Tournament of Ruses

by Kate Stradling

  He pushed the three remaining books to her. “It’s the ancestral tongue, the one that the very first magicians of Lenore brought with them when they fled beyond the borders of Melanthos. Magic has to be cast with the ancestral tongue. In order to learn the spells, you have to start from scratch and learn the language itself.”

  “What about Will?” she asked curiously.

  Charlie stiffened. “What about him?”

  “He used different spell-words at the well. It wasn’t the same language at all.”

  “Will uses the old language, the one that was tied to this land,” said Charlie. “You can’t use it, because you’re not tied to the land the same way he is.”

  “Even though I’m a guardian of the well?” she pressed.

  “You’re not tied the same way he is,” Charlie repeated firmly. He glanced self-consciously toward Edmund, who had listened to this interchange with open interest. “You get back to work,” he said severely.

  Edmund stuck out his tongue but then grudgingly obeyed.

  Flora wanted to say that Charlie’s explanation made no sense, but given how closed he seemed about the whole thing, she decided to keep her mouth shut. Instead, she opened the topmost book to look over its contents. It was a handwritten grammar, and a fairly old one at that, but there was a nice feel to the paper and she liked the spindly writing that patterned across each page. She’d never had occasion to learn a second language before and didn’t wholly resent the opportunity to do so now. She could tell at a glance it would be grueling work, though.

  Charlie, far from being an active tutor, went and sat in the corner with a book of his own. Flora wondered if his lessons were always like this, or if her presence had caused the awkward atmosphere. A tentative glance Edmund’s way showed him to be completely engrossed in scrawling his seals.

  She lacked a pencil and notebook to write in, but Charlie’s brusque attitude made her loath to ask for such things. Instead, she resolved to bring her own the next time—presuming there was a next time. Charlie could always send her home with a stack of books and tell her to come back when she had them memorized, after all. He was not his usual, cheerful self; she’d caught glimpses of this testier side before but didn’t know what had triggered it.

  Perhaps this was the real Charles Moreland, and the other was simply the persona he displayed in public. That was a troubling thought.

  Over the next hour, Edmund ventured to ask a few questions. Charlie’s clipped answers only solidified Flora’s impression that she would receive no help if she made inquiries of her own. Thus she read on in complete silence.

  The grammar was dull and gave her a headache. Though she tried to focus on its precepts, her thoughts wandered into paths far afield. She wondered if she could yet convince her father to change his mind.

  When the excruciating lesson period finally ended, she made a grateful escape.

  Chapter Thirteen: Self-Assertion

  My brain is filled with declensions. It’s a wonder I can remember even half of them. Who asked a language to be so complicated? I mean, I suppose my own language is complicated enough, but I’ve known it for as long as I can remember. This ‘ancestral tongue’ seems to play by entirely different rules, though. I can’t understand very much of it, and I don’t really see the purpose of learning it, either. Edmund told me that spell-words all come in a single tense, and as long as you memorize them and the seal you don’t need to know the rest of the language at all.

  I did ask Charlie about that, but he said that the language is still essential because it was used to write most of the instruction books on magic. Edmund made a face behind his back as he said this, and I was hard-pressed not to laugh.

  I don’t think Charlie likes me at all. He’s openly irritated at having to teach me. We got along well enough when we first met. I’m not exactly sure when that changed, or why. Maybe he doesn’t want a girl as a pupil, or maybe he’s annoyed with me for the balcony exploit with Edmund—not that I could’ve done anything different, under the circumstances. I really don’t know, and I guess it really doesn’t matter. It just makes for an unpleasant atmosphere when I’m trying to memorize case endings.

  Lessons only last for an hour in the morning. Charlie has guard duty starting at ten o’clock, and Edmund is supposed to study for an hour more (as am I), but of course he doesn’t. He must’ve received instructions not to leave me alone, for he insists on taking me with him wherever he goes. He’s a funny boy and a very good storyteller. In the afternoons he leaves me in a little study in the administrative wing, right next to the lords’ offices. I decided to alphabetize the consort applications, and that only took me half an afternoon (and only that long because I kept getting distracted by some of the pictures again). I gave them back to Mr. Sterling, too, because I don’t see any point in lugging them away from the palace again. Since then I have dedicated that time in the afternoon to studying, and by “studying,” I mean “mostly staring out the window aimlessly.” I may very well die of boredom there one of these days.

  The broken doors at the townhouse have been replaced, but Dad said we could stay a few extra days at the hotel, just so that my nerves can settle down a bit more. I’m glad. Even though we’ve been assured that the house is safe, I still dread returning there.

  Flora slowly climbed the stairs to her front door, wishing with every step that she could just take up residence back in that nice hotel where she had been for the better part of a week. She knew it was illogical, that they couldn’t just abandon their property (or the well of magic) on Lords’ Row, but that didn’t stop her from dreaming.

  Her father went before her, through a brand new door that was blissfully free of forest-creature-produced holes. He stripped his gloves and coat in the entryway and motioned for Flora to hurry. Briefly she hesitated on the threshold; then she stalwartly stepped across it. The house was quiet and peaceful, as though nothing traumatic had ever occurred there.

  “Let me take your things up to your room for you, Flora,” said Mrs. Finch, and she retrieved the valise from Flora’s hand. “Take off your coat. We’ve got a fire in the drawing room and dinner will be ready in half an hour.”

  “I think I’m going to take a walk in the garden,” Flora replied.

  Her father glanced at her knowingly—or so he thought, for by now she had figured out that Prime Minister Moreland had shared only the most basic details of the well and her ties to it. Mrs. Finch remarked that a walk around the garden might do the skittish Flora some good. Flora deemed herself thus dismissed from their company.

  She surveyed the snow-covered yard. The saplings halfway back were stouter than she remembered, but their branches were still devoid of leaves. Hands tucked in her pockets and eyes upon the ground, she ambled toward them.

  The air shimmered as she approached. She caught a glimpse of fluttering green and looked up in surprise. With three more steps the wintry scene dissipated like a mirage. As she passed between the nearest birch and alder trees, a warm springtime enveloped her. Young leaves rustled on the trees and a lush carpet of grass covered the ground. The rosebush nearest the well had burst into bloom, heavy laden with blood-red flowers.

  “And I didn’t even get a chance to trim you properly,” Flora lamented. She wondered how Mrs. Finch would react if she wandered back in from the snow-strewn garden with a bouquet of roses in her hand. She would probably need to postpone any pruning until the housekeeper left to run errands.

  Not that Flora would be alone much at the house. Insofar as she knew, she was still expected to come to the palace every day, to be safe.

  She could see winter through the trees but could not feel it. The warmth of that spring-ring around the well coaxed her into lingering. Only as the sun vanished beneath the horizon and the sky turned dark did she abandon the odd safe-haven and return indoors.

  The dark she did not trust at all.

  Dinner was mostly a quiet affair. Just toward the end, though, the doorbell pealed through the ho
use. Flora tensed, her spoon halfway to her mouth, and listened as Mrs. Finch answered the summons. The housekeeper’s voice carried down the hallway to the dining room. Whoever had come was shown into the drawing room. Then, Mrs. Finch returned.

  “Flora, your friends have come to visit you,” she announced.

  Flora’s heart twisted. “Which friends?”

  “Why, Miss Winthrop and Miss Irvine!”

  Her breath left her in a long-suffering sigh. She hadn’t the first clue what Georgiana and Priscilla might want, especially this late in the evening. Didn’t they have parties to attend at this hour, or something? Hardly able to express these sentiments aloud, she delicately dabbed the corners of her mouth with her napkin and looked to her father expectantly.

  “You may be excused,” he told her with an indulgent smile. He would encourage her interactions with the other lords’ daughters, of course.

  She paused only briefly at a mirror in the hall to see that her hair was still in place. Georgiana would tell her if it wasn’t, but she’d rather avoid that if she could. She was wearing one of her new dresses, at least, so she wasn’t worried on that count, though she did expect some backhanded compliment about her clothing anyway.

  No sooner had she entered the room than she was enveloped in a perfumed embrace. “Oh, my darling Flora!” cried Georgiana. “We’ve been so worried, you poor dear! To think that some horrible monsters would cross over from the forest and attack your house just because the Prince wouldn’t allow any of them to apply for the position of consort!”

  This was a rumor Flora had not yet heard. She stood stock-still, frozen in place as she received Georgiana’s theatrical condolences. “It’s been ages and ages, dear! And we’ve heard such astonishing things! Mrs. O’s is practically buzzing with stories about you! Girls are pestering us from every angle if we so much as show our faces there! So of course we promised we would bring you along to the gala tonight, by whatever means we had to employ. Do say you’ll come!”

  By this point, she was holding Flora by the shoulders and staring at her with large, expectant eyes. Flora helplessly looked to Priscilla Irvine, who had remained silent and aloof through this entire speech. Priscilla made no attempt whatsoever to expound upon the situation.

  “You want me to go where?” Flora asked in utter confusion.

  “Mrs. Olivette’s, of course!” cried Georgiana. “Surely you received your invitation! When Mrs. O informed us that you hadn’t responded, we promised her you’d come, that you wouldn’t miss it for the world!”

  This explanation did very little to enlighten Flora. “Miss what?” she pressed. “I’m not aware of any invitations.”

  Georgiana seemed pleased by this, and Flora could not determine whether she was happy that Flora was ignorant of a social event, or that she had the pleasure of enlightening her. “Why, Mrs. O is having a small gala to celebrate the start of the Consorts’ Tournament next week, of course! Surely you’ve received that letter, haven’t you?”

  Flora had received no mail whatsoever. Her blank expression conveyed this perfectly.

  “Why, you darling girl!” Georgiana declared. “And here you had such a hand in everything! I have to thank you again for my favorable placement for the interview portion.” As she said this, she squeezed Flora’s hand and smiled a piercing smile, which Flora took to mean that she did not approve at all. Georgiana’s last name had placed her near the end of the applicants—only a handful had come after “Winthrop.”

  “I’m so glad you approve,” Flora replied. She felt thoroughly two-faced as she continued. “I had a hard time thinking how to arrange everyone, but I finally realized that going alphabetically would give you the opportunity to dazzle the interviewing committee with your beauty at the end, after they’ve had to sit through so many dull girls. And it does so in a manner that’s completely fair to everyone, too. You wouldn’t believe some of the applications that were submitted.”

  Georgiana straightened, this idea having not occurred to her before now. She was visibly pleased. “Yes, I’m lucky to have such a last name. I’ll be able to make a distinct impression, I’m sure. Now, you really must get changed. Prissy and I came early to get you, but you can’t go wearing that—it’s quite charming for morning visits, I’m sure, but it’s hardly appropriate for an evening party. Have you not dressed for dinner yet?”

  As Flora had thought her dress was entirely appropriate for dinner, she said simply, “My dad and I dined very casually tonight. We’ve only just returned from the hotel where we’ve been staying.”

  “I suppose he doesn’t expect you to change when it’s only the two of you,” replied Georgiana. “Papa always insists upon ceremony at our house, says that these traditions of dressing properly for dinner, of remembering our formal station, are what make our family so noble. How very archaic of him, don’t you agree? But really, you must change! You do have an evening gown, don’t you?”

  Both girls were wearing a lovely cape buttoned up to the neck, so Flora could hardly assess what differentiated an evening gown from a morning dress. There was a similar cape among her new things, though, and either Mrs. Finch or Mary would know what it was meant to be worn atop. She didn’t particularly feel like going anywhere tonight, though.

  “I’m afraid my dad and I expected to have a rather quiet evening.”

  “Oh, he won’t mind us stealing you away. We’ll wait here while you tell him and change your dress. Do hurry, though. Prissy’s carriage even now stands at the ready to take us.”

  Somehow Flora managed to utter a gracious thank you for their friendship and their patience in coming to get her. She nearly ran into Mrs. Finch out in the hallway; the woman carried a tray of after-dinner refreshments that had originally been intended for Flora and her dad. Lord Dalton lingered near the staircase, and Flora guessed that he had overheard at least part of the conversation in the drawing room.

  He confirmed her suspicion by tipping his head up the stairs and saying, “Go on, Flora. You mustn’t keep your friends waiting for long. Mrs. Finch has already sent Mary up.”

  “Did you know about this party?” Flora asked him.

  “No, but that’s no reason not to let you take advantage of it. You’ve had a rough week. I think a party’s just the thing to brighten your mood, and I’m sure you’ll put all of those girls to shame with your beauty.” He punctuated this statement by kissing her forehead fondly.

  Flora fought the urge to scowl at him. “Thanks, Dad,” she said in little better than a grumble. Much as she wanted to tell him that a party was only going to set her nerves more on edge, that she would spend the evening navigating through thinly veiled barbs and critical glances, she could not bring herself to burst his bubble of paternal pride. Besides, Georgiana and Priscilla would likely overhear any protest she made. She had decorum enough not to cause a scene in her own house.

  Mary had already pulled three dresses from Flora’s wardrobe along with the lovely velvet cape; she was sorting through a pile of accessories as Flora entered. “Which dress would you like to wear, Miss?” she asked. “I’m partial to the blue one, myself. I think it’ll look lovely with your complexion.”

  Flora had no opinion and allowed her to dress her as she pleased. She felt like something of a doll as Mary quickly tried several fascinators in her hair. “No time to redo everything, so thank heavens your hair’s held up so well today,” she said as she worked. “We’ll just freshen it and add an ornament or two. Your gloves are there, so put them on quickly.”

  With Mary working as fast as her fingers would go, it took only a quarter of an hour for Flora to get ready. The final product was relatively simple, nothing to Georgiana’s gorgeousness or Priscilla’s aristocratic look, but it would have to do. Flora allowed herself a deep breath to calm her nerves. Then, she accepted the silken reticule that Mary pressed into her hands and returned downstairs. Her father and Mrs. Finch had joined the two girls in the front parlor. Flora heard Georgiana’s laughter peal throug
h the hall as she approached. No sooner did she step into sight than the two girls stood.

  “Why, dear thing, I thought perhaps you had climbed out the window and left us here,” Georgiana said sweetly. “How lovely you look!”

  Flora might have written that second statement off as a false compliment except that Georgiana seemed none too pleased when she said it. Flora passed a first inspection, in other words.

  “I’m sorry to have kept you waiting,” she said. “Shall we go?”

  “Certainly,” said Georgiana. “Thank you, Lord Dalton, for your hospitality, and for lending dear Flora to us on such short notice. We’ll bring her back safe and sound, we promise.”

  “You girls enjoy yourselves,” he replied. Flora gave him a kiss goodbye and hoped that he had not seen how the pair had rolled their eyes at one another. She pretended she hadn’t seen it either.

  The instant the trio stepped out the front door, Georgiana latched onto one of Flora’s arms and Priscilla to the other. Together they marched her down to the waiting carriage as though they expected her to bolt back into the house if given the slightest opportunity. Once safely within the carriage, they planted themselves in the seat across from her and pinned her with mirror-image stares.

  “Now, you simply must tell us all about him,” Georgiana commanded.

  Flora felt like a hostage captured by criminals. “About whom?”

  “The Eternal Prince, of course! It’s all over town how the Prime Minister himself took you to meet him!”

  Her heart sank. “But he didn’t—”

  “Come, come, Flora,” Georgiana interrupted. “We’re your friends. There will be no secrets among us. What was he like?”

  She suddenly realized that nothing she said would convince them she had not actually met the Prince. The power of a simple rumor astonished her. Further, it made her wonder just what Prime Minister Moreland had intended by starting one such as this, for he had known when he took her into the Prince’s private apartments that such a rumor would result.