Mama’s criticism was too painful to hold on to and too primal to let go of. It was the rock Tess had been pushing uphill her whole life, and she had an inkling that this could not be resolved in a single night. Not even close.
But there were plenty of other things she might examine in closer detail if she dared. Specific ways she’d been terrible. Specific things she’d done.
Will.
He popped into her head occasionally, and she always beat him back into the shadows. That was an era of her life best forgotten. She’d been so stupid and naive and—
Her very reluctance suggested this was important. She should hold on to the memories she didn’t want to remember.
And then, maybe, she could finally let them go.
She conjured Will to mind, on purpose, for the first time in a long time.
That first taste of freedom, at the electrostatics lecture, had only made Tess hungrier. Lady-in-waiting lessons went from tedious to torturous. She couldn’t concentrate on any of it. She dropped stitches, bungled lineages, and used the wrong fork for everything.
“There are cures for inattentiveness,” said Mistress Edwina after three days of this. “A hard rap across the knuckles with a wooden spoon does wonders. I merely mention it.”
In fact, she didn’t merely mention it. The old woman demonstrated upon Tess’s fingers shortly thereafter—when she’d been about to use the fish fork to eat songbird pie—and even Tess had to admit it was very motivating.
When the day of the megafauna lecture arrived, Tess squirmed like she was full of ants. She could finally go out and forget all this for a while. Evening couldn’t come soon enough.
Mistress Edwina, of course, chose that morning to give an unannounced courtesy test—Which degree do you give the third son of the Earl of Blystane? What about his nephew? After about twenty-five curtsies with accompanying flourishes (several of which Tess knew she’d got wrong, because Jeanne had been flourishing in a different direction), Tess lost all patience.
For her next answer, she gave eleven-sixteenths courtesy, reasoning that the Scion of Ziziba probably wouldn’t know which degree to expect anyway, since he came from far away.
Eleven-sixteenths, absurdly, was Tess’s best flourish; it was used least, and was therefore an amusing and hilarious thing to know.
Mistress Edwina seemed to take it as sarcasm. She wasn’t wrong.
The old woman grabbed Tess by the ear and pulled her upstairs to a tiny storage room. She didn’t have to say a word; Tess had been here before. Tess went inside and sat on a tiny trunk, her knees awkwardly wedged between stacks of dusty baskets.
The dowager stood in the doorway, a slip of angry darkness against the light.
“Do you think this is a game?” said Mistress Edwina. Her voice was quiet and steely, like a knife being drawn.
“No,” said Tess sullenly, rubbing her sore ear.
“And yet you persist in taking nothing seriously,” said the old woman. “You’re the one who has to marry, Heaven help us.”
Tess slumped back against the wall. “I wish I wasn’t.”
“Penury suits you, does it? Well, your family doesn’t agree. You’re going to court, like it or not, and impeccable etiquette is the only tool you’ll have at your disposal. Not your looks, not your temperament.”
Unlike Jeanne, the dowager didn’t say, but Tess knew the comparison was being made.
“My nature is a liability, you mean?” said Tess bitterly. “No one could love me as I am?”
Mistress Edwina gave a snort of frustration. “You read too many stories. Nobody has to fall in love with you,” she said. “There will be no prince on a white charger, sweeping you off your feet. This is business, not romance. You have merely to find a suitably wealthy suitor, and then persuade him that you’ll make a decent mother and won’t embarrass him in public. That’s all, Tess. That’s destiny. Sit there and reconcile yourself to it.”
Mistress Edwina closed the closet door, leaving Tess in darkness.
Tess didn’t mind. The old woman had inadvertently given her something to ponder. Had stories really warped her expectations and made her dissatisfied with her lot?
Or were they her road map out?
At thirteen, Tess had already read a hundred variations on this theme: a princess is required by her family to marry someone terrible, she objects and gets herself locked away in a dark tower (or storage closet), and then Dozerius (or some analog) comes along and rescues her with the power of love.
True love was a time-honored way of escaping nearly everything—ogres, witches, bandits, tedious obligations. Her parents wouldn’t like it, but surely even they had to acknowledge that love conquered all.
Hadn’t Papa married that dragon-woman, after all? Hadn’t Mama married Papa? Love won out every time, never mind their subsequent regrets.
Tess wasn’t so naive as to imagine that if she stayed in this closet, her true love would magically intuit that she was here. Waiting for a literal prince was impractical, and anyway, she wasn’t a literal princess. If it was up to her to go out and find her own rescuer, so be it.
In fact, now that she thought about it, she might just know someone suitable.
Tess stood up and rapped softly upon the door. Mistress Edwina loosed the bolt and threw the door open. Tess blinked in the light.
“Well?” the dowager demanded.
Tess kept her expression rigorously neutral. “I’ve seen the error of my ways, Mistress Edwina, and am ready to cooperate.”
The old woman cocked a deeply skeptical eyebrow but let Tess come downstairs, back into the circle of her favor. It took every ounce of Tess’s willpower not to smirk.
* * *
Evening finally arrived.
Tess climbed out the window of Seraphina’s old room, met Kenneth at St. Siucre’s shrine, and crossed town with him. He chattered on about his day at the docks, and Tess smiled and nodded in all the right places, barely listening.
She was too caught up in her hopes. This evening could change everything. Maybe.
Please? she said, to any Saint who might be listening.
The hall at St. Bert’s was packed to the rafters, and not with mere townspeople, there for a free lecture. Young men, the students of St. Bert’s Collegium, had filled the hall to hear the talk on megafauna. Tess noted their excited energy, students grinning and elbowing each other.
This William of Affle was quite a dynamic speaker, apparently, if he inspired such a buzz of anticipation.
That was one quality to recommend him. Tess was keeping a tally in her head.
There were no empty seats on the floor, so Tess followed Kenneth up to the gallery. The last two together were up against the balcony railing, but by the time they’d maneuvered through the crowd, one of the seats had acquired an occupant, a slender fellow with an aristocratic nose and long dark curls.
“St. Masha’s stone,” Kenneth swore. “Take the seat, Tes’puco. I’ll stand.”
“Are you together?” the long-haired young gentleman asked Kenneth as Tess squeezed past his knees. “Take my seat and sit by your lady friend.” He rose to let Kenneth sit.
“I’ll be fine,” said Kenneth. “She’s just my cousin.”
“Please,” said the fellow. He was near Kenneth’s age, maybe a year older, and almost as tall. His face held a quick intelligence; his flowing hair made him downright pretty. “You’ve clearly been working all day, whilst I’ve been sitting on my arse listening to humans debate saar. My day was tiresome, but not tiring, if you follow me. You surely need the seat more than I do.”
“I’m Kenneth.” He was blushing to his ears.
“Rynald, Baronet Averbath,” said the young man, smiling. “Sit. Maybe I’ll settle myself here in the aisle beside you. Were you at our astronomy lecture last week? You look familiar.”
Kenneth was either in awe of him as an astronomer or shy of his beauty. Lord Rynald seemed charmed by his discomfiture, in either case. Tess sighed wistfully.
Kenneth was naturally, effortlessly lovable. She was not going to have it so easy.