I had gone too far.
The sky was overcast, making it difficult to get my bearings. Soon Grandmama would be missing me—and worse, discovering I had ridden out alone.
Ahead of me, a great white egret picked its way along the marsh, and beyond that, two dark figures crouched beneath a cluster of trees, a horse grazing nearby.
I took a deep breath. Perhaps they could help me.
The figures looked up when I drew near: a boy and a young man, both swarthy. With a hammering heart, I recognized the elder as Gábor. The younger boy was a miniature copy. His brother, no doubt.
I groaned. Why did it have to be him? My luck was decidedly out, to keep stumbling across the one Gypsy who hated me above the others. My lips burned with the memory of his angry kiss.
But there was no help for it. At least I knew he spoke German. I slid down from my horse.
He scrambled to his feet. “What are you doing here?”
“I was riding and became lost.” I winced. I had said much the same thing at our first meeting. He must think me a ninny, to so often lose my way. I do not care what he thinks.
“Eszterháza is that way. You can see the church if you look.” He gestured behind me.
I followed his gesture and flushed. Now I knew where to look, I could see the faintly glimmering spire. I swung back to him. “Thank you.”
His brother knelt on the creek bank, fishing something out of the water. I recognized the movement: I’d seen James do it often enough. Somehow, the familiarity of frog-catching both charmed me and sent a wave of homesickness crashing over me.
“Are you catching many frogs today?”
Gábor shook his head. “Fish. My mother thinks frogs are unlucky. But how does as a lady know of frog catching?”
I smiled. “I have a brother at home, about your brother’s age. James. Will you eat your catch?”
“No,” Gábor said, watching my face with a challenging light in his eyes, as if daring me to laugh. “I plan to study them.”
I lifted my brows in surprise. “Study them?”
“I hope to be a naturalist.” He lifted his own brows in a distorted echo of mine. “Do I surprise you? You think because I am Gypsy I am illiterate and ignorant of science?”
“No, I—” I stopped. That was precisely what I had been thinking. “People can be many things, not all of them expected.” I should know better than most. I have spent my whole life failing at being the daughter my mother wanted.
When his eyes flared wider, I realized I had spoken aloud. The tight-pressed line of his lips softened with something that might have been humor. “Tell me about your brother. Is he also a naturalist?”
I shook my head. “No. He wants to be a classics scholar. But he loves fishing and hunting for frogs, and I would go with him sometimes so I could watch the birds.” Bird-watching was genteel enough that Mama did not object overmuch to my frequent outdoor excursions.
His gaze flickered behind me, and I twisted my head to see the egret still searching for food. “You like birds?”
“When I was young, our groundskeeper taught me to recognize them. I know most English birds by their call or the shape of their wings in flight or their coloration. But many of the Hungarian birds are new to me. Outside of my horse, I believe it’s my favorite thing about Hungary.” I watched the egret for a moment longer. When I turned back, Gábor was smiling at me. A real smile—the first he’d given me. My cheeks burned, and I looked away, unsure what to make of the sudden tightening in my chest.
“The Hanság is a great place for them. Kingfishers, rails, bitterns, goshawks—all kinds.” His voice lifted with enthusiasm, and his posture lost its stiffness. “Someday I hope to make a full study of them.” His eyes fell on his brother, who was trying unsuccessfully to stuff a silver fish in each pocket, and he laughed. “But today it is fish.”
His eyes were full of affection for his brother, and my heart beat hard with a sudden, impossible hope. I said to Gábor, “You know, my brother is much like you.”
Some of the stiffness returned to Gábor’s shoulders. His eyes, when they met mine, were guarded.
I plunged on. “He also wants to do more than is expected of him. He goes to Eton in the fall and wants to study classics at Oxford when he is finished. But my brother has very little magic. He will be a weak Luminate in a school with little toleration for weakness. You…you might imagine what it’s like. As a Gypsy.” He must have encountered considerable prejudice. Perhaps even cruelty.
A grimace crossed his face, but his eyes did not leave mine. “I am Romani. Gypsy is a gadzhe name, not ours.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, committing the word Romani to memory. I knew something of how it felt to be named by other people: Barren. “I didn’t know.” I swallowed. “I asked you once and you refused me—but I beg you to reconsider. Please. Teach me magic. If not for my sake, then for my brother’s. If there is a way to use magic outside of Luminate spells, I could teach him. He would not need to fear his differences.”
“I told you before, it’s forbidden.” The muscle in his jaw flickered, relaxing.
“But no one need know! Surely we could be circumspect.”
A long moment of silence fell between us. The wind shifted the trees. The water burbled inches away from my feet, and the toneless clattering of a nesting stork sounded above the woods. Hooves pounded the turf from somewhere nearby.
“I don’t—” Gábor began.
“Stop!” A crisp, High German voice rang out. “Move away from the lady!” Both of us swiveled to find a hunter bearing down on us, his gun alarmingly aimed at Gábor. I recognized the florid complexion: the squire who had beaten the boy on Whitsunday. Gábor pushed his brother behind him.
The squire sneered at them. “Filth. How dare you approach a lady?” His gaze shot to me, his eyes flashing down my body and lingering. I stiffened. “Are you harmed? Has this creature dared touch you? Steal from you? I’m the local magistrate—I’ll have him hanged before sunset if you like.” He began whispering under his breath.
Tell him what he wants to hear. I opened my mouth. “He—” I clamped my lips together, fear sparking in my gut as I recognized the Persuasion spell. “Stop that at once! I am an Englishwoman. You’ve no right to spell me!”
“I’ve the rights the Austrian Circle vested in me. I’m the sworn servant of his majesty King Ferdinand. I do what I like here.”
“Then you’re a fool. Have you any idea how dangerous this is? Spells have a nasty habit of misfiring around me. You might have hurt yourself.”
The squire paled a little. Good.
“And this man has done nothing save give me directions. At my request.” Inside, I was sick, both at the squire’s temerity and at the way Gábor’s face had turned to stone. Whatever rapport we had shared earlier was shattered now.
The squire was already backing away, clearly unnerved. “Ahem. If you are quite all right, then I shall be going.” He wheeled around.