I did not want to believe it. My fingers tightened around the fabric of my skirt.
“No. Anyone can use our talismans, though we keep them carefully guarded. I’m not sure what’s preventing Miss Arden.” Gábor rocked back on his haunches. The movement pulled his trousers taut against the line of muscle in his leg. The muscle of a working man and an athlete. So different from Freddy’s slim, aesthete build. Uncomfortable heat pricked in my breast. I turned away, hoping Gábor did not notice my rising color.
Gábor stood, brushing dirt from his trousers. “That is enough for one lesson. You should go now. If you stay, you’ll be missed. I’ll send you word when it’s safe to meet again.”
I felt as though someone had offered me a draft of water when I was parched, only to snatch it away. “Why not tomorrow?”
Gábor folded his arms across his chest. “My magic, my rules.”
I gave in with poor grace. “You are not very gallant.”
He bared his teeth in a wide smile. “No. I am not.”
In a month, we met a half dozen times in the drowsing summer heat. I did not make much progress, a fact Mátyás bemoaned loudly, but Gábor never remarked on. I could sense the magic, yet I could not seem to pull it into the charms.
On afternoons when Gábor took pity on my repeated failures, he and Izidóra alternated demonstrating how the talisman magic worked. Izidóra cajoled a rose to bloom and then furl back tightly. Gábor raised a small windstorm that tore my hair loose and made Mátyás laugh as I scrambled to find the pins in the tall grass. Eventually, I gave up. Later, I told Grandmama the pins had fallen during my ride.
I watched Gábor more than I perhaps should have, noting his small kindnesses to his sister, his clever hands, his quick wit. And then, becoming aware of my own observations, I retreated behind a prickly austerity that made both Mátyás and Izidóra stare.
The lessons were not a complete failure. I learned enough of the theory to wheedle a ring from Izidóra and enclosed it in a letter to James with detailed instructions on its use. Perhaps he’d have better luck than I.
The sun was hot on my head. Not four hours past dawn and already the day was stifling. Sweat beaded my forehead beneath my bonnet and trickled down my bodice. I leaned forward to whisper to Starfire, soothing words meant more for me than for her. I was riding alone to meet Izidóra and Gábor, as Mátyás had failed to appear. I reasoned: Izidóra would be present. There would be no impropriety. Aside from meeting a pair of Romanies in the first place. And learning their magic.
A breeze swirled the warm, sweet summer air around me. The towering linden trees near the Eszterházy estate had burst into bloom, thousands of star flowers filling the air with their honey and lemon-peel scent. At night I pushed my window open so the fragrance filled my room and my dreams.
When I arrived at the appointed site, I dismounted and tied Starfire loosely to a low branch. Gábor lounged against a tree trunk, pulling the head off a daisy.
“Izidóra could not come today,” he said, tossing the daisy head away.
“Oh.” All of my words appeared to have deserted me, along with our chaperones. Breathing was strangely difficult. I wondered if Ginny had laced my corset too tightly.
Gábor’s glance flicked behind me. “Where’s Mátyás?”
“Gone.” I slid my tongue across my lips, trying to call the unruly words in my head to order. “I think he’s bored with my progress. Or lack thereof.”
“And you, Anna? We don’t have to keep going if you’re tired.”
“No.” My pulse hammered in my throat. My given name on his lips was intimate, dangerous. “I want…this.” My hand swept out, gesturing vaguely at the clearing, at Gábor.
His eyes sharpened, and he took a single step toward me.
My face lit like a fuse. This man had kissed me once, though he had kept his distance since.
And we were alone.
The brook rippled past us. Overhead, the branches laced together, retreated, and then met again in the wind, as if trapped in some ancient courting dance.
My breath caught, and I waited—half hoping, half fearing—for him to take the steps that would close the distance between us.
I wanted…What did I want? I did not want this strangely proud young man to kiss me. I could not want that. I wanted magic. I wanted James to be whole. I did not want the dizzy rush and heat of kissing. I did not want another Freddy.
Then why was I so out of reason disappointed when Gábor halted? Part of me, the shadow part I struggled to keep safely contained, whispered wickedly it would not be very hard to close the distance myself, to set my lips against his.
I laid a square of fabric on the ground and settled myself upon it, folding my hands in my lap. Only the lingering heat in my cheeks betrayed my unmannerly thoughts. Gábor sat a safe distance from me, his hands kneading the muscles in his thighs. I watched their movement, fascinated, until I became aware of precisely what I did and blushed.
“Have you always been Barren?”
My eyes flew to his, startled by the abrupt question. But there was just curiosity and even a little sympathy in his eyes, so I answered.
“The Circle tested me as they do all Luminate children at their Confirmation. I failed spectacularly.” And I injured James. But I could not say so to Gábor. “After that, Mama kept me away from everything magical, including most of Luminate society.”
Gábor’s eyes held none of his usual reserve. They were dark and warm, like a summer night. “I am sorry. It is not an easy thing to feel divided: part one thing, part another, but never whole.”
An aching shock of recognition hit me. “You feel this too?”
Gábor plucked a leaf from a nearby bush, holding it up to the light so the veins showed dark. “I’ve always been interested in the natural world. A clergyman in a nearby village the winter I was nine noted my interest and offered me lessons with the other boys he tutored.”
“That was generous.”
“I suppose it was kindly meant. But if I had known how it would end—” He broke off.
I waited, silent, willing him to continue. After a minute or two, he began again. “The parents of the other boys complained. I was Gypsy. I was no longer allowed to study with them, but the priest made time for me when he could. When my family moved on, he sent books with me. My mother threatened to destroy them—who needed gadzhe learning?—but I begged her not to. Learning—it was like a curse. I couldn’t get it out of my thoughts, my blood. I wanted more. Occasionally I could find people kind enough to teach me: sometimes priests, sometimes students.
“Mostly, people weren’t very welcoming. A Gypsy to aspire beyond his station? Absurd.” He sprang up and began striding across the clearing. “I could have tolerated gadzhe scorn. I’ve heard it my entire life. But then my own family accused me of turning gadzho, of thinking myself better than them.”