“Papa says you’re not to be blamed for your…defect.” She whirled, and the uneven candlelight picked out the shadow in her cheek where her jaw was clenched tight. “Perhaps not. But I do blame you for choosing to come there with Freddy. I’m glad he won’t marry you.”
“I’m glad he won’t marry you either.” Let Catherine take that how she would. The Freddy I had seen that morning would not have made either of us happy.
That surprised a bitter laugh from her. “I never wanted Freddy. But it stung to think he preferred you. I knew he did, for all I let him kiss me.”
She swooped toward me, a cloud of lacy nightdress and vanilla scent. Into my ear, she whispered, “I’ve not forgiven you yet…but do try not to drown on the crossing.”
Papa came later, as I was shredding the handful of notes I’d received from Freddy and stuffing them into my wastebasket. He did not seem to notice what I was doing, instead crossing my room to stand at the window. A low light burnished the edge of the sky. Above, inky blackness scrolled behind the stars.
“They were not wrong,” he said. “The Circle, when they called me a heretic. I have studied Luminate history for a long time. It is becoming increasingly clear to me that the Circle is using the Binding, which they once sought to preserve and protect, to increase their own power. Once, Luminate had access to all manner of spells. Now they have only the charms of the order the Circle decrees for them. This control worries me, as does the widening gap between Luminate and the rest of society. I stand by my beliefs, but I am sorry they have brought trouble on you.”
I went to his side, tucking my hand into his as I used to when I was small. “It was not your fault. I am the one who broke the spell.”
He sighed. “Debutante spells have gone awry before. I am afraid my reputation made them look more closely at you than they might have done otherwise.”
I tightened my grip on his hand. “I would not have you change your beliefs just to make things convenient for me.”
My father lost some of his tense look and kissed my brow. “You’re a good girl, Anna.”
I wasn’t, but I was glad my father believed it. “I’m sorry I disappointed you.”
He was silent for a long moment, his throat working without words. Then: “You could never disappoint me, Anna. I just want you to be safe. And happy.”
I understood what he could not say: I forgive you. I love you.
I raised myself on my toes to kiss his cheek. “I love you too, Papa. I will miss you. Write to me?”
“Of course.”
James came last of all, tapping on my door so late I was already in bed, reading by the guttering candle. His eyes were bright with anger. “You said nothing would happen. But you’re leaving!”
He evaded the hand I stretched toward him. “I don’t want to leave.”
“Then don’t.”
“It’s not my choice.” I heard the pain in my voice and hastened to add, “In any case, you will be leaving in the fall for Eton. You won’t miss me for long.”
For answer, James turned scorching eyes on me. His eyes were dark—like mine, like Mama’s, like Grandmama’s. Hungarian eyes. I realized his anger was not at me, not precisely. He was just coming to realize what I already knew: we were both of us trapped in a course we had not chosen.
His would take him to Eton, to suffer through Luminate contempt.
Mine would take me to Hungary.
The Continent, late April 1847
I stood on the deck of the ship, my fingers tight against the railing, and watched the white cliffs of Dover disappear above the grey water. The wind whipped my hair into my eyes, and the sea salt stung my cheeks. Above me, the air was full of black-and-white guillemots. Their raucous, trilling cry filled my ears.
Ginny stood beside me, offering the support of her presence without comment, for which I was grateful.
I would not see Freddy in Europe. He was bound to England, to his plans for Parliament, and his Luminate life. I would no longer have to confront his loud absence, or wonder, walking in Hyde Park, if I would see him. This is a good thing, I told myself.
I almost believed it.
Behind me remained everything I knew, nearly everyone I cared for. Ahead of me—I could not seem to see past the crashing waves. Grandmama assured me there would be society in Hungary, that the Hungarian Luminate would not place as much value on magic as the English. I hoped she might be right, but that hope seemed a tenuous thing.
My fingers were numb when we reached the shore.
A thin, exceedingly elegant Austrian gentleman met us at the docks in Calais, holding up a hand-lettered sign with Grandmama’s name: LADY ZRíNYI.
Grandmama frowned at him. “Where is the majordomo I hired?”
“Alas, circumstances conspired against him. He could not come. I have been sent in his place. My name is Herr Steinberg, and I assure you I will take the best possible care of you.” Herr Steinberg adjusted his spectacles and bowed us into a waiting carriage.
I sat by the window in our shared stateroom aboard a luxury steamboat and counted German castles as Herr Steinberg named them for me: Koblenz, Stolzenfels, Kamp-Bornhofen, Rheinfels, Katz. After spending our first night in Calais, we had traveled northeast to the Netherlands, where we took a steamboat down the Rhine. Byron’s Childe Harold had come this way too, I remembered, exiled and alone. An impoverished German Luminate entertained the passengers with illusions. A ring of fire and a crouching dragon around the largest of the castles, a knight in armor in the air above the yellow crenellation of another. Ginny watched with us and clapped her hands in delight.
Near the village of St. Goarshausen, the river skirted around a jutting rock cliff. At its base, our magician cast another illusion: a lovely maiden sat in sunlight, drawing a comb through her golden tresses. Herr Steinberg explained this was one of the Lorelei, a siren maiden who sang sailors to their deaths. The illusion, naturally, had no sound, but as we passed, a low humming lifted above the noise of the steam engine.
The moment was perfect: the sunshine mellowing the landscape, the murmuring water and the faintest hint of real danger to give the story a thrill. I found myself storing up details to share with Freddy before remembering, with devastating suddenness, that Freddy no longer cared to hear such details from me.
I gripped my hands together, my nails pricking my palms.
A slight catching sensation, as if the air about me had thickened, and the illusion shifted. Like dense fog parting to reveal the brick and balustrades of a building hidden only moments before, I caught a glimpse of something underneath the lovely bright maiden: another woman, her eyes like embers and her hair tangled around her head like some drowned Ophelia. Her mouth opened, exposing pointed teeth, and I caught an echo of a song, like something familiar but forgotten.
I gasped.
Herr Steinberg shot a sharp look at me. “Are you well?”
“Did you see that?” I asked. “The other Lorelei maiden?”