“April thirtieth. The night. Why couldn’t they pick the full moon? Like tonight.”
Gabe was pacing, for all the pacing was annoying him too. He couldn’t be still, moving wasn’t helping. Nothing was helping, honestly. His father was leaning back from his spot on the sofa, though Mama had gone off to soak in a long bath after supper. The weather hadn’t been kind to Mama at all. It had been cold, stormy, with frost and snow showers on Monday, even halfway through April. Papa and Mama had been meant to go out to something tonight, and had cancelled, much as Mama hated to do that. It was admitting a weakness she’d still rather people didn’t notice.
It meant Papa raised an eyebrow. “Because people have their ideas about the powerful days.”
“But if I am there, I can’t be here.” That was what was driving Gabe spare. Well, that, his worry for Rathna, his need to keep calm about it for Avigail and the others, and the fact his own ankle disapproved loudly of the shifts in weather and pressure. The pacing certainly wasn’t helping, but it was one of the days when sitting was even worse. He’d put on one of the wrap bandages when he went to bed, and he might go so far as a dose of one of the more emphatic potions.
Rathna had got him to promise, years ago, that he’d be honest about when he was taking the potions. Not because he was inclined to take them too often, the way some people might worry about. Rather the opposite, he took them only when there was no other choice. On the average day, he’d rather live with the known pain than worry about muting any of his other senses. He’d have to write her, and tell her. It would be one of those curious moments of proving he was taking care of himself in her absence by admitting he wasn’t doing well.
It had made him feel better to know Uncle Gil had the same arrangement with Uncle Magni, to admit when nothing was touching the pain and discomfort. But he resented it, in a way he no longer resented the pain and ache itself. And he resented needing to think about it, perhaps even more.
He pivoted around to face his father. “I won’t be back for the land rites.” There were arrangements to put him - and Isobel - up in a pub’s upstairs rooms, after whatever the ritual was. There was no way they’d be able to sneak out and get to a portal, and back to Veritas in time, especially not with curfew. It would look entirely too suspicious.
And he had missed only two May Days here since he became Heir. One, when he was still recovering from his ankle, and had just returned to school, and the back and forth was entirely too much. And while he had sworn he’d be up for riding the bounds, every single adult in his life had refused to let him try, some of them twice over. He could argue any one of them round, as a general, even Mama and Papa, but not all of them when they were unified.
The other May Day, he’d missed because he and Rathna had been visiting her extended family in Calcutta for several months. That was a perfectly good reason not to be in Kent on a particular morning. The two points were rather far apart.
“And I am still entirely capable of performing them, Gabe. This is why you’re the Heir, not the Lord. It’s not as if it’ll change anything for you.” Papa sounded amused, at least, rather than annoyed. Not that Gabe ever pressed when Papa was remotely annoyed. It wasn’t kind, for one thing. Not to Papa, and certainly not to Gabe himself.
“No. But I like them. I was looking forward to them.” He was being petulant now, and he knew it. Papa knew it. And if Isobel didn’t know it, she wasn’t paying attention at all. Gabe glanced around the room, taking in the way she was half-perched on her chair, nominally pretending to look at a book.
“You’ll be back for the village festivities later. I’ll put word round that you’re doing your own bit of war work. They understand, you know they do.”
“It’s not the same.” Gabe pivoted again, having come close to the edge of the bookshelves. “Anthony?”
“We can make the arrangements for him to come back, certainly. Has he asked you?” Papa shifted, both feet on the ground now, stretching slightly. All the little movements that Gabe knew meant he was paying close attention now, the way he shifted his weight when duelling. They had near enough thirty years evaluating each other that way, so of course Gabe noticed.
“Hinted at it this morning. I said I’d check, so this is me, checking. Remembering to check.” He kept feeling like he was losing pieces, no matter how many lists he made, but that was one thing he wouldn’t forget. Gabe ran his hand through his hair. “He’s doing well, though, and settling down to the necessary work, not just the interesting bits. Have I mentioned, Papa, how glad I am you didn’t send me to tutoring school?”
The two-year schools were the ordinary way of things, for families of their background, and children who showed any kind of stronger magical potential. Two years, near enough in fostering, to meet others of similar background. Perhaps make a match, certainly enough time to begin to build alliances of use through their school years and into adulthood.
Gabe had not been sure about sending any of their three children, but Rathna, of all people, had argued it would be good for them. Coming from a mixed marriage, in a number of complicated ways, it was a means for the children to learn to balance the ways they differed from others, and the things they still had in common. And for others, quietly and not so quietly, to learn how competent their children were. She hadn’t wanted to send any of them away, not exactly. But Rathna had wanted their children to have every advantage she hadn’t.
And given both of them had their own demanding professions, it made a certain amount of sense. Both Gabe and Rathna could - even without the war - get called out at any time for an emergency. When Gabe and Charlotte had been growing up, Mama had been reliably around, with help from half a dozen others as their own schedules allowed. It had worked out well, but it had relied on her steady presence.
Charlotte had gone to tutoring school, mind, but she’d always preferred to be on her own in a small group. She had a handful of close friends, and for a while the whole family had thought she’d marry one of the boys from that time. They’d stayed close through their years at Schola. They were still, even if any hint of romance had gone sideways even before she got married.
Papa chuckled. “They’d have sent you home inside a week, I suspect. You were a terror at that age.” He glanced over at Isobel, to see what she made of that.
“You say that, sir, like he’s not a terror now.” Isobel’s voice came across quite clearly. “This is not, I admit, entirely what I expected when he suggested I move in, for all it’s been more convenient.”
Gabe raised an eyebrow at that and paused in the next round of his pacing. “I am not being nearly as much of a terror as I could be!” It was a point of pride. Honestly, he got no respect.
It made his father laugh, the long comfortable laugh that didn’t happen nearly often enough, especially right now. It made Gabe glad. “It is a quiet evening, Gabe. Save the terror for some purpose.” Then he waved his hand at Isobel. “It does make it easier to tell you stories of his youth. Or a year or two ago. Or last week, wasn’t there something about fish?”
“A matter of testing to see if omens could be faked usefully given a few ordinary sorts of supplies, the kind of thing that could be carried in a pocket.” Isobel had found the project delightful. The challenge was to figure out what could be added to a pool of water to encourage a reaction or cause a gleam of some shade or another. Nothing harmful to the fish or wildlife, of course, just specks of magic that did what was needed and dissipated.
They hadn’t quite perfected it, yet, though. It had meant there were gleaming golden fish in the garden pond nearest the Guard Hall, who should more properly have been a coppery orange. Gabe waved a hand, wanting to get back on topic. Usually he was the one who went chasing after any digression on offer, he really was in a state. “We’ll figure something out. This doesn’t solve May.”
“We’ll make the arrangements for Anthony to come. And Rowena, too, it would do her good to see us. And you when you can.” Papa made it sound easy, and to some extent it was. Notes to the schools, May Day was understood as a time when special arrangements might be made. “Cook’s already making plans for an evening feast, assuming none of us are called away to duty.”
Gabe sighed. “Why couldn’t they do their ritual on the evening of the first? I know, I know, sunset is the powerful time, the evening before, the anticipation. I could quote you all the citations I had to learn for fourth year Ritual, still.” He’d had to memorise a whole set. His professor hadn’t believed him when he’d come up with the right answers without having appeared to have done any of the reading.
Reading wasn’t everything, much as it was useful, which reminded him. “Isobel, did you get a chance to go through the notes about what sorts of things we might expect in the ritual?”
“Scattered references, and half of them are clearly not going to fit with the others. I can’t tell what they’re basing things on. Cunning man traditions, I think, more than anything else. I can work with that, well enough.”
Gabe nodded. “I’ll follow your lead, but write up a summary, if you would? I’m not sure what else I’m going to need to focus on in the next ten days. The reminder might be necessary.”
Isobel settled back with another amused, “Sir.”
“Does he do that often?” Papa had leaned forward now.
“Ask me for summaries? Yes, sir. I’ve learned how to write them so he doesn’t come back with red ink.” Isobel was teasing now, and they both knew it.
“I only did that twice, and only because they were getting kicked sideways.” Gabe added to his father. “The Honourable Lucia Mackenzie.” He gave the judge her full title, mostly because it would amuse Papa. She’d become more agreeable toward the family over the years, not least because Gabe was well-trained in giving her the information she wanted in the proper order.
“That’s a useful skill, there.” Papa nodded. “Half of the work, sometimes, is figuring out how to say the thing in the way someone will hear. So they’ll give you permission to do what you think needs doing.”
“And the rest of it is having confidence in what that is.” Gabe followed it up as quick as he could. “Your summaries are excellent, Isobel. I look forward to this one.”
Isobel glanced from Gabe to his father and back again. “Making a point, sir? Sirs?” That was a hair less certain.
Papa shrugged, another one of the deceptively casual ones. Gabe wasn’t entirely sure why Papa had picked this moment for this particular lesson, but he’d long ago learned not to question Papa’s judgement on this kind of thing. “Many people can learn the skills you’ve been learning. Not so many can figure out how to apply them deftly. And what you’re going into, that takes deftness, both in when to watch and when to act. Do you feel comfortable getting yourself out of a bad situation?”
Isobel, to her credit, didn’t rush her answer. Gabe was exceedingly proud of the fact she didn’t dwell, either, just took the proper amount of time for reflection. “I believe so, sir. I’ve been doing my training with the Guardswoman that Captain Lefton recommended. I don’t think much of my chance in a duel or outright fight, but I’m much better at the charms that help me slip away. I run well, and last week, Gabe walked by me for a good thirty seconds before noticing the keep-away working.”
“Thirty seconds. My.” Papa looked over and laughed. “What do you have to say for yourself?”
“I’d been reading a note from Rathna. And also I hadn’t had any coffee yet.” Gabe shrugged, agreeably.
It made Papa laugh all the more, before he waved a hand. “I’m going to go see how your mother’s getting on. We’ll let you know when the bath’s free.”
Gabe nodded as his father got up. He’d earned that, and he couldn’t grudge either of his parents noticing that sort of thing. “Isobel, while we’ve got a few minutes, want to run through the cover story one more time?” Practice in this made perfect and smooth, as in many other things.