“I meant to ask,” she said, as they started to walk. “How did you keep your powers secret from your father?”
Bruce made no pretence of being surprised by the question. “My uncle was the only one who knew,” he said. Gwen guessed that something unfortunate had happened, just as had happened to her. “And he warned me to keep them secret until I knew what I wanted to do with them. Father never knew.”
He gave her a sidelong look. “But he’s going to know now, isn't he?”
“It depends on you,” Gwen said. “Time is really not on your side.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
They fell into a companionable silence as they made their slow way towards Amherst, something which suited Gwen more than she cared to admit. Her world had turned upside down, no matter how much she might have wanted to deny it. She’d been wrong about Bruce, wrong - perhaps - about the Sons ... and she’d surrendered her maidenhead. She couldn't help feeling strangely uncertain about the whole affair. If her mother had found out ...
She cursed silently, wondering what was normal. Her mother had told her nothing of what passed between husband and wife, while the handful of books she’d managed to obtain on the subject had been demonstratively inaccurate when it came to female bodies. Lucy had been a little more explicit - it had been her who’d demonstrated the link between periods and the reproductive cycle - but even she hadn't gone into too much detail. Some of the younger girls had spoken of feeling attraction, even desire, towards men. Raechel had gone further, perhaps further than Gwen ...
I should ask her, Gwen thought. It wouldn't be easy, not after she’d told Raechel off for risking everything for a wild thrill, but she didn’t know who else she could ask. Irene? She might know what happened.
She glanced at Bruce, feeling an odd string of emotions. She'd kissed Jack and Sir Charles, but neither of them had made her feel so ... strange. Her emotions were a strange mixture of delight, relief, contentment and alarm, rapidly shading to panic. She’d fought beside Jack and Master Thomas, but she’d never felt so ... so lustful afterwards. She felt a hot flash of shame as she realised just what she’d done, combined with a strange sense of freedom. The conventions of polite society no longer bothered her as much as they had.
Did our shared magic draw us together, she asked herself, or were we attracted to each other right from the start?
There was no way to know. It was rare for magicians to marry other magicians - but then, before Gwen there had only been a handful of registered female magicians. Were Blazers attracted to other Blazers? Movers to other Movers? Irene had admitted, once, that Talkers were often drawn to other Talkers, although their relationships rarely lasted. There was something about being so open with one’s partner which made maintaining the relationship impossible. Gwen looked at Bruce, wondering what he was thinking. Could their ... whatever it was ... survive if he knew everything about her?
“I should have brought a horse,” Bruce said, as the skies darkened. “It’s going to rain.”
Gwen looked at him. “You flew, I assume?”
Bruce nodded, wordlessly.
“You’re good,” Gwen admitted. “Who taught you?”
“There were a pair of magicians, a Blazer and a Mover, who fled the uprising in London,” Bruce said. It took Gwen a moment to realise he meant the Unrest, Jack’s first attempt at rebellion, rather than the Swing. “They made their way to the colonies, where they joined the Sons.”
Gwen nodded, slowly. “What about the other talents?”
“I’m much less good with them,” Bruce said. “Jane tried to teach me how to monitor emotions and thoughts, but I could never master it.”
“It isn't easy,” Gwen said. “Healing?”
Bruce shook his head. Gwen felt an odd flicker of relief. It had taken her nearly a year to make any progress with Healing, even with Lucy as a guide. She wasn't surprised that Bruce had managed to master Moving and Blazing, but having him outdo her with the other talents would have been ... irritating. Jack had been better than her, of course, yet he’d had at least a decade of training before he betrayed Master Thomas. And Master Thomas hadn't known that there were Healers ...
The skies opened. Rain plunged from the heavens. Gwen drew on her magic to shield herself, then kept walking. She wasn't sure quite how far they were from Amherst, but she knew there was no point in wishing for a horse. Flying herself could be dangerous in the rain, she’d learned through bitter experience. Bruce didn't seem bothered by the rain, even when it soaked his clothes clean through. Gwen wasn't sure if he was showing off or merely unconcerned. He’d have to change, probably in a hiding place within the city, before he slipped back to City Hall.
Bruce caught her arm as they finally reached the road. “Amherst is just down there,” he said, softly. “I need to sneak in a different way.”
Gwen nodded. It would be difficult to explain Bruce’s presence, if they ran into a mounted patrol. “I’ll see you tonight,” she said, instead. “Are you going to talk to the Sons?”
“Yeah,” Bruce said. “But I don't know what they’ll say.”
Gwen hesitated, unsure what she wanted to say. Raechel probably knew precisely what to say to a man, after making love to him. But there had been no time to think and plan ...
“We need to talk, later,” she said. She was going to be dreadfully embarrassed talking to him, after everything they’d done, but there was no choice. “I don’t ...”
Her voice trailed off. Bruce had her over a barrel and knew it. The merest hint that she’d slept with him would destroy her career, if it reached Britain. Her cheeks stung with sudden embarrassment. No one gave a damn about male sorcerers who slept with whores outside wedlock, but her? Her position would become untenable.
“We will,” Bruce promised. He met her eyes. “Whatever happens, Lady Gwen, what we did back there” - he waved a hand back in the direction they’d come - “will not pass my lips.”
He gave her a brief kiss, then turned and hurried into the distance. Gwen watched him go, feeling oddly unsure of herself. She believed Bruce meant every word, but ... what they’d done might have had consequences. Gritting her teeth, she looked down at her muddy clothes and started to walk. There would be time to think about the scale of the disaster later, if all hell broke loose. Right now, she had to get back to the city.
The rainfall came to an end as she crested the ridge and walked down towards the outer edge of the defences, careful to keep her hands in view. Colonel Jackson had mounted snipers along the walls, men who’d been hunters in civilian life. The defences themselves were constantly expanding, growing larger and larger as the workers added more and more refinements. Gwen hoped - prayed - that the French didn't have too many magicians with their army. If they had to take Amherst by storm, it would cost them dearly.
“Lady Gwen,” the guard said. He stared at her in astonishment. “What happened?”
Gwen bit down on a sarcastic answer. “I need to go to City Hall,” she said, instead. She needed to wash and change before she met Colonel Jackson, if only to keep from trailing mud throughout his office. “Send a runner; inform the Colonel that the remainder of the party is dead and I will report to him, after I’ve had a bath.”
The guard nodded. Gwen walked past him and whistled to a coachman, who jumped down and helped her into the carriage. She took a moment to centre herself as the coach rattled to life, the driver cracking the whip enthusiastically. How did Bruce intend to enter the city and sneak back into City Hall? His servants must be Sons themselves, ready to cover for him if necessary. Gwen couldn't help a flicker of admiration, mixed with concern. If the Viceroy had missed his son’s true nature, what else had he missed?
She jumped out of the carriage at City Hall and hurried up the rear steps to her suite. She’d wanted to stay near the other sorcerers, but Jackson had insisted on her taking the quarters that had belonged to the former mayor’s daughter. For once, Gwen was almost relieved as
she hurried through the door, the serving maid staring at her in absolute disbelief. She had to look a mess.
“Pour cold water into the bathtub, then leave me,” Gwen ordered curtly. Maids were supposed to be discreet, but she hadn't hired this maid. If there was one thing she’d learned from her adventure in Russia, it was that maids - and other servants - talked. “If the colonel sends a messenger, inform him that I will be along shortly.”
The maid nodded and hurried to obey. Gwen removed her shoes - they’d have to be cleaned, along with the rest of her outfit - and then glanced in the mirror. She looked worse than she’d dared imagine, her trousers and shirt torn and ruined. The maid would probably need to throw them out, rather than try to repair them. She stepped into the bathroom and dismissed the maid, who looked surprised at Gwen’s choice of water. But it was quicker for her to heat the water using magic than wait for the maid to carry buckets of warm water from the kitchen.
She undressed as soon as the maid had gone, closing the door firmly behind her, then studied her naked body in the mirror. There were marks everywhere, bruises from the brief confrontation mingling with red marks where Bruce had held her. Her lips looked swollen, although the swelling was clearly going down. She made a mental note to use an illusion to hide the swelling, then heated the water and climbed into the bath. After the long walk back to the city, the warm water felt like heaven.
A chill ran down her spine as she considered the possible consequences. What if Bruce had gotten her pregnant? It was possible ... and she might not know for months. Her periods had always been irregular, something she’d assumed was connected to her magic. It would take several months for her to be sure they’d stopped completely, by which time the baby would be well on the way to being born. What was she meant to do then? Her mother had aborted a child, once. All of a sudden, Gwen understood how her mother had felt perfectly.
Lucy could abort the child, she thought, but ...
She stared down at her flat chest, cursing herself for a fool. Ending an unborn child’s life was a sin, in and of itself. She'd sinned, but that didn't give her the right to commit another sin just to cover the first one up. And who knew what the child of two such powerful magicians would be like? It was her duty to find new magicians. She couldn't abort the child without breaking her oath.
I might have to marry him, she thought. She flushed. Part of her body liked that idea, liked it very much. But she didn't know him that well; hell, his father didn't know him that well. It was possible, she supposed, that she could find another prospective husband, but that would be awkward. There would be no way to hide the suspicious timing. By the time I know I’m pregnant, it will be too late to pretend it happened on the wedding night.
Gwen climbed out of the bath and stumbled into the bedroom. She looked at the bed wistfully, then hastily dressed and hurried back down the stairs to Jackson’s office. He was standing in front of the map, looking grim. Someone - one of the scouts, Gwen assumed - had updated the map, warning of French troops approaching the city. It wouldn't be long before they were in a position to storm the defences.
“Lady Gwen,” Jackson said. He turned to face her, his face pale. “What happened?”
“The French laid a trap for me,” Gwen said. She sat down, rather quickly. “Their raiding party was completely composed of magicians. The others were killed ... and I was only saved by the rogue.”
Jackson stared. “The rogue saved you?”
Gwen nodded. She hated to admit that she’d needed help - it was always seen as a sign of feminine weakness, as if men didn't need help themselves - but there was no choice.
“We spoke afterwards,” she said. There was no way she could tell Jackson everything they’d done. “He ... he has been having doubts about the French.”
“Smart man,” Jackson said. “Who is he?”
“I don’t know,” Gwen lied. “He said he would talk to the other Sons and then get back to us.”
“He may have to move quickly,” Jackson said. He nodded to the map. “The French will be on us in two days, perhaps sooner.”
“They may have hoped to catch me first,” Gwen said. She would have been surprised if there wasn't a spy or two in Amherst. “They came very close to killing me outright.”
“That may mean they don’t have any other magicians with them,” Jackson mused.
Gwen shrugged. It was tempting to believe he was right, but she knew better than to take it for granted. Certainly, if she had to kill a Master Magician, she would have used overwhelming numbers ... if she’d had them. But the French might think differently. Their team had worked together to catch Gwen, then almost won. They would have won if Bruce hadn't shown up.
And he never told me why he was out there, she thought. In hindsight, it was the one question she should have asked. Was he shadowing us from the start?
“I need to borrow your Talker,” she said, instead. “And then I really need to rest.”
“He’s in the next room,” Jackson said. He nodded towards the door. “Good luck.”
“Stop the search for the Sons,” Gwen said, rising. “Right now, we might as well try to make a gesture of good will.”
She tested her mental shields carefully before stepping into the next room, even though a Communications Talker was unlikely to be able to read her mind. The young man sitting at a chair, his eyes unfocused, would have had a better job if he’d been a mind-reader, but there was no point in taking chances. Blackmail was a very real threat to a young woman in her position. She remembered Augustus Howell all too well.
“Lady Gwen,” the Talker said. He sounded vague, as if half his mind was permanently occupied with some greater matter. There was no sense that he was trying to invade her thoughts. “Who would you like to contact?”
“Viceroy Rochester,” Gwen said, sitting down. “Tell his Talker that it’s urgent - and secret.”
She forced herself to wait as the Talker began to mumble to himself. It might take some time before Rochester and his Talker were together, in private. He might be holding another ball, hoping to convince New York that matters were under control, or he might be coping with yet another crisis. Irene would be there to help him, at least, Gwen thought. And Raechel ...
She won’t come to any harm, she thought. As embarrassing as the whole affair was, Raechel shouldn't be harmed. It would definitely serve as a learning experience for her, unless it turned nasty. Bruce said she’d be safe ...
The Talker cleared his throat. “This is Rochester,” he said. “What can I do for you?”
“I was able to talk to one of the Sons,” Gwen said. She outlined the official version of what had happened, careful to leave Bruce’s name out of it. He could explain his double life to his father. “It’s time to put the parliamentary contingency plan into effect.”
There was a long pause. “There will be opposition in the House of Lords,” Rochester said, finally. The Talker captured his inflections perfectly. “Not everyone will go along with it.”
“The Sons are far better organised than we dared fear,” Gwen said. She took a breath, then pressed on. “We have to compromise now or risk losing everything. The French will not hesitate to take advantage of a prolonged period of civil war in the colonies.”
She sighed. “And there are other problems we need to solve,” she added. “The industrial restrictions only make it harder for us to supply the colonies, when the colonies are cut off from the motherland. We might need to expand our industrial base.”
“I understand,” Rochester said. “I’ll consult with London, then make a formal announcement.”
And hope to hell no one tries to walk the promise back later, Gwen thought. Lord Mycroft and the Duke of India understood the value of keeping one’s promises - and being seen to keep one’s promises - but Lord Liverpool was a reactionary. The Sons will not tolerate us betraying them ... and if the war is won, they won’t have to worry about the French.
“Than
k you, Your Excellency,” Gwen said. Word would get out quickly in New York, regardless of what Bruce said. The handful of aristocrats she’d met would have a chance to adjust before their world turned upside down. “If you don’t mind, I’ll speak to you later. I desperately need to sleep.”
“I understand,” Rochester said. “Goodnight, Lady Gwen.”
The Talker closed his eyes for a long moment, breaking the connection. Gwen nodded her thanks, then hurried back up the stairs to her room. She heard Bruce’s voice, echoing down from his suite, but resisted the urge to go to him and ask just what had happened. Had anyone realised he’d left City Hall? She certainly hadn’t paid much attention to his comings and goings ...
I’ll need to spend more time with him, whatever happens, she told herself. Another Master Magician ... she needed him on her side. And who knows? Maybe the horse will learn to sing.
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