“Horrors.” I shook my head at him as I reached over to dab away the ink with one finger and Miss Banks watched, eyes wide and curious. “Have you really left poor Amy to escort herself down to supper?”
“Oh, she doesn’t mind,” Jonathan said blithely. “All the more time to talk politics with her friends, you know, without having to explain the fine details to me as she goes along—and it’s not as if I’ve much of interest to contribute to their husbands’ conversations. All that high drama over the proper wording of spells...” He smiled ruefully at me. “Come and help me bear it?”
“Of course.” I slipped one arm through his, grateful for his familiar, solid strength and the unspoken support behind it—because for all that he’d phrased it as his own cry for help, he knew perfectly well how much I’d been dreading this first supper in magical company again.
Partners against the world. It was the way we’d always been, ever since we’d grown old enough to realize that the world—including our own parents—believed that the passions that drove us both had to be stamped out for our own good.
But Amy...
“Amy really is very patient with us, isn’t she?” I said thoughtfully.
“She won’t be for long, if we miss the start of supper.” Jonathan gave my arm an affectionate squeeze. “We’d better hurry.”
So we did.
7
We did not miss the start of supper, although it was a near thing. The doors at the far end of the green salon were just swinging open, and the gathered guests were milling around in preparation to pass through them, when the three of us stepped through the salon entrance. Miss Banks slipped away from my side immediately, seeking—I presumed—Miss Fennell; Jonathan smiled and nodded to the various groups around us, laughing in good-humored acceptance of the jests tossed his way (“Couldn’t pull your nose out of your old scrolls in time, eh, Harwood?”) and volleying back jests of his own that sent the other men into shouts of laughter; and I rose up onto my tiptoes, as discreetly as possible, to scan the crowd for magical suspects.
I only recognized around half of the gentlemen in the crowd. The older husbands of the Boudiccate, of course, had all been regular guests at my mother’s house parties. A few of my own classmates were scattered through the room, too, although none I’d been particularly close to...and from the way their glances skittered off me, I doubted they would be seeking me out to trade reminiscences during this visit.
I would have to steel myself to approach some of them, though, despite our mutual discomfort. At the very least, they were all sure to have spent more time socializing with other magicians in the field than I had in the last few years, which meant that they’d have far more of an insight into who might be practicing weather wizardry at this party.
That particular specialization might be offered as an option at the Great Library, but not a single student in my year had chosen to pursue it, and for good reason. Weather wizardry was a profitable profession for any magician with limited talent or ambition—after all, every newspaper or almanac-publisher wanted a weather wizard on-staff at all times, and the government, too, was willing to pay ridiculously well for their predictions, no matter how unreliable those predictions might be—but as the disdainful elf-lord had pointed out earlier, our ancient treaties with magical creatures across the nation prohibited any attempts at meddling with the magic of the land itself.
And without even that option at hand...well, what magician with any significant power would choose to spend all his focus on reading the hidden secrets of the weather when he could be casting actual magic?
I didn’t know a single one. But when it came to the question of whom I should approach tonight...
I felt Wrexham’s gaze before I saw him—a prickle against the side of my neck that made me instinctively turn before I could think better of it.
He stood by the wall on my right, beyond the mingling crowd, alone and apparently content to be so. In our student days, he would have propped himself bonelessly against the wall. Now he stood erect, with a glass in his hands, and watched me steadily.
But he didn’t look furious, as I’d half-anticipated, or like a man only waiting to seize any opportunity to pull me aside and lecture me on my mistakes. The look on his face as our eyes met across the room...could that really be rueful affection that I saw?
The sight pierced all of my carefully-shored-up defenses.
He’d shaved since this afternoon.
...What an idiotic thing to notice. Of course he’d shaved. He wasn’t a scruffy scholarship student from the docks anymore.
Yet here we were again, just like that first night all those years ago, watching each other across a crowded room.
This time, unlike that memorable first evening—and thousands of other evenings since then—he wasn’t striding toward me through the crowd to spend the rest of the evening at my side in lively discussion and debate. In fact, he didn’t show any signs of moving toward me at all. He must have come to the conclusion that there was no use in arguing with me anymore.
Naturally, I was delighted. Utterly delighted, not to mention relieved. Deeply relieved.
Although...I had to admit, it was rather a waste to have spent so long preparing my list of brilliant justifications for this afternoon’s actions and decisions, only to have no chance at all to deliver it.
As he lifted his glass to salute me across the room, the corners of his lips quirked upward into a wry grin. It was by far his most appealing expression.
My lips began to curve in return...
Horrified, I slapped one hand to my mouth. Was I actually smiling back at him? And coming up with justifications to seek him out myself later on, just when he’d finally given up on approaching me?
So much for all of my great resolutions.
Even after everything that had happened four months ago, it seemed I couldn’t stop being a fool when it came to judging my own strength.
I yanked my gaze away from my ex-fiancé, breathing quickly. The room before me was a blur of color and movement, but somehow, my eyes couldn’t focus on any of it.
“Oh come now,” Jonathan said cheerfully. “Don’t stop now! It’s better than theater, watching you two moon over each other.”
“I am not—!” I cut myself off with a snarl as my wits caught up with me. Taking a deep breath, I blinked the room into clarity and said with great dignity, “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”
“We should sell tickets,” my brother told me. “It’s like watching an opera, but far better because there’s so much less tuneless shrieking involved. No, it’s all wordless emoting and high drama with you two, and—ow!”
“You deserved it,” I told him, as I pulled my arm free and he patted his elbowed side consolingly. “Amy would tell you so, too, if she were here.”
“Ha! Amy would volunteer to be stage-manager, and you know it.”