by Emma Newman
Morgan, no longer disturbed by her language, simply pulled the tray back to rest in place in front of his chest. The sound of her sister cooing at the entrance hall floated down the hallway. “Shall I inform them that you are not receiving visitors?”
“If you’d met my mother, Morgan, you’d know that would make no difference whatsoever. Show them in.”
When Morgan left Cathy realised she was still holding the horrible letter. She stuffed it into the top drawer and locked the desk with the Key Charm as the sound of her sister’s excited gabble grew steadily louder. She had time to stand and check her hair in the mirror—and get annoyed at herself because inevitably she’d still be a disappointment—before Morgan knocked again.
As he announced them Cathy smoothed her dress and tried her best to fix a smile on her face. Perhaps if she hid how much she didn’t want to see them, things would go more smoothly and they’d go away sooner.
Her mother swept into the room as if she owned it, dressed in a dark red dress with a dramatic black hat and gloves, and kissed her on the cheek. “Don’t pretend to look pleased to see us, that fake smile is too tedious for words. Apologies for the hour and unexpected visit. I would have written and arranged it, had I known we were coming.”
“Mother and Auntie Lavandula had the most appalling row last night,” Elizabeth said as she entered. She was wearing an emerald-green dress and looked as perfect and beautiful as ever. Cathy immediately felt the familiar sense of being ugly, plump, and ungainly next to her. “Catherine, you are positively wicked for not telling us how divine this house is. Why did you not invite us as soon as you moved here? I would have wanted to show it off to everybody.”
“I…had other things on my mind,” Cathy said, and endured another kiss on the cheek, this time from her sister.
A row? They’d always been thick as thieves. Cathy didn’t appreciate being reminded of her aunt, the Censor of Aquae Sulis, a ruthless, cruel-hearted woman. She’d never told her mother how the Censor had picked her up to take her out for tea, only to throw her out of the carriage into Mundanus to be picked up by an Arbiter. At least her uncle was better disposed towards her.
“The house is splendid, Catherine,” Mother said as she sat down. “Did you choose the decor?”
“Yes,” Cathy said after a slight pause, not wanting to admit that the only room she’d really chosen anything for was her library. The rest was mostly suggested by Will and the interior designer sent by the Agency, back when she still had dealings with them.
“Mmm.” Her mother didn’t need words to convey her disapproval.
“So…” Cathy moved towards one of the chairs around the fireplace, gesturing for them to join her there. “What brings you to Londinium?”
“Auntie Lavandula has been beastly,” Elizabeth said, cheeks flushed with excitement. “It’s all your fault, Catherine.”
“Oh, well there’s a surprise,” Cathy said. “It’s always my fault, isn’t it? Even when I live in another city.”
“It’s you who—”
Her mother cut off Elizabeth’s words with a glare. “I have brought Elizabeth here for the season.”
“It doesn’t start for another month!”
“I know it’s early. I want your dressmaker to make her new gowns in the latest Londinium fashion.”
Cathy felt like her mother was on a fast-moving carousel and was trying to pull her onto it too. She didn’t want any part of this fun-fair. “Can we go back a minute? Why are you bringing her to me?”
“Because I want you to secure a good match for her.”
Cathy half laughed, half choked. “Me? Isn’t Father supposed to sell her off to the highest bidder?”
“Catherine!” Elizabeth was genuinely affronted. “Oh, Mother, don’t leave me with her. She’s so horrid to me.”
Her mother looked tired and Cathy noticed how pale she was. “Elizabeth, go and take a turn about the gardens; I’ve heard they are beautiful.”
“But I don’t want to see the—”
“I want to speak to your sister in private.”
Bottom lip protruding, Elizabeth flounced out of the room in the most dramatic way she could get away with, narrowly avoiding a collision with Morgan, who was about to bring in tea and cake.
When the refreshments had been left and the door closed, her mother took off her hat, tossed it onto Elizabeth’s chair, and leaned back. “I barely slept last night. Elizabeth knows enough to feel like there’s some drama that makes her special, but not all of it.”
“She thinks she knows enough to blame me. Was that just her usual rubbish?”
“Partly. Catherine, you know that news of your exploits here has not been well received in Aquae Sulis.”
Surely one of the few benefits of being Duchess was not having to endure this rubbish from her mother anymore? “Exploits? You make it sound like I’ve been robbing banks.”
“Don’t be difficult. You know what I’m talking about. Cutting husbands out of communication between a family and the Duke? Just the mere act of your speaking in the Court has upset a lot of people. I’ve heard rumours of a ‘Ladies’ Court.’ How you persuaded William to allow all of this I have no idea.”
Cathy picked up the tea strainer, decided against using it to bat her mother on the forehead and instead poured the tea. “What has any of this got to do with Elizabeth?”
“Your aunt is very upset about the way you’re behaving.”
“It’s none of her bloody business! She’s the Censor of Aquae Sulis, not Londinium!”
“She holds you responsible for the antics at the last ball of the season.”
“Why me? I wasn’t even there!” Cathy had been delighted by the lack of invitation to the annual masked ball.
“There were women there dressed as men, the most horrendous pamphlet making the rounds, talk of women’s rights—who else would be at the centre of that besides you?”
“There’s no proof of that. And as for what I do in the Londinium Court, that’s up to me. And Will, I suppose. Not her.”
“For goodness’ sake, Catherine, you may be woefully lacking in many respects, but you’re no fool. How you rule in your city has an impact on all the others. Whatever changes you force through here will put pressure on the Censor and Master of Ceremonies to dig in deeper or change themselves. You’re unsettling everything.”
“Good. That’s what I’m trying to do. Aunt Claudia has been queen bee for far too long and hates the thought of any other woman having an opinion of her own, let alone any sort of power. I’m glad she didn’t invite us to that ball. It would have been awful. But you have to ask why she was so scared of me being there.”
“She isn’t scared of you, Catherine! She’s embarrassed to be related to you. Besides, I didn’t come here to discuss politics. Is that lemon drizzle cake?”
Cathy nodded and cut her mother a slice. “I’m not a matchmaker. You know I hate all of this…” she wanted to say bullshit, but she was sure that wouldn’t help. “It goes against my principles. You know how much I hate the fact that women are treated as property. Why the hell would I agree to sell off my own sister?”
Her mother abandoned the cake. “Oh, hang your principles! I just want her married off, and there’s no way we’re going to make a satisfactory match with Claudia being obstructive. She’s excluding Elizabeth from the best salons and dinner parties at which she should be meeting eligible gentlemen. You must help us.”
Cathy clenched her teeth and counted to five. Margritte had told her the technique had saved her on some occasions. “You’re not listening to me. I’m not going to undermine what tiny amount of progress I’ve made here by participating in—”
“Catherine, I know very well how you feel about it, and that’s just something you’ll have to deal with. I need her to be married and every time we’ve been on the brink of settling a contract, something has gone wrong. First it was Nathaniel; Poppy insisted you be married to William and that went out of the window.�
� Her mother picked up the fork again, chasing the cake around the plate with it as she spoke. “Then we tried to match her with a Viola but the family wouldn’t commit and there were at least three different Rosas in the running but none of them would marry until you were married and you were off having your little rebellion, so that was impossible. Then their family collapsed and the number of eligible young men has become woefully low.”
“Does Father know you’re here?”
“He will by this evening. Catherine, you owe us. Your actions have resulted in Tom being married off to a colonial and your sister rapidly becoming the laughing stock of Aquae Sulis. Claudia thinks that snubbing you will bring you into line, but that’s only because she has no idea how stubborn you are.” She abandoned the cake again. “I am asking you, nicely, to give your sister a fantastic season and every opportunity to milk your status. She won’t embarrass you. She’ll positively thrive!”
“I can’t believe this.”
“She’s had such a difficult start. We couldn’t give her a proper debut because of your antics, and it was only because the Censor and Master of Ceremonies are my siblings that we could get away with taking her to balls to meet eligible young men without one.”
“My heart bleeds for her.”
Her mother slapped the arm of her chair, eyes filling with tears. “Catherine, why must you make everything so bloody hard? I just need you to do this one thing for me.”
Cathy stared at the unshed tears. She had never seen her mother cry. She’d never seen anything other than disapproval, anger, and disappointment. She’d seen her smile on many occasions—brittle, empty masks of smiles and the occasional real one for Tom or Elizabeth when she wasn’t being petulant. There was something else behind this.
“Why now? Why the urgency?”
A single tear broke free and then her mother swiped it away, the mask restored. She busied herself with her cake fork.
“Is she pregnant?”
Her mother’s shock was genuine. “Catherine Rho—how could you even think such a thing? Her maidenhood is still very much intact.”
“Is it Father? Has something—”
“Listen to me.” Her mother edged forwards in her seat. “I know I’ve not been the mother you wanted. I know I haven’t been the kindest or most understanding person and that you’re angry with me.”
“Of course I bloody am! The last time I saw you, you drugged me and dressed me for a wedding I didn’t want to have!”
“I know, I know.” She closed her eyes. “I know you will never forgive me, but I promise: this is the only time in your entire life that I will ever ask anything of you. Do you want me to beg? To bargain with you? Offer something in return?”
Cathy shrank back from her mother’s desperation, repulsed. “No,” she said, realising that despite everything, she didn’t have it in her to turn her mother and sister away. “If it’s that important, she can stay.” Her mother’s relief made her worry she’d made a terrible mistake. “But I’m not going to negotiate a contract or any of that crap.” Her mother’s back straightened at the use of the word but she stayed silent. “I’ll…I dunno, put on a ball or something. Introduce her to people—”
“The right people, Catherine. Wealthy, preferably, and well respected.”
“Yeah, yeah, all that bobbins,” Cathy said. “Don’t worry, Will’s really good at that sort of thing. He’ll know who’s a good candidate. But I’ll only tell you and Father who the match is if Elizabeth likes him. That’s non-negotiable.”
Her mother stood. “If he’s wealthy and powerful, she’ll like him. Do try and be kind to her. I don’t want her to lose any weight or look sullen, so you need to keep her spirits high. She always looks her best when she thinks you approve of her.”
“That might apply to you, not me,” Cathy said, following her mother to the door.
“I think you underestimate the power of your approval, Catherine,” she said. She paused, kissed Cathy on the cheek, and put her hat back on. “Thank you. This means a great deal to me.”
Cathy managed a smile and then slid down in her chair with relief once her mother had left. She rested a hand over her stomach, feeling like everything had been churned up inside her by her mother’s visit.
Then Cathy remembered the letter. She retrieved it from the drawer, steeled herself for the contents, and pulled the piece of paper out of the envelope. Unfolding it, she found only black dust. Cathy stared at the blank page, trying to recall the wording before throwing it into the fire. There was nothing to be done when nameless enemies used the same Secrecy Charms as her friends. Then the door burst open and Elizabeth flew into the room.
“Oh! How wonderful! How many new dresses may I have? I don’t want any like that one you’re wearing now, it’s simply hideous. Now, sit down and listen carefully. I have a list of characteristics my future husband must have and they are all very important.”
6
Sam applauded, stifling a yawn. He’d lost track of how many speeches he’d sat through since he’d arrived, and none of them had contained anything of use.
They were in the swankiest hotel in Manchester, all thirty-two of the Elemental Court, and the atmosphere was charged with excitement when he entered the conference room. Mazzi came straight over to him, shaking him warmly by the hand and guiding him to meet a few people before the first item on the agenda started. He was introduced to Lord Copper first, a short man with black hair and dark brown skin who spoke with an unidentifiable accent that sometimes sounded Spanish. He met Lady Silver, whose long auburn hair featured a prominent white streak that seemed to glow. She was from Russia and smiled often, but didn’t spend much time with him.
Then the speeches started. He’d sat there, eager for answers to so many questions. He wanted to learn about their history, the relationship each of them had with the Sorcerers, whether any of them had had dealings with the Fae. But none of them talked about anything like that. Most gave a potted summary of business growth, tonnes extracted, projects in the pipeline—all the sorts of things found in the Financial Times that had never interested him.
Lord Gold was a jeweller, and Sam had almost laughed out loud at hearing about a necklace he was working on as part of his presentation. But then Sam realised he was as much a cliché: Lord Iron, the blacksmith. Mazzi had told him that sometimes they were chosen thanks to an affinity when working the metal. Sam listened intently when Lord Copper spoke, hoping for just a passing reference to the way copper rendered the Fae weak and their magic inert. Nothing. He spoke passionately about how his personal intervention had increased the number of tonnes of copper being shipped out of Zambia and Sam’s shoulders began to knot with tension. He was certain there had been something in the information Leanne had left to him about the acid runoff from a Zambian mine creating horrific ecological problems.
As Sam was the new kid on the block, he was supposed to speak last. Mazzi had said that not all of the court would speak, which was something, but the longer the day went on, the more uncomfortable Sam felt. Most of the people there were the sort of hard business execs he was allergic to; they spoke of “achievements” that were environmentally devastating. It was all about driving up profits and production with nothing about how short-sighted the activity was. Everything they talked about sounded like mundane super-rich crap.
There was no hint of anything esoteric when they talked about the element in their title, nor any sense that they embodied its qualities, as he had been told he embodied iron in the eyes of the Fae. Sam knew he was more than just a super-CEO; he’d walked a path between the worlds, broken the beauty of Exilium, and scared the shit out of Lord Poppy. But he had the feeling that if he talked about any of that, they’d laugh him out of the room.
In the breaks for coffee and pastries, he found himself drawing inwards as one by one they all came to meet him. Several of them seemed like nice people, warm and friendly. One in particular, a woman “representing Chromium,” as she introduced herself,
seemed like the kind of person he’d happily have a chat with in the pub. Lady Aluminium, on the other hand, set his teeth on edge. Something about her voice, perhaps, or her manner. She was obviously someone who’d been born into wealth. In any case, when she asked to have a quiet word with him he was tempted to say no.
Instead, he decided to be polite: “Of course.”
“I’m looking forward to your presentation,” she said, drawing him into a little nook around the corner from the rest of the…of the what? Delegates? Reps? It didn’t feel like a court.
“Yeah,” he replied. He had no idea what he was going to say, even though he had no fewer than two fully written presentations with him and a third half-baked.
“Call me Alicia. I was good friends with Amir. I was sorry to hear of his passing.”
Sam forced a smile, trying not to think too much about the way the previous Lord Iron had committed suicide right in front of him to pass the mantle. “It was a bit of a shock for everyone.”
“Indeed. Presumably for him, too, because we were on the brink of signing a deal.”
“That’s the thing you want to talk about?”
Alicia was as tall as he was in her high heels, reed-thin with the sort of cheekbones he’d only seen in computer games. “Yes. Perhaps you’ve come across some paperwork regarding the South African Vanadium proposal?”
“Not yet, sorry.”
Alicia twisted away from him and clicked her fingers. An aide he hadn’t noticed hurried over with a small attaché case. “I have a copy of the proposal here, along with the contract Amir agreed to over the telephone. He was due to sign it as soon as it arrived but…” she shrugged. “He passed before he could, I suppose. Very sad.” She offered him the folder she pulled from the case. “I’m sure you’ll agree it’s most beneficial.” She leaned in close. “Better to not mention it to Titanium; he’ll only want to make things difficult.” Then she straightened and held out her hand, which Sam shook reluctantly. “Looks like it’s time to go back inside. Oh, I think it’s your turn to speak.”