The next day
The Stapletons’ residence, England
ALL SEEMED TO augur well for Amelia’s coming-out ball. Even Mrs. Stapleton, a woman easily fluttered by minor adversities, looked forward to the party with pleasurable anticipation. The revelation that Henrietta’s friend, the native sorceress, was to make an appearance at her ball had put Mrs. Stapleton in good humour with the world, and she bore the ordeals of being a hostess with uncommon fortitude.
Amelia did not share her good spirits. Though Henrietta’s inexplicable absence had finally ended with her return the day before, she had convened a conference that morning to inform her three sisters that she was going on a journey—a long journey. They must keep it a secret, but she wished them to know that she would be perfectly well. They might receive concerning reports of her, but they must not allow these to worry them.
“But where are you going?” cried Charlotte. “I think it is cruel, when you have only just been—”
Amelia squashed her before she could reveal all they knew of Henrietta’s secret life, for she foresaw the hubbub that would ensue—explanations, tears, reproaches. They had only a little time before they were bound to be interrupted by a parent or servant, and what they needed from Henrietta was answers.
“When will you come back?” said Amelia.
Henrietta coloured, casting her eyes down; she was a pitiably bad liar. “I do not yet know. But I shall find a way to send you a message when I can.”
“What of Papa and Mamma?” said Louisa, thinking of the trials they would endure in attempting to conceal Henrietta’s absence from their parents.
“They shall know of my departure before anyone else,” said Henrietta. “I know it will distress them, but you will be able to reassure them without giving me away.”
“This is all very mysterious,” said Amelia. “Cannot you tell us more? We would never betray your confidence, you know, Henny.” She thought of Henrietta’s engagement. “If it is to do with—with Mr. Hobday, I am sure Papa could be reasoned with. Nobody wishes you to be unhappy.”
She had expected Henrietta to blush and disclaim any unhappiness at the prospect of being joined with Mr. Hobday. But her sister only blinked, as though she had forgotten all about her betrothed.
“Oh, Mr. Hobday!” said Henrietta. “We need not be in any haste to tell him. He will hear of my departure by some means or other. I hope he will not be too vexed with Papa, but I do not expect it will upset him unduly. You know, ’Melia, I am not sure Mr. Hobday was ever particularly attached to me!”
Henrietta’s sisters were obliged to be content with this, for the conference was broken up by the entrance of Mrs. Stapleton. Their mother had heard from her maid that Lady Burrow’s niece would wear a pink gown that evening. Henrietta’s dress, too, was pink. Did Henrietta think it wise to wear her blue dress instead? But Mr. Hobday had declared himself fond of pink. Mrs. Stapleton did not know what was to be done.
When this dilemma had been resolved, a dozen more presented themselves for Amelia’s attention, so that it was impossible to question Henrietta further. For of course she promptly vanished, leaving Not Henrietta in her place.
“I wonder if Henny will even bestir herself to attend the ball!” Amelia said bitterly to her sisters. “It is only my debut. Why should she consider it of any importance, compared to her magic?”
“Oh, don’t speak so, ’Melia,” said Charlotte, distressed. “What if Henrietta should never return? She looked so solemn this morning, and she would not be drawn on how long she would be gone.”
Amelia had not seriously considered this possibility, but now that Charlotte had raised it, she was obliged to acknowledge that it seemed likely.
“It is provoking,” said Louisa, “but we do not know what business takes her away. I hope it is nothing dangerous.” She raised worried eyes to Amelia. “Ought we to say something? I fear we do wrong in not telling Papa!”
Amelia deliberated, but finally shook her head. “Papa is so burdened with care that if we can save him any worry, we should—and he would be so cross with Henny! We must speak to her again before we do anything. If we tell her we know all, surely she will confide in us.”
“If Henrietta goes away forever, what will Papa do?” said Charlotte. “Perhaps Mr. Hobday would have you instead, ’Melia.”
“Oh no!” said Louisa. “Bad enough that Henny was to marry him, but Amelia . . . !”
“I would never rub along with Mr. Hobday,” agreed Amelia. “No, Charlotte, we shall have to find another way. I must find another wealthy gentleman, though,” she added with feeling, “it will not be a thaumaturge! Just think if we had magical daughters! It is bad enough having a sister with magic.”
“But so long as you could persuade your husband to allow it, there would be no difficulty,” argued Charlotte. “It is not Henrietta having magic that is the trouble. It is Papa and Mamma’s not being sympathetic.”
But Amelia was in no humour to be sympathetic with her sister’s inconvenient thaumaturgical leanings.
“I am not so certain!” she said grimly.
When Amelia descended to the ballroom that evening they had still seen neither hide nor hair of Henrietta. Her vexation began to be threaded through with apprehension. Perhaps Louisa was right. Everyone said the practice of magic was fraught with peril, even for gentlemen. How much more hazardous must be it for a female? Henrietta would never tell them if she was in danger.
Despite her anxiety, Amelia was determined to do her duty as a debutante. She was conscious of the expense that had been incurred on her account and knew that with but a little effort she might recoup it. She was in good looks and the reception from the gentlemen in attendance—a mix of thaumaturges and the laity, including several eligible bachelors with respectable fortunes—was encouraging.
Yet as the evening wore on, her conviction grew that something was amiss—something more than the substitution of the wholly inadequate Not Henrietta for the original. There was a strange note in the conversations Amelia had—a certain constraint, explained only when Emily Villiers came to press her hand.
“You look a very angel, Amelia,” she declared. Emily was more Henrietta’s friend than Amelia’s, for she had been a schoolfellow of Henrietta’s, but the families had been acquainted for many years.
She fixed a soulful gaze on Amelia. “We will not speak of it tonight—the night of your triumph! I only wished to assure you that your friends will stand by you, whatever comes.”
Amelia’s heart gave a painful thump in her chest. Henny! she thought.
Henrietta must have been exposed—or worse. But Amelia and her sisters had had ample practice in the art of concealing their emotions for the past several months, since Mr. Stapleton had told them about the parlous state of his affairs.
Amelia said, smiling, “You terrify me! It is most kind of you, but I was not aware I was in special need of friendship.”
“Oh,” said Emily, doubt crossing her countenance. “Perhaps I have misheard.” But despite Amelia’s suavity, some flicker of unease must have betrayed her, for Emily pressed her hand again. “You may trust I have told everyone there is nothing in the rumours! Where is Henrietta?”
Perhaps Henny had not been exposed for a witch. But what then could have made Miss Villiers look so tender and solicitous?
“Is it true she is to be married?” said Emily in a low voice. “Is there nothing else to be done? How I feel for her!”
Amelia was so overcome with relief that it was necessary for her to exert herself to suppress a broad smile. It would have been a highly unsuitable response, for of course her father’s ruin was no matter to smile about. But the threat had been looming over one for so long that one had grown accustomed to it. To be ruined, after all, was a disaster one could imagine—whereas who knew what outlandish things might be happening to Henrietta even now?
Amelia must put Emily off—try to mislead her, for it was clear Emily had heard some rumour of how Mr. Stapleton’s affairs stood now. Before she had decided what to say, however, Emily cried out:
“Ah, there she is!” Emily waved. “Henny!”
Across the room stood the chief source of Amelia’s disquiet—Henrietta herself, not her unsatisfactory replica. She was accompanied by a native woman, attired in a primrose yellow satin dress Amelia recognised as one of the Sorceress Royal’s.
“That must be the foreign sorceress,” said Emily. A gleam of professional interest lit her eyes. Miss Villiers had nothing to do with the Sorceress Royal’s Academy, as far as anyone knew. But she had known Mrs. Wythe at school, and if Henrietta was any example, in these times there was little that could deter a determined female from the practice of conjuration.
Henrietta seemed wholly unconscious that she might have given Amelia any reason to be discontented with her.
“You look ravishing, ’Melia!” she cried, embracing her. “Porter has outdone herself. Those curls become you wonderfully.”
When Henrietta turned to her companion, Amelia noticed a faint rose hue colouring her sister’s cheeks. “Muna, this is my sister Amelia. And this is Miss Villiers, whom Mrs. Wythe and I knew at school.”
Amelia wished to study her sister’s friend, for the native sorceress appeared to be of rather more importance than she had realised. But Miss Villiers pounced on Muna at once. The foreigner was whisked away, leaving behind little more than an impression of melancholy dark eyes.
Amelia took the opportunity to draw her sister aside, whispering:
“Henny, Miss Villiers has told me something extremely alarming.”
Henrietta’s eyes widened. Amelia said quickly, “She asked if you were to be married. Do you think she might suspect—about Papa, I mean?”
“Why, Henny,” said Emily Villiers, breaking off from her interrogation of Muna, “I thought there was only to be one foreign sorceress here.”
“What do you mean?” said Henrietta.
Amelia looked around to see that another native female had arrived. She looked very much like Muna, for the hue of her skin and the cast of her features were similar, suggesting they were of the same extraction. The new arrival was swathed in a gauzy material that made her look as though she were robed in mist. It was sufficiently opaque to preserve the proprieties, but the effect was nevertheless rather scandalous in a young female. The other guests were looking askance at her when a cry broke from Muna.
“Adik!” Muna hurled herself across the room, falling on the stranger’s neck.
“Thank goodness!” said Henrietta, glowing with relief. “The spell summoned her sister, after all.”
“Her sister?” said Amelia. The foreigners were engaged in a heated conversation, conducted in whispers.
“Muna was parted from her sister when they were—er—travelling in Fairy,” said Henrietta. “She cast a spell to recover her, but I was very much afraid that . . . Well! All’s well that ends well. I must congratulate them.”
This left much to be desired as an explanation.
“Henny,” said Amelia, frowning.
But Henrietta must not have heard her, for she was already starting across the room. Amelia followed her, but what with the press of the crowd, she had not reached the other end when the ball was interrupted by an even greater sensation than Mrs. Stapleton could have dreamt of.
SAKTI allowed herself to be embraced, but she seemed amused by her reception.
“There, there!” she said tolerantly. “Were you so worried? You should have known I would always land on my feet!”
Muna drew back, drying her eyes. “You were drowned by a wave of spirits! Is it any wonder I was worried?”
“Well, you may forget worry now,” said Sakti. “For I have found us a place to live!”
“What?” said Muna.
“It is a pleasant country in Fairy Without, far from the regions governed by the Queen of the Djinns,” said Sakti. “We will be safe from her there, for the people of that country defeated her so roundly in war that she has never ventured to trouble them again.
“You see, I have reflected upon the matter. Of course we had to tell the naga Georgiana that I meant to assert my right to rule, or she would not have helped us. And perhaps I could defeat the Queen once we recover the Virtu and I am restored to myself, but for what prize? From all I have seen of the Palace of the Unseen, the throne seems an excessively uncomfortable seat. What with you being mortal, kak, my enemies would always be seeking to threaten you, so as to frighten me into doing what they wished. It seems to me we would do better to get away from all of that.
“You will like the country I have found,” Sakti added. “The climate is far more agreeable than Britain’s, and even an improvement on that of Janda Baik, for they have no mosquitoes or leeches. They are plagued by a sort of small djinn, not very clever, but the djinns are said to be morbidly sensitive and can be kept off with insults to their appearance.”
Her smile faded when she saw Muna’s expression. “You don’t seem pleased.”
“Oh, I am,” said Muna unconvincingly. “We will go anywhere you like, but adik, you do not know the whole of it. I found the Virtu—the whole article, unbroken—”
“How clever of you!” said Sakti. “Then there is no reason we should not go now.” Sakti seized her hand, as though she meant to spirit them away at once.
“Wait!” cried Muna. “I promised my friend I would attend her mother’s party. I cannot leave now. Besides—”
Sakti frowned. “Kak, need I remind you that you are pursued by the Queen of the Djinns herself? When I left the Palace she was ranting about pursuing Georgiana Without Ruth and her mortal slaves. And if she realises what I am, I shudder to think of the consequence!”
“What we are,” said Muna, not without trepidation.
“I beg your pardon?”
“It is as you said, adik,” said Muna, watching Sakti’s face. “We are both Saktimuna. We were one soul before, but when the Duke broke the Virtu in two, it divided us one from the other. I took the Virtu into myself, and—”
“You took the Virtu into yourself,” echoed Sakti. “You mean you ate it?”
At her tone the warmth of their reunion drained from Muna, leaving her cold and uncertain.
“Yes, but—”
“You ate it,” repeated Sakti. She looked at Muna as though she could not recognise her. “I could not have believed you would be so selfish!”
“I can explain,” said Muna.
But Sakti did not want explanations.
“Have you been jealous of my magic all along?” she said.
“No!” said Muna desperately.
She bethought herself of Rollo’s scale and hit herself on the chest, but she knew even as she did it that it would not work this time—she would not be able to disgorge the Virtu. It had been one thing to bring up Threlfall’s magic, which had never been her own. The Virtu held her own heart; she would not be able to surrender it so easily.
Muna tried again anyway. She would have done anything to take away the look in Sakti’s eyes—the uncomprehending shock of a betrayed child.
But Muna had forgotten her summoning. The enchantment was still unfolding, and now it worked itself out to its conclusion.
Sakti was the first to notice the unrest spreading through the crowd. She turned away to see what was happening as the general chatter subsided.
“Oh no,” breathed Muna.
At the entrance to the Stapletons’ ballroom stood Saktimuna’s sister, brought by the fine ones at Muna’s request. The Queen of the Djinns looked around disdainfully, as though she were surprised to find herself in such company.