A dark-haired man on the far side of the street watched us as we emerged, his pale eyes intent on my face. Something familiar about him nagged at me, but I could not place it.
His scrutiny shook me. Herr Steinberg had said the Circle would be watching me. Was this man one of their spies? If you attempt to enter the Binding spell, we will stop you. Kill you if we must. A heavy weight settled on the negative side of my scale. Did I value this cause enough to risk my life for it?
Karolina called the next morning. When Ginny brought her card up, both Noémi and Grandmama straightened in shock.
“Is she not respectable? Ought I not to have invited her?” I asked.
“Nothing like that,” Grandmama assured me. “Her family is very old and well regarded. One of the Zichy sisters, you know. Married to Count Károlyi. Only, I didn’t know you knew her.”
Karolina burst into the room, a whirlwind in a simple white cotton dress. Hungarian made, she explained, settling herself onto the sofa beside me. She greeted Grandmama and Noémi. She asked me about my family with genuine interest. When I mentioned that James was at Eton, her expressive face grew pensive.
“My husband speaks of sending my eldest to Vienna soon, but I am not sure I wish to send him. Surely he can be as well educated close to home in his mother tongue. Better, perhaps, away from Hapsburg influence.”
“Yes.” Grandmama nodded, though her eyes were stricken. “It is good to keep a child close to home.”
“And how is your brother faring? Does he like the school?” Karolina asked me.
“Many of the boys are cruel, mocking him because he can barely muster the simplest of Luminate spells.”
Karolina sighed. “I think it is in the nature of boys to tease one another, whether or not magic is involved. Your brother will find his place, I am sure of it.”
“I hope you might be right.”
“I am always right. My sister would tell you so, if she were here. But this is a dour topic for a morning call. Tell me”—Karolina leaned forward, her dark ringlets falling across her cheeks—“do you read poetry?”
At the end of an energetic discussion, Karolina sprang up. She had stayed nearly an hour, well past the quarter hour allotted for polite calls. I walked her down to the entryway, where her maid waited.
Karolina kissed my cheek in farewell. “I was right,” she said. “You are a dear. We shall be good friends.”
“Yes,” I said, warmth rising from my toes. It was a novel sensation, to find someone who liked me for myself, with no expectations attached. I rather fancied it.
I opened the door for Karolina, and found Lady Berri perched on our doorstep.
My happiness evaporated.
I introduced the two women. Karolina curtsied and left.
“You’ve been avoiding me,” Lady Berri said. “Why? If your papa supports our plan, what hesitation can you have?”
I had many, but I could not list them on my doorstep. I settled for the one I thought her likeliest to understand. “Herr Steinberg said there are members of the Circle who would kill me if I touched the Binding.”
Lady Berri laughed. “Herr Steinberg always did enjoy talking like a villain in a melodrama. You needn’t worry about him, my dear. I can keep you safe.” She patted my cheek and surveyed the sky. A storm brooded over the horizon, already pushing dust down the street. “I shan’t come in just now. But don’t think you can put me off forever. When you decide, find me at the Hunter’s Horn.”
On the evening of Karolina’s ball, I passed Gábor in the hallway, on my way to the drawing room. He carried a sheaf of papers toward the study, but he paused when he saw me. A shadow flickered across his face.
“Well? Will I do?” I held out my skirts in a mock curtsy. Ginny and I had spent the better part of two hours preparing for the ball. Karolina had warned me that everything was to be in the Magyar style, so I had commissioned a dress that laced across the bodice, golden ivy climbing beside the laces and sprawling across the full green skirt.
“Anyone would be honored to dance with you.” His lips tugged upward in a smile that did not quite reach his eyes.
Would you? I wanted to ask. I could not read the look in his eyes, and it troubled me. I wanted him to admire me, to say something more to me than the bare dictates of politeness. His plain trousers and light cotton dolman registered. “You’re not coming? Karolina made sure to invite you.”
Gábor’s lips curled again, that smile that was not a smile. “It’s best if I stay.”
All afternoon I had entertained visions of the two of us sweeping across the ballroom together. Those visions crumbled, and a sharp, stabbing ache took their place. “You shall be missed,” I said, careful not to let my words betray too much, then swept past him to the drawing room where Noémi and Grandmama waited.
Mátyás and Noémi were arguing about Mátyás’s sporadic attendance at the university.
“They will expel you,” Noémi said, digging her fingers into the sleeves of his coat. “What is so important that you risk your future? Sitting in cafés talking about revolution?”
Mátyás shook off her hand. “This is my future. What future does any Hungarian have, restricted as we are by the Hapsburgs and the Viennese Circle?”
“You have options,” Noémi said. “You’re Luminate. You can study in Vienna. Or Paris.”
“And what sort of patriot would I be to abandon my friends and my country? Hungary deserves better than this.”
“And your sister? Do I not deserve better? What kind of future shall I have when you are killed?”
Mátyás didn’t answer. He marched out of the room with thinned lips to see if the hired carriage had arrived. It had, so he returned to escort us downstairs and help us in—nearly dropping Noémi in the process—and we were off.
The vehicle carried us beside the raised walkway of the Korzó along the Duna. Buda Castle soared above us on the far side of the river, lit by some Luminate spell: the elegant rococo fa?ade of the central wing rising up over the flanking wings, the endless rows of windows reflecting blank eyes across the water. Behind the castle, the Buda hills slumbered like folds of black velvet.
Eventually we reached the Quay, the semicircular row of white stone buildings in the Italian style, with their classical pillars and porticoes. When I descended from the carriage before the Redoute, the public ballroom ornamented with baroque lavishness, my entire body was taut like a violin string. I could not bear a repeat of the ball in Vienna.
Mátyás put an arm around me. “Don’t be nervous, Anna. I’ll dance with you, even if no one else will.”
I forgot my nerves in trying to bat at him. Mátyás laughed and skipped out of reach.