Ginny and I walked sedately around our neighborhood, and then less sedately in Kensington Gardens, where I could not keep my unruly legs in line. When we reached an empty pathway, I ran, kicking my legs against my skirts and wishing it were not so unseemly for a woman to wear trousers.
When I returned to Ginny, retying the loosened ribbons on my silk bonnet, she shook ginger curls at me, but a smile split her freckled cheeks, so I knew she was not truly upset. Our walk brought us past Rotten Row and toward a wide grassy area where a crowd gathered: businessmen and lawyers on their way into the City, nurses with their young charges, costermongers, dockworkers, and others. I suspected the gentlemen with tailored coats, shining top hats, and gold watch fobs dangling somewhat askew from their waistcoats were Luminate on their way home from a night carousing, though one could never be sure without the telltale soul sign. Behind them, I could see the beautiful and costly ironworks of Cumberland Gate, in Hyde Park.
We had arrived at Speakers’ Corner.
Mama did not approve of Speakers’ Corner. Nor, for that matter, did Ginny, who began to tug at my arm and cluck with distress. Here, anyone with a will and a hearty set of lungs might speak his mind to the world. I wasn’t sure which Mama disapproved of more: the thoughts that were expressed or the company that collected to hear them.
“Don’t be so goosish,” I told her, edging closer. “Where is your sense of adventure?”
“Adventure,” Ginny said tartly, “is often more trouble than it’s worth. As you ought to know!”
I grinned at her, unrepentant. She shook her head, but I did not miss the smile trembling at the corners of her mouth.
Someone was speaking, his red hair raised above the crowd. As I drew nearer, I realized the man was not extraordinarily tall. He stood on a packing crate.
“For too long the Luminate have fattened themselves upon the labor of the working class. It is our work, our sweat, and our blood that make their lives possible.” The words sounded unnaturally loud in my ears, as if the man stood next to me; he spoke through some kind of mechanism, a small cone made of metal that amplified his voice. Beside him, a strange-shaped lump lay concealed under canvas.
I stood transfixed by his voice, a faint burr betraying his Scottish origins.
“When was the last time you saw a lord labor anywhere but in the bedroom?”
Loud, raucous laughter burst from the spectators. “Miss Anna,” Ginny hissed, her cheeks red. “This is most inappropriate.”
My own face was warm, but I did not move. Not yet.
“The Luminate use their money to buy land we cannot afford and magic we cannot practice. Their Circle uses magic to keep us cowed, to break our thoughts of rebellion.” The man swept his gaze across the crowd. “Sixty-five years ago, the Circle quashed a rebellion in France for the Bourbons, then lost the kingdom to the Corsican Tyrant for nearly a decade. And Napoleon won solely because his wealth enabled him to corrupt Luminate spell-casters. On the power of their spells, he styled himself emperor. We stand now on the cusp of our own revolution—but if we hope to win, we must recognize this one truth.”
What revolution? What truth? My pulse quickened, but I could not be sure if it was fear or the faint electric hum that filled my body. The crowd stirred, muttering agreement. The pair of young Luminate lords discreetly turned and stole away. I should do the same. Indeed, only Ginny’s reluctance to cause a scene prevented her from dragging me away. Her fingers tightened on my arm. “Miss Anna!”
I turned back to the speaker.
“We live in a world where Luminate are the only ones with magic. But it was not always so: once, anyone born with a gift wielded magic. Then the Luminate seized control of magic, trapping it with their Binding spell. They have worked hard to erase any memory of a time when magic belonged to everyone, replacing the truth with their fantasy—that Luminate are born to magic, that this birthright qualifies them to rule.”
Something cold and heavy settled in my stomach. I had never heard of a time when anyone other than Luminates had magic, and my own father was a historian. Surely this man was mistaken.
“But Luminate are no more born to magic than you are. It is not bloodlines that determine magical ability, but the Circle. They decide who has access to magic and who does not. They decide what order of magical spells you belong to—and how much magic you are allotted for your spells. And the deciding factor is not whether you have aptitude for magic. The Circle does not care if you have a gift for magic not seen in a generation. They only care that you belong to an old, decaying line, and that you can afford their Confirmation spell. It helps if you spend sufficient time kissing the Circle’s desiccated arses.”
More laughter.
“The Confirmation spell does not activate some innate gift for magic in their Luminate blood—it simply gives Luminate access to magic. Without the Binding trapping magic, and without the Circle’s tightfisted control of that spell, anyone might be a magician. You might.” He pointed at a young man near the front. “Or you. It is only this spell that keeps Luminate in power.”
It was strangely hard to breathe. I pressed my hands against my stomach and wished my corset were a degree or two looser. Mama had always taught me that magic was our birthright as Luminates, that our blood called to the magic and justified our superior position in society. If I was Barren, it was only because my Luminate blood was somehow defective.
But what if this stranger were right? The Luminate class system was built on the premise that their magical gifts made Luminates naturally superior. Take away that premise and there was not, indeed, any reason Luminates should dominate society. I did not want to believe him—and yet I could not dislodge a tiny kernel of doubt.
A second, more disquieting thought followed on the heels of the first: if the speaker was right, and the Confirmation did not so much awaken magic as grant access to it, what did it mean that not even a Confirmation was enough to give me magic?
The speaker continued. “We seek an equal world for all—a world where anyone with wit may petition for a seat in Parliament, anyone with will might own and work land, and anyone with aptitude might cast spells.”
The crowd cheered. Indeed, I might have cheered myself—was this not precisely what Freddy and I wanted?—were his other accusations not so unsettling.
“Such change is not always peaceful. We demand the end of unjust laws, the unfair perpetuation of magic through the Binding, the inequitable distribution of wealth—and the Luminate may not hear us willingly. We must be prepared to fight!”
The cheering increased to a roar.
Someone shouted, “But how shall we fight against magic?”