank you!”
She finished with a confident nod and a discreet silencing gesture in Lord Cosgrave’s direction. His own nod, a moment later, confirmed that the spell had been safely removed. “Thank you,” she told him in her own normal tones, and spun on her heel as a genteel queue formed for the marked exit point on the tiled floor.
This time, she didn’t have nearly as far to go. Miranda Harwood was already aiming for her through the shifting crowds, a pleasant, social smile pinned to her lips.
“What in the world is going on?” Miranda murmured under her breath as they met, squeezing closely together to make space for the stream of chattering guests. “An evening stroll by the lake for all of them, together? We haven’t even set fey lights about the perimeter, much less—”
“I needed an excuse,” Amy murmured back even more softly. “It’s a matter of magical safety, and we need the mages to fix it before we can allow anyone back inside the ballroom.”
“Oh?” Miranda looked past Amy to Llewellyn, who’d followed her. “Lord Llewellyn, can you explain the particular magic that’s involved?”
“Don’t ask me, Mrs. Harwood.” His smile was decidedly strained. “Miss Standish hasn’t chosen to share those details with me, either. Apparently, my expertise was not desired.”
Ouch. Amy stifled a wince. “There wasn’t time for explanations, I’m afraid. I’ve been notified of an urgent magical crisis, and—”
“From whom?” Llewellyn frowned. “The only people you’ve talked to since our dance were Harwood and his sister, and neither of them...”
Amy could see the exact moment when Miranda realized the answer to that question. It was the first time she’d ever seen her mentor pale.
The sudden look of horrified vulnerability on Miranda’s face felt unbearable—and the fact that she had caused it, even more s
o. But Amy kept her gaze fixed steadily upon her mentor as she said quietly, “It doesn’t matter exactly how I found it out. The point is, the spell that keeps this ballroom safe is on the verge of shattering for good. If we don’t find a way to fix it quickly—”
“Is this whole fuss about old Westgate’s cawing?” Llewellyn gave a dismissive snort of laughter. “Mrs. Harwood, as I told Miss Standish earlier—”
“It was explained to me—persuasively—by someone whose magical opinion I trust.” Amy kept her voice low and gentle and very clear as she watched the different emotions flash across Miranda’s face. “The only step we can take at this point is to evacuate the non-mages as swiftly as possible. Mr. Westgate has already been informed, and I’m sure he’ll direct the other officers of magic who are in attendance tonight.”
“Without the original spell to hand?” Llewellyn shook his head impatiently. “No, no. Even if you were right, that would be impossible. You may be an expert in standing around talking people into trade agreements and suchlike, Miss Standish”—his upper lip curled in undisguised disdain—“but when it comes to the manly issues in life, you may trust my assurance that no one in this ballroom could possibly bolster the original spell without knowing exactly what it said in the first place. So unless you happen to be keeping it here...?”
Miranda moistened her lips, her voice hoarse. “My husband’s spellwork is all safely locked within his study, which cannot be entered by magic. Neither can the corridor around it. It would take twenty minutes, at the very least, to retrieve it—and of course, they’d also have to look through all of his collected spells to find the right one. If—”
Creeeeeeaaaaak!
Every muscle in Amy’s body twinged with unmistakable recognition. She certainly hadn’t imagined that sound coming from the rounded walls. As she looked at the social stream of guests making their unhurried ways to the exit point before they left, vanishing only two at a time with well over a hundred still left in the queue, a sick sense of certainty coiled into place within her.
“We don’t have that much time.” I’m sorry, she added silently to the woman who’d meant more to her than any other authority figure in her life. I would never betray you intentionally. “There is,” she said, “one person who knows that spell intimately. So she’ll have to be your reference for tonight’s work.”
Miranda’s eyes shut. She didn’t faint; she didn’t even stagger. She was one of the strongest women in all Angland, and even the ruin of her only daughter’s reputation and the legacy that she had worked all her life to pass forward couldn’t overwhelm her now.
But when she opened her eyes again, there was a lost look in them that Amy had never seen before, even as her lips stretched into an unconvincing smile. “Well,” she said briskly, “we’d best get to work, then. Shall we?”
Mr. Westgate was already making his way through the crowds towards them, surrounded by three other mages Amy recognized...and by Cassandra, who held herself with rigid control as she followed them, as if she were suppressing herself with difficulty. “Mrs. Harwood.” Westgate’s nod was perfunctory, but it didn’t appear to be an insult; he had the look of a man deeply involved in a challenging puzzle. “If you would kindly vacate the ballroom for your own safety—”
“I beg your pardon?” Miranda gave a laugh so harsh, it made the closest guest glance around with wide eyes. “Mr. Westgate, you’re here because my husband’s wedding gift to me is failing, and...” Her smile twisted as she looked around the growing group of mages that now surrounded them, drawn from all across the room. “My daughter,” she said with bitter clarity, “has just exposed a truth that was never meant to be known outside our family. Do you really expect me to leave now as if none of this were my business?”
Westgate’s eyebrows rose at her words; then he shrugged. “We’ll speak frankly, then. In order to fix this spell, we’d have to trust that both your daughter’s recollection and her interpretations of it are correct—and as both of those points are exceedingly unlikely...”
Cassandra’s face reddened—but it was Amy who stepped forward until she stood toe-to-toe with the Boudiccate’s foremost officer of magic. “Mr. Westgate,” she said coolly, “you may trust me when I tell you that I have the utmost faith in Miss Harwood’s capability, and so should you. Would you doubt the strength or perspicacity of any other Harwood mage?”
Next to her, Lord Llewellyn’s mouth was opening and closing distractingly, like a landed fish struggling to breathe. “She—what—mage—? What?!”
Westgate’s eyes narrowed. “Miss Standish,” he began, in the resolute tone of a man about to take control of a rather nasty situation.
Amy sailed across his words with ease. “Her magical lineage is every bit as impressive as her political lineage, as you know perfectly well. It may be a trifle out of the ordinary that her family’s magical inheritance has chosen to express itself through a lady for the first time in this generation, rather than choosing her brother...”
“A trifle?!” Llewellyn’s tone was strangled.
“But as you are all aware,” Amy continued firmly, “we have no time for fussing over propriety at this moment. I understand that gentlemen are the more emotional sex, but I have utter faith that you will all rise above the frailties of your natures to show the world exactly how impressive your magecraft is tonight.”
Creeeeeakkkkk!
“...Preferably,” Amy finished, “before the roof falls in on all of us. If we could possibly save the gentlemanly swoons for afterwards?”
“Gladly.” Westgate’s tone was grim, but Amy didn’t miss the grudging amusement in his eyes. There. She’d known she liked him, after all.
Sighing heavily, he turned to face the other mages, whose faces were a picture of mingled outrage and confusion. “Gentlemen, we’ll have to split our forces in two. Cosgrave, why don’t you lead a force of six in removing the rest of the guests safely from this ballroom? We can’t afford to wait for them to leave on their own. As for the rest of us...” His jaw set, but he showed the inner strength that she’d glimpsed earlier as he visibly forced himself to turn to Cassandra. “Why don’t you guide us through that spell, Miss Harwood?”
Perfect. Amy stepped back, gracefully making way for the mages to all gather around the younger girl’s small figure.
Anyone else of her age, in such a situation, might have quailed or frozen at their hostile looks; but Cassandra was a Harwood through and through, and she’d been raised by a mother who faced down powerful opponents every day. Pride rose in Amy’s chest as she watched Cassandra meet each questioner’s skeptical gaze and heard the clarity of the girl’s recitation.
It was all gibberish to Amy’s ears, of course, but the confidence and authority of Cassandra’s tone shone through the unfamiliar terminology; and when an older mage broke in with a sneering remark, Cassandra’s quick retort made two of the younger mages laugh appreciatively.
Amy didn’t need to look around to sense the intensity of Miranda’s gaze upon her daughter. “She is remarkable,” Amy said softly. “Schooling that entire group of grown mages without a qualm...”
“She could have ruled the Boudiccate.” Miranda’s voice was thick with emotion. “She should have ruled the Boudiccate. But after tonight...”
“Oh, Miranda.” Amy couldn’t help turning around at the anguish in her mentor’s voice. Perhaps...
No. This was one crisis that she couldn’t fix. No matter how hard she tried, even Miranda herself could never convince the full mass of assembled mages in this ballroom to forget the insult of her daughter’s trespass into their territory. There was absolutely no chance of Cassandra Harwood ever entering politics after tonight.
But then again...
Amy stilled as a new idea flowered within her—an idea that would never have occurred to her before she’d met the Harwood family and begun to glimpse shocking and world-changing possibilities outside the security of tradition.
Earlier this evening, when t
he concept had first occurred to her, she’d named it impossible to herself. After all, no one had ever done it before in all of Anglish history. And yet, as she looked now across the tiled floor at the mosaic of Boudicca herself, past the group of mages listening with grudging respect to Cassandra’s words, she could almost imagine that ferocious mother to their nation giving her a knowing wink.
Had Boudicca ever let tradition stop her?
How the Romans must have laughed, all those centuries ago, at the very idea of a woman—a mere widow to an insignificant king—rising up to overthrow their imperial rule and send them fleeing from the island in humiliation. That, too, must have been inconceivable to them. But once Boudicca had found a partner to her political and martial prowess in the magic of her second husband...
They had set a mold for the ages with their epic partnership. But they had broken earlier rules to do it—and they broke even more when they started their radical new nation in the wake of the Romans’ expulsion.
Amy had always yearned for a family and a place of her own; she’d always believed that following the accepted rules was the only reliable way she could ever possibly achieve it.
But she’d always sworn that once she did find a family of her own, she would do anything it took to protect them. What if—despite every expectation—she had already found that family after all? If those stuffy old unquestioned rules were all that was stopping her from taking her rightful place within it...
Well. What could any politician want more than to change her nation for the better? She’d already known that this would be the most important evening of her life to date. She only hadn’t known why, until this moment.
“Miranda,” Amy said firmly to her mentor, “you’re wrong about Cassandra. She would have been a terrible politician.”
Shock flashed across the older woman’s face. “I beg your pardon?”
“When has she ever enjoyed compromise or negotiation?” Amy demanded. “And just listen to her now.” She tilted her head toward the stream of information spinning from the girl’s mouth. “When has she ever absorbed that level of detail—or even made the slightest attempt!—in any of the subjects you’ve forced down her across the years?”