A Shadow Bright and Burning (11 page)

Any desire I had to speak with this man, to learn how he'd crept into my dreams, had vanished. I couldn't stand to be here another second. Blackwood placed a few coins on the table, and we walked quickly for the door.

“Return anytime, young miss. I'm sure we'd have much to talk about,” Hargrove called as we hurried down the steps and back to the carriage. The ward was a most welcome sight. Blackwood removed his hat and rubbed his eyes. Magnus stared at the floor, the muscles in his jaw working.

“What exactly were the terms of the royal pardon for magicians?” I asked.

“In exchange for their lives, they would take no apprentices and perform no public magic,” Blackwood replied. “When this generation of magicians dies, their magic will end in England forever. To break the pardon is to forfeit your life.”

“That's cruel,” I said. “Mickelmas was only one man. Why punish the rest so harshly?”

“Because you cannot trust a magician's work.”

“Why not?”

“Because they are evil.” Blackwood turned from me, the conversation ended.

“Thank you for escorting me,” I whispered, my voice dull.

We were silent all the way home.

My lessons the next day were another disaster. I set fires when I was meant to form ice and drowned flames under torrents of water. I tried the breathing exercises to clear my mind, but they only made me more anxious. Magnus encouraged my skills, while Blackwood silently judged the lack of them. Afterward, while we were filing out of the room, he approached me. I tried to excuse myself before he could tell me what a failure I was, but he surprised me by saying, “It would be my privilege to escort you to Madame Voltiana's. She is my sister's favorite dress-maker, and would be happy to service you with compliments of my family.” He stood with his hands behind his back and spoke as though conducting a business transaction. It took a moment for me to understand that he wanted to pay for my new clothes.

“Thank you, but I couldn't possibly. It's too generous.” And I really didn't want to be in any special debt to Blackwood.

“Nonsense. You must be suitably dressed for the queen's commendation in June.”

“I couldn't repay you. Besides, I have clothes—”

“Miss Howel,” he whispered, “you haven't considered Master Agrippa. I know he meant his daughter's wardrobe for you, but I've seen his face these last few days. Perhaps a change would do him good.”

How stupid could I be? I would do anything to save Agrippa pain. “In that case, my lord, I accept your offer. You're very kind.”

“It's merely a responsibility. Someone must think of these things,” he said with a wave of his hand, as though he were going over the monthly accounts. Only Blackwood could make someone feel like an oaf for thanking him.

Madame Voltiana's was a fashionable establishment on a bustling street in Mayfair, with gold lettering over the door. I'd never been in a dress shop before, and I gazed around in wonder. Swatches of expensive silk and satin lay in folds; gowns of frothy lace sat on dressmaker dummies. Women in white caps sewed, barely looking up from their work. A young lady, too richly dressed to be employed in a shop, sat on a sofa with a cup of tea. When she saw us, she rushed over.

“George, you're late. Mamma wasn't about to let me go without a chaperone, but I convinced her.” The girl kissed Blackwood's cheek. I assumed this had to be his sister. Otherwise, she was
very
forward.

“You had better do as you're told in the future,” he said, but there was no harshness in his tone. He actually smiled.

“How dull life would be if I only did
that.
” She was bold; I found I rather liked her. Blackwood turned her to me.

“May I present my sister, Lady Elizabeth Blackwood.”

“You must never call me Elizabeth, as it sounds practically ancient. Eliza will do,” she said, beaming. Eliza had the same coloring as her brother, the pale skin and black hair and green eyes, but that was the extent of the similarity. Her whole person vibrated with energy. She wore a deep purple day gown, one that beautifully set off her hair and eyes, but was too extravagant for a simple outing. She kissed my cheek before I could say hello.

“We're going to be friends,” she announced. “George wrote and said you seemed clever, which is a sight more than other girls in my circle. I daresay they've taken to staying quiet so as to better catch a husband. I don't need to be modest, of course—who wouldn't want a Blackwood? Arrogant, perhaps, but true.”

At that moment, Madame Voltiana swept through a pair of gold curtains. She was a faerie, half a head taller than Blackwood and thin as a reed, with purple skin and a snarl of moss-green hair.

“My lord, you do me too much honor.” She took his hands, to his embarrassment. “And Lady Eliza, always your servant.” She curtsied to the girl. “My lady, are you in need of anything in particular?” Madame Voltiana smiled, revealing a mouth filled with sharp black teeth.

Eliza pushed me forward. “This is my dear friend Henrietta Howel, and she must be properly equipped.”

Voltiana stood back, clapping her hands as she studied me. She wore a great gold monstrosity of a gown, with enough frills and flounces to drown a normal woman. I was growing more and more nervous at the thought of being dressed by this faerie.

“I see.” With that, Madame Voltiana burst into violent tears, turned, and fled through the curtains. Blackwood and Eliza looked at each other, clearly surprised.

“I'm sure she'll be back,” Eliza said, attempting a smile.

Sure enough, after a stunned moment, Voltiana returned, composed.

“Forgive me,” she said, flicking away a tear from her thin cheek, “the challenge was almost too great. But I shall triumph.” She pointed at me and nodded. “Yes, girl. You will be my masterpiece.”

Perhaps I should run.

It took her fifteen seconds to pop me up on a stool in front of three mirrors. While she grunted and sighed and measured and pinched me, turning me this way and that, Eliza chattered, discussing different cuts and colors. Almost as soon as I was up on the stool, I was dragged down again and seated on a sofa. Eliza sat beside me, explaining certain fashions with the air of an expert. Lovely shopgirls in different-colored frocks and gowns paraded choices before me, in and out of the curtains so fast I hardly had time to see what the faerie had in mind.

I looked around for Blackwood and found him talking with one of the seamstresses, a pretty blond girl. He smiled at her, obviously enjoying their conversation. She laughed at something he said. Interesting.

Perhaps my wardrobe wasn't the only reason for this visit.

“You'll need red,” Eliza said, snapping her fingers at a shop girl. “Your complexion is positively designed for red, as you're so dark. No pinks. Pink will be the death of you, and green will turn you sallow. Yellow might work, but only the right shade. Ivory! It's the only thing. What do you think?”

I had no idea what to say, so Eliza started another conversation.

“Julian Magnus is one of your fellow Incumbents, isn't he? To be frank, I rather hoped he'd come with you today.” She turned toward the doorway as if to check whether he'd appeared. “Mamma would be horrified at my saying so, but he's so good-looking it could drive anyone to distraction. And he makes me laugh. Of course, he hasn't a penny. Therefore he's totally unsuitable.”

“Oh?” It was all I could think to say. I liked Eliza's spirit, but I didn't like her being so mercenary about Magnus. If a man talked about a woman that way, I'd have called him a cad.

“He's not the Magnus seal bearer; his cousin is. And his cousin is fat and married. Shame.” She sighed. “One never thinks of handsome boys as being without wealth. Beautiful women who live in poverty are an everyday tale.” Eliza clapped her hands, and the shopgirls departed. “You'll have three day dresses and three for the evening, along with gloves and accessories and such. Not your commendation gown, though; I'm going to dream up something special.”

It occurred to me that Eliza was used to having her way over every living creature.

“Perhaps we might discuss it together,” I said.

“Nonsense. My taste is bound to be better than yours,” she said, waving her hand as if to dismiss me.

The remark stung. “There's no need to be rude.”

Eliza gasped, putting a gloved hand to her cheek. “You're cross with me.”

“No, I'm not,” I said, but to my surprise she shrieked with glee.

“No one's ever cross with me! No one ever calls me rude! Listen, that settles it. I know it's almost two months off, but you simply must be our special guest for the Court Players' annual
Dream.
”

I had no idea what any of that meant. “Pardon?”

“
A Midsummer Night's Dream.
You know, the play? It's a social obligation every year, and it would be tedious except that the Court Players are the only troupe with actual faeries as actors, so it's marvelous. You'll be in our box. Say yes. Right now.”

I'd never been to the theater before. The closest I'd come was the Christmas play we performed each year at Brimthorn, so this was massively exciting. “Thank you, yes,” I said, feeling overwhelmed.

“Not at all. This is wonderful. I'm ever so glad they found a lady sorcerer I could be of an age with. When the last one was alive, I was too young.”

That was a baffling thing to say. “The last one was four hundred years ago. We were
all
a bit too young to be her friend.”

Eliza looked at me as if I were an adorable fool. “No, dear,
four
years ago. Remember? Gwendolyn Agrippa?”

“What are you talking about?” I felt as if I'd missed an important conversation.

Eliza gasped again. “They never told you? Oh, they're positive fiends, all of them. Keeping you ignorant of something like that, well.”

“What are you talking about?”
I couldn't help speaking harshly. Eliza rolled her eyes.

“Gwendolyn Agrippa was a sorcerer. Or at least she was going to be. She tested positive for powers at her baptism when she was a baby—don't look shocked, they baptize girls as well as boys for tradition's sake—and you can imagine everyone's reaction when she was found to have an active ability. The first girl in four hundred years! She received a stave, was an Incumbent in her father's house. Good Lord, did they think you'd never find out? They thought
she
was the prophesied one, you know. Then she died of that piddling little fever, and they had to find another. So I'm ever so glad you're here.” She beamed.

I thought I would be sick. Palehook had said I'd much to live up to.

I always thought Miss Agrippa to be among the brightest lights in our society.
Some had clearly believed Gwen to be the prophesied one. Which meant that some would search for reasons to despise me. After my recent efforts in the obsidian room…

“You look ill,” Eliza said. “What's wrong?”

“This is a great deal to take in,” I murmured.

“Don't tell George I told you. Dear boy, he's positively the most wonderful brother, but he does tend to think his word is law. Back in a tick,” she said, and bounced off to drag Blackwood out of his conversation with the seamstress.

Watching them, I wondered what Blackwood thought of Gwendolyn Agrippa's status as the prophesied one.

We were soon back out on the street. Eliza drove off in her family carriage, leaning out the window to wave to me.

“Come next week for tea!” she called.

“She likes you. Eliza doesn't like most girls,” Blackwood said, sounding rather impressed. He absently twined a pink silk ribbon around his hand. I was certain the pretty seamstress had given it to him.

I smiled wanly at his comment; my mind was preoccupied.

“
A
SURPRISE, MISS,
”
L
ILLY SAID WHEN
I entered my room that evening. Seven parcels lay on the bed. “Your clothes from Madame Voltiana.”

“That was just hours ago!” Incredulous, I opened a bundle and uncovered a gorgeous wine-red evening gown with gold embroidery. “How is it possible?”

“Madame Voltiana's special. Works like magic. I suppose it is magic, isn't it?” Lilly giggled as she laid out my clothes. “These'll suit you ever so much better. How about the red for tonight, miss? We'll do your hair lovely again.”

Besides the gowns, there were stockings, a chemise, even knickers trimmed with lace. Everything was pure white; in my old life, such delicate things would have been impossible to keep spotless. There were soft goatskin gloves in fawn and cream. I petted one against my cheek and sighed. Every Christmas Eve, I'd listened to Jane Lawrence whisper about how she longed for kid gloves. Perhaps I could send her a pair this year.

There were flannel and cotton petticoats, and also a black velvet hip sheath, perfect for carrying a stave. Madame Voltiana had thought of everything.