“They’ve hired the smartest girl in Port Saint Frey,” Tesara pointed out. “That makes them forward-thinking at least.”
She could see the conflict in her mother’s expression. Since Tesara’s observation had combined a compliment to her elder daughter with a compliment to another merchant family, it was clear Alinesse was struggling with herself in how to discount it. Fortunately for her, Samwell weighed in.
“TreMondi’s full of himself,” he said. “Word is down on the docks that the man is insufferable to his business associates. Always trying to put one over, he is. Our Vivi better watch out after all. Mark my words, the children will be like him and be insufferable and proud as well.”
“I am sure she’ll not like it,” Brevart said. “She must not continue, that’s all there is to it. I’ll tell her so when she comes home at luncheon.”
Tesara was about to tell him that Yvienne would not be home until dinner at least, when the thunk of letters hitting the floor caught all their attention.
“Goodness, more letters,” Alinesse said. Her tone turned arch. “More invitations for you, Tesara?”
Her little joke fell flat when Mathilde handed three thick cream envelopes with elegant engraving to Tesara.
“Ah. Thank you, Mathilde,” Tesara said. The Iderci invitation was no fluke, then. Her status as gossip-fodder had been confirmed.
“Of course, miss. Madam, would you like to approve the menu for today?”
A few guilders from Tesara’s winnings had gone into the household till, under the fiction that Yvienne had received a sign-on gift from the TreMondis. The little white lie had mollified Alinesse somewhat, and it had allowed the ill-gotten funds to be disbursed in small one- and two-guilder donations to the family earnings. As part of their new-found wealth, Mathilde was to start making three meals a day, serving two of them and leaving a dinner for the family to eat after she went home.
“Yes, Mathilde. I’ll join you in the kitchen momentarily,” Alinesse said, but from her thunderous expression Mathilde’s diversion was for naught. Mathilde curtseyed and left the family alone. Alinesse looked Tesara in the eye. She reached out her hand. Tesara kept from rolling her eyes, just barely, and glanced down at each letter before handing them over. One she kept back: It was smaller, simpler, and had the initials on the back: M.D.
“And what is that one?”
“It’s a personal letter, Mama. From a friend.”
“Nonsense. Give it here.”
Tesara’s blood began to boil. “Mama, you are being entirely unreasonable. The letter is from a friend. It’s not an invitation.”
“Who is this so-called friend? And when have you had time to make a friend?” Alinesse snapped. Her mother’s face grew red, except for two white spots around her elegant nose. Tesara barely noticed as her father and uncle scraped back their chairs and fled.
“This so-called friend is Mirandine Depressis,” Tesara said, keeping her voice low to control it. “It doesn’t matter how we met. And it doesn’t matter that you don’t think I should have any friends. She is a friend, she wrote me a letter, and you are being hateful and foolish!”
“Hateful and foolish,” her mother repeated, her voice shaking much as Tesara’s was. “You stupid child! Don’t you know there is no one in this town who is our friend?! Whoever this woman is, she is using you!”
“I don’t know why that makes you angry, Mama – that I have a friend…” Tesara paused to control her voice and her emotions. “That’s it, isn’t it? You don’t think I’m deserving of a friend.” She got to her feet, clutching the letter in her fist as best she could, and left her mother alone in the dining room.
After a long, angry cry in the comfort of her bedroom, muffling her tears in her flat, tired pillow, Tesara finally sat up and wiped her swollen tears. Why must Mama be so hateful? she thought, but her anger had lost all of its energy and passion. She knew Alinesse was dreadfully hurt by their circumstances. It was more difficult to understand why she must take out her feelings on her daughter. Her lesser daughter, Tesara thought, blowing her nose on a handkerchief.
She knows.
No – she discounted that immediately. Alinesse could not possibly know about Tesara’s abilities. In her own way her mother was like her brother – if Alinesse suspected Tesara had anything like a talent, and that she was the one who sank the fleet, she would immediately say something. She just doesn’t like me, Tesara thought, and half-laughed and half-cried.
She unfolded the now wrinkled and dingy letter from Mirandine, and had to smile through her tears at her friend’s cheerful demeanor.
My dearest Tesara,
We had such fun, didn’t we? I confess I can’t wait to see you again. Come to the Mile, to Miss Canterby’s. We’ll pretend to be proper misses but we will add brandy to our tea and eat all the chocolates. Today at two of the clock. See you then!
–M
PS I’ll make Jone come and he’ll pay for all our fun.
PPS Oh, never mind. Tell you later.
Two o’clock. She would gladly leave the house for the afternoon and get out from under its dreadful shadow and all within it. And she had money to pay for it, the most delicious thing of all. There came a rapping at the door, and for one moment her heart leapt – it would be her mother, come to apologize, and they would talk, and Alinesse would soften…
“Come in?” she called, her voice wobbly. She got up off the bed.
Mathilde poked her head in. She had several burnt pieces of paper in her hand and she offered them to Tesara. She made no mention of Tesara’s tear-streaked face.
“She threw them in the stove,” the maid said matter-of-factly. “But the fire was banked, and I was able to rescue them. You can still see who they’re from.”
It was unspeakably kind, both the act and the maid’s calm demeanor. “Thank you,” Tesara said. Without another word, Mathilde left her in peace.
The invitations were from the Scarlantis and the Edmorencys, that much was still legible. They were both for salons in the weeks preceding the Iderci fete on Saint Gerare’s Day. Invitations must be like suitors, Tesara thought – once one received one proposal, the others came round. She knew exactly what her position would be at these salons. She would be an object of gossip, subjected to false pity, oohed and aahed over, and mined for information about her mother and father. That much her mother had right – these were false friendships. It made her plan to fleece the merchant ladies of their pin money all the more satisfying.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Jone and Mirandine were waiting for her at Miss Canterby’s at a small table near the windows and waved to her when she entered. Mirandine was wearing a wine-red short-waisted jacket over a dark blue walking dress. It had a military splendor to it, emphasized by a shako bonnet with a fringe. Her lip color matched the jacket. Tesara immediately felt dowdy in her blue day-dress, the old pelisse, and worn out bonnet. She staunchly thrust down her pangs and wended between the tables.
“Good. You’re here. Let the plotting begin,” Mirandine said. Jone pulled over another chair and held it out for her, and then they crowded around the table, heads together. Jone briefly squeezed her gloved hand under the table and Tesara felt a rush of warmth.
“What are we plotting?” she asked.
“Your magnificent debut in Port Saint Frey society,” Mirandine said, with an arch glance at her. “Here.” She handed a shining green silk fabric to Tesara. Tesara unfolded it – it was a stunning mask. The eyeholes were embroidered with silver thread, and glittering beads were scattered artfully across the silk. Four ribbons trailed from the mask. Tesara held it up to her face. She looked at Mirandine, who appeared even more sharply in focus than before, a perspective forced by the narrowing of her vision.
“You see, Tesara, Jone and I have decided that you must have a come out. No ordinary debutante ball for you, my dear. No. You are going to make your entrance onto the Port Saint Frey stage and show them all. Your name will be on everyone’s l
ips. La Mederos, they will call you.”
Oh God, Tesara thought. She could imagine what her parents would have to say to that. “Go on,” she said. She lowered the mask. Mirandine took out a small silver flask, unstoppered it, and poured a dark amber liquid into the teapot. As if she were a dowager and serving a cream tea, she poured ceremoniously for everyone at the table.
“The Fleurenze family are having a masquerade tonight. They meant it to be most exclusive, but as they’re the Fleurenzes, and I know the eldest boy, Ermunde, I got tickets. And really, it’s going to be a riot. The Fleurenzes pretend to exclusivity, but they all agree the more the merrier. I am sure they will count it a great success that we’re crashing the party – with you in tow, no less.”
“I am only going under duress – to keep an eye on both of you,” Jone said.
“Nonsense. Ermie expressly said to bring that slender fellow with the gray eyes.”
“My eyes are brown,” Jone said, his voice excessively dry.
“Are they? How extraordinary. I’ll make sure to roast Ermie about that.”
Tesara tried to surreptitiously determine the color of Jone’s eyes without actually looking straight at him, and gave up once she realized it was impossible. “I think it will be great fun,” she said.
“Oh darling girl, it will be better than fun. Everyone will be talking about the mysterious girl in the green mask. You can unleash your special talents upon the world–”
Tesara’s eyes widened before she could help herself.
“And all the men will fall in love with you – and the women too,” Mirandine finished, apparently without noticing.
“Thank you, Mirandine, but I hardly think I’ll take the world or the Fleurenze masquerade by storm.”
“‘You wear your modesty well, darling, but it becomes you not.’”
The line from Shelter Me, Fair Maiden, a scandalous play by a Milias playwright called Oswette, caught Tesara by surprise. She snorted a laugh. Mirandine looked pleased with herself. She raised her teacup in a toast.
“To La Mederos,” she intoned. Patrons at other tables turned to look at them, and Tesara steeled herself to keep from blushing. Jone raised his cup too, with an expression she couldn’t quite interpret – concern? When had Jone become concerned about her? Determinedly, she raised her own cup.
“To the Fleurenzes,” she said, pitching her voice low, and adding her own scandalous quote, “‘For they totter to and fro, knowing not come they or go.’”
Mirandine laughed loud, gathering even more attention. They drank. The laced tea went down harsh and then smoothed out. Tesara coughed and her eyes watered. Mirandine laughed at her, but Tesara noted that her eyes watered too. Not so fast a girl as she wanted the world to believe, Tesara thought. She felt a pinprick of meanness, and forced it down. Mirandine was a friend, and she only had Tesara’s interests at heart.
She began to feel a bit warm and loose. She took another sip. The tea still tasted awful, so she added another lump of sugar, stirred and tried again. Now the brandy went down a bit more subtly. She didn’t cough. The waiter came round with a display of tea cakes and chocolates, and Mirandine pounced, selecting one of each for the table. The aroma of the chocolates, dark and luscious and subtly flavored with lavender and orange, took Tesara by surprise. In an instant she was plunged into a memory so powerful she was momentarily disoriented.
Tesara was in the infirmary at school, her broken hand throbbing in agony. Madam Callier had come to inspect her handiwork, looming over Tesara with the nurse hovering in the background. The headmistress said nothing to her victim, only observing Tesara’s bandaged hand with keen, cruel eyes. With relish, the formidable woman popped a chocolate into her mouth and chewed with great satisfaction, the aroma of chocolate mingling with the smells of the sickroom – vomit, antiseptic, urine. Chocolate dripped out of the corner of Madam’s mouth and she caught it with her finger and then turned away.
To Tesara’s great shame, she had fixated on that thin line of chocolate, and her mouth watered.
“Tesara?” Jone said. He sounded worried.
“Excuse me,” Tesara fumbled. “I need some air.” She got up, almost knocking her chair over in the tight space, and hurried out to the front of the store, trying to keep her gorge from rising. She stood in front of the teashop on the busy Mile, hands over her face, breathing hard, and trying to quell the nausea. Slowly, she regained control and to her embarrassment, noticed the passersby who looked at her curiously and then looked away.
La Mederos indeed, she thought bitterly. She should go home. She should forget about the Fleurenzes, the Scarlantis and the Edmorencys, and the Saint Freys and the Depressises. She should forget about getting revenge on the merchants. At her heart, she was twelve years old, with broken fingers, and she had destroyed her family, and would never get her powers back.
The teashop door opened behind her. Jone came out with her bonnet and her pelisse. He looked around and spotted her, and came over, handing them to her. She took them, looking down so he couldn’t see tears in her eyes. He led her away from the door, and they walked along the street a bit. It was brisk and cold so high above the harbor, and the sun played hide and seek with the scudding clouds.
It was nice to just walk with Jone, she thought. He was comforting. Safe. A friend.
“I’m such a fool,” she managed, sniffing back the tears.
“I don’t think you’re a fool,” he said. “I think Mirandine is oppressively eager to expose herself as daring, and it gets too much.”
Tesara smiled, wan. “It wasn’t Mirandine or the brandy,” she said. “It was just a memory from school. Nothing important.”
He stopped her, his eyes serious. “Is school where–” He broke off. His eyes flicked down to her hands. She nodded. Shrugged. When Jone spoke again, his voice was low. “I would like to thrash the person who did that to you.”
It was what she feared the most. Pity. “I must go,” she said. She swung her pelisse around her shoulders, and carefully tied the strings. “Tell Mirandine thank you, and I’ll see you tonight.”
“I’ll walk you home,” he said.
“No!” She held up a hand, her good hand, and shook her head when he would protest.
She turned on her heel and walked away, head high.
Tesara barely noticed her surroundings or the crowds as she walked home in the late afternoon. She let herself into the kitchen. The house was silent. Her mother and father had gone out, and Uncle was no doubt on the docks. Mathilde had finished her chores and gone home. Dinner waited on the kitchen table, covered with a cloth until the family was ready to sup.
Tesara went upstairs and stopped short at the door of her bedroom.
The rose-pink gown had been cleaned and pressed, blotted and ironed, and was laid out on her bed. A small note lay on top of it.
You have the invitations. Now you have something to wear.
MA
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Yvienne was thoroughly exhausted when she opened the front door of the house on Kerwater. It was past six and she was ravenous. It had been a long day. After a morning of lessons, a short luncheon, and a walk for exercise along the Crescent, Yvienne had a headache brought on by anxiety, hunger, and thirst. She had not dared to allow herself more than a small bite of the noon meal and had nothing to drink lest she have to run to the water closet too often. The last hour of her day had been the most wearisome. The girls had continued through the afternoon, reading their history and then studying Vranz. She had set them to practicing an amusing little Vranz song, about a clock, and a flower, and a pretty maid, and her swain. The song was a quick way to practice all of the declensions and tense changes, and Maje quickly learned to play the melody on the piano.
The whole household was upturned when Dubre came home from his first day at the Academy, a whirlwind of energy and mischief. Then Mr and Mrs TreMondi came home and Yvienne presented the day’s account to them. The account finished with the girls si
nging the Vranz song, and the parents said it was a lovely diversion. Yvienne had a blinding headache by that point, and she had to curtsey and accept thanks as well as admonitions to not be too easy on the girls, they wanted a true education, and by the time she had made her escape out the servants’ entrance into the long shadows of the summer evening, she wanted nothing more than to go home, curl into bed, and sleep the day away. But even that was denied her.
“Yvienne!” her mother called, upon hearing the front door open. “Are you home?”
“Yes, Mama.”
“Good. Come into the parlor, dear, and tell us all about it.”
Yvienne closed her eyes and prayed for strength.
The inquisition over dinner was almost as in-depth as that of the TreMondis’. Her parents exclaimed over everything, with Alinesse taking umbrage at slights perceived and actual and Brevart telling her over and over again to give her notice. Uncle Samwell made his own interjections, mainly asking whether she had nosed about and found any indications of pending business deals. At intervals Tesara would make an observation, her parents would respond to her with impatience, and Yvienne would get a bite or two before it all started up again. She was relieved when the long dinner was over, Tesara volunteered to clean up, and she could escape to the bedroom.
She lay back on the bed and let out a long sigh, her eyes closed. Her head throbbed. She had not planned any mischief that night and was glad of it. She would have to wait until Tesara went out to one of her salons anyway. Tonight, she thought, Port Saint Frey was safe from the Mederos sisters.
The door opened and her sister came in. The mattress sagged as her sister sat down next to her. Tesara placed a cool wet cloth on Yvienne’s forehead. Yvienne smiled.
“Oof,” she said. “That feels heavenly.”
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