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  Theodor took my hand and I let him hold it more tightly than was comfortable as we joined the Pommerly family and their guests. As liveried servants in Pommerly-pink uniforms passed canapés of some sort of bland gray mousse and slivered cucumbers, I reflected that the food might well be better down on the lawn, too. Summer races were social events in Galitha City for the common folk as well as the nobles who owned the horses and paid for the training of the jockeys who rode them. A basket of the best white bread, aged rounds of cheese, and plum confit for the races was perhaps the only indulgence of the year that Kristos didn’t have to fight my tight purse strings to buy. I could almost taste the brilliant purple-pink jam and pungent cheese—imagination wasn’t difficult when its rival was a shaved cucumber with too little salt.

  The king, attended by Ambrose and Ballantine as well as several high-ranking lords, acknowledged our arrival with an obligatory nod. His wife and daughter stood close to him, both delicately blocking their view of me with slim sandalwood fans. I had finally made myself one of the cotton gowns my shop had churned out for others; it had begun to be understood as a pro-reformist statement in and of itself. Besides, I thought with some satisfaction, it was far more fashionable than the queen’s elaborate flounces. I proudly wore a new triple-looped scarlet-and-gray breast knot, but it didn’t escape me that most of the nobles present had royal-blue kerchiefs or cockades.

  Theodor was quickly snatched up into conversation with two portly lords, including, I believed from the metalwork device pinned to his coat, a Pommerly. His brother Ambrose quickly took a position next to Theodor, and I slipped away by myself. A faint breeze carried the scent of new-mown grass into the box; I stood by the railing and watched as the first set of horses was paraded before the spectators.

  Ballantine, a near beanpole in his well-fitted Royal Navy dress uniform, saw me by myself and joined me. “Do you like horses, Miss Balstrade?”

  I didn’t know much about horses; I had learned more about wagering than about the animals themselves from Kristos and his friends at races in the past. Still, the way their bones and musculature moved in fluid tandem reminded me of a well-constructed gown, pieced precisely on a deftly crafted structure. “I like watching them run,” I answered honestly. “I’m not sure I like them, precisely. I’m not sure I understand them well enough to know.”

  “I confess, I prefer ships to horses. Ships do as you tell them,” Ballantine confided. I laughed. “I understand he’s been teaching you to ride.”

  “Yes, he gave me a few lessons.” After accompanying Theodor on a ceremonial hunt Viola hosted for the New Year in the spring, I had insisted on learning the rudiments of riding. While Theodor and the hunting party had sprinted ahead, chasing a white hare through the broad, green Royal Park outside the city, I had watched from the pavilion set up for the elderly ladies and nursing mothers. Theodor had taken me to the royal stables, at times when no one would see my embarrassing falls and awkward seat on the horse. “I can manage a comfortable walk and can almost tolerate trotting.”

  “Tolerate is a good term for it,” he said. “Like some other things I could mention.” He nodded toward Theodor, pinned near the trays of petits fours by a pair of nobles.

  “It hasn’t been presented in the bill, no,” Theodor said.

  “The Livestock Act is outdated,” the older of the two declared. “The concept of restricting trade on proven breeders hasn’t been supported since my father was a pup.”

  “I don’t disagree, Lord Fairleague, but the Reform Bill as it stands is not taking that particular issue on,” Theodor replied. I could hear the forced calm in his voice. Whether this was an obtuse suggestion borne out of ignorance or a deliberate attempt at distraction from the true reforms facing the council, I didn’t know. In either case, it grossly misunderstood where the Galatine system was broken, attempting to tack down a loose shingle instead of reinforcing the foundation of a collapsing house.

  “Well, what does the king think?” Though phrased as a jovial question, it was a challenge—which side would the king take? I glanced at Ballantine, whose lips were pressed together in a hard line. My mouth was dry. Would the king openly argue against the reform with his son, here, in a public space? Or, in a bright miracle, would he side with us?

  “A complicated question,” he hedged, and then let Lord Fairleague begin a long diatribe on the grievous laws hampering his estate’s cattle-breeding efforts.

  “Well, this is impolite conversation,” Annette, who had arrived without my notice, said under her breath. “I didn’t need to hear about bulls mounting his heifers, did you?”

  Ballantine blushed. “Lady Annette.” He bowed in greeting to his cousin.

  “I was trying to ignore it,” I said, though it wasn’t exactly true. The king’s deflective response had been spineless, and I waited for him to correct Lord Fairleague.

  The king didn’t correct the lords, even as Theodor interjected. “That’s all very well, and you ought to draft something for the council’s next session. For now, our focus is on creating representative bodies with regular elections and—”

  “Elections!” the Duke of Pommerly sputtered. “We’ll see if such a thing ever comes to pass.”

  I could almost feel Theodor’s sinews tightening from across the room. Ballantine laid a steadying hand on my arm. “Don’t let them rile you,” he whispered to me. “These men will never change their minds; the world will go on changing without them.”

  The king’s smile was tepid. “Well, well, we’ll let the councillors debate, shall we?”

  Theodor shot him a frustrated glance, adding, “Something has to be done to address the concerns of the populace. I happen to believe in certain ideals, but for pragmatism’s sake—we can’t leave the Fourth Regiment encamped in the park forever to prevent the riots you know will resume if the people aren’t assuaged.”

  “Nothing needs to be done,” Pommerly retorted. “Everything that is done is a choice. Our choice.”

  “The nobility is indeed the backbone of our great nation,” the king said, his soothing tone like something I’d heard less competent governesses use with very small children. I watched Theodor seethe quietly, feeling the same fiery exasperation muffled under thin civility. I caught his eye. He shook his head slightly—don’t bother, the defeated gesture said. The country was teetering on the edge of collapse, rotten at her core, and if the people kept picking at it, with revolts and coups and riots, the resulting conflict would be ugly, long, and bloody. These men weren’t able or interested in seeing it, and a very new king didn’t have the political capital to oppose the most powerful people in his own country.

  “Let’s all let this drop and enjoy the wine, shall we?” Lady Apollonia, Theodor’s little sister Polly, had a voice like the highest bells in the cathedral’s carillon, and it punctured the tense silence. I tried to meet her eyes with a grateful smile, but she turned her head away from me. She wore royal blue draped in a swath across her silk gown, and it fluttered in the breeze she made walking away from me.

  Theodor returned to my side. “I think we probably ought to make our pleasantries with my parents,” he said.

  “Is that what we’re calling it?” I asked with a raised eyebrow. Pleasantries—it sounded like a social call over Midwinter.

  He took my arm, deliberately placing my hand on his, and escorted me to where the king and queen of Galitha stood overlooking the racetrack.

  “Mother, Father,” Theodor said with a subtle bow. I smiled, rote and faintly idiotic. Was I supposed to curtsy? Kiss their rings? I had a feeling I was not about to be embraced and given a familial welcome.

  “Theodor,” the queen said with genuine affection for her son in her eyes and a terse smile on her lips. “You are looking well. And you’ve finally brought her to meet us,” she added, turning to me with all the cold poise of an ice sculpture.

  “I’m so glad we are able to spend the day together,” I said. I had carefully selected and rehearsed the line—�
��lovely to meet you” only highlighted that we should have met a long time ago, and “pleased to see you” suggested some sort of familiarity that we didn’t have.

  “Indeed.” She continued to regard me with an expression I couldn’t quite place. “I’m sorry we haven’t time to host you and Theodor for dinner before we leave the city. I spend the summers at our estate near Rock’s Ford.”

  “Will you see Gregory and Jeremy?” I inquired. The twins were at school near Rock’s Ford, attending the prestigious Galatine military academy.

  “The school will host several exhibitions over the summer for families to attend, and the boys will come home for a short break between the terms.” She turned back toward the racetrack, and I finally placed her expression—complete and utter disinterest in me. Not disdain, not hatred—nothing.

  She wasn’t angry with me or threatened. Her emotional investment in our exchange was nothing at all. She discounted me now, and she would go back to ignoring me as soon as I was out of sight.

  “Too bad, too bad I’ll miss the boys this year.” The king sighed. He regarded me with clearer emotion—distrust. “This Reform Bill of yours is keeping everyone in the city longer than they would like, dear boy,” he added, turning back to Theodor.

  “I feel it’s necessary,” he replied. “Don’t you?”

  “Necessary, well.” The king turned to Polly, who was standing by a tower of white cake and strawberries. “Do cut me a slice of that, Polly, won’t you, dear?”

  “Of course, Papa,” she said, her smile like sunshine as she served the most powerful man in the country a plate of sweets. She grazed past me, the false rump under her blue silk gown nudging me out of her way. “Theo, you should work less. Those dark circles are getting worse.”

  “Maybe cake would make them better,” he said with a grin.

  “Get your own cake.” Polly brushed him off. Theodor looked hurt, more so than by his mother’s cold reception or his father’s rejection of his work. He and Polly had always been close. I hadn’t considered that she might not support his marriage or his political work, but it was clear—there was a divide in the family, and she had sided with her parents.

  “Ah, they’re ready!” Annette said, grabbing my shoulder but speaking loudly enough that I knew she was hoping the royal family would hear as well. Between the starting shot and the last horse thundering across the line, I had a short respite from the thick tension that seemed to bind us all together while forcing us all apart.

  “Good showing, Pommerly,” the king said, raising a glass to the lanky bay who had come in a tight second place.

  Pommerly huffed a bit, accepting the congratulations, but insisted that his next horse would place first. His wife leaned in and whispered something in his ear, tittering.

  “Well, why don’t you ask her,” he harrumphed loudly, turning his eyes on me.

  Theodor sidestepped ever so slightly in front of me, his hand on his sword hilt in an unspoken protective reflex. “Ask about what?”

  Pommerly glowered under a lacquer of politeness. “I figure my horse could use some extra luck to place first. Can she sew a saddle blanket? Is she any good with leatherwork?”

  The box was silent, save for a faint buzzing that I recognized was in my head. I felt the rustle of Annette’s skirts behind me, moving closer. Ambrose glared at Pommerly, though he didn’t take notice, and Ballantine stepped beside Theodor, as though offering another sword in defense if it came down to it.

  “Come now,” Pommerly added with a forced laugh, “from what I understand she doesn’t even charge for most of her… services.” Theodor gripped the hilt of his sword tightly. No one could have missed the suggestion in Pommerly’s rude joke.

  I looked to the king and queen. They had an opportunity, now, in front of everyone, to claim me as part of their family, as under their protection. No one would have made such a comment about Polly or Annette. If they did, they would have been quickly rebuked.

  The king and queen stood silently. A faint smile played around the edges of Polly’s lips.

  “I’m afraid I’m not any good even mending leather,” I answered, forcing my voice steady. “And though I’d be pleased to charm something for your jockey, I do think the turnaround would be a bit too tight at this point.”

  Pommerly shifted, uncomfortable. He hadn’t expected me to reply. I glanced at the king, who stared at a spot between the toes of his boots.

  I couldn’t help myself. “Indeed, if you or one of your staff would like to visit me at my atelier, I would be happy to comply. Do I have one of my cards?” I stuffed a hand into my pocket, knowing full well I didn’t have any trade cards with me.

  “Sophie,” Theodor said, low, like a faint growl. I shook my head at him. If his parents wouldn’t stand up for me, I would stand up for myself.

  “I am sorry, I haven’t a single one,” I said with a broad smile. I turned on my heel, fuming yet deliberate and precise. “Annette, tell me—which do you think for the next round? The dappled gray or the roan?”

  She forced a smile and Ambrose joined us to place wagers on the next race, and though I had an inkling we wouldn’t be invited to any more races with the Pommerly family, I felt I had won some small victory.

  12

  ALICE HAD THE EVERYDAY WORKINGS OF THE SHOP WELL IN HAND, and though I didn’t intend to finalize my departure until closer to the wedding, I found I was less and less needed in the shop. A few administrative tasks remained on my docket before I could leave the shop in Alice’s hands permanently, including finishing the charmed commissions and reconciling all of our accounts. I had struggled with a recalcitrant health charm all morning, and so took on the task of inventorying our stock so that Alice had an accurate accounting. I was in the midst of tabulating fabric bolt yardages when I heard yelling from the front room, where the staff were packing orders. I dropped my notebook like I’d been stung—Alice never raised her voice, yet there was no doubt that the shout was hers.

  I hurried toward the front room to see Heda cornered by Alice near the counter and Emmi slinking her back against the far wall. Alice’s round cheeks were red. “I won’t allow this… this smut in here!”

  “I didn’t think—it’s a joke,” Heda stammered.

  “It’s hardly a joke. It’s… it’s propaganda, and it’s cruel, and it’s—” I stalled in the doorway to the front room as Alice tore something out of Heda’s hands and threw it on the counter. “You should leave.”

  “You have no right!”

  “I most certainly do as the manager of this atelier. I will consider your continued employment here.”

  Heda was out the door before I could intervene.

  “Alice, what in the world is going on?”

  “Heda brought—she allowed political propaganda of a particular nature—it’s simply disrespectful!”

  “From the way you reacted, I thought someone must have been bleeding or she set the cottons on fire.” I glanced at the now-crinkled, paperbound book sitting on the counter. “That’s it?”

  I picked it up and felt the warmth drain from my face as I paged through the opening paragraphs.

  “I thought you must have seen it already,” Alice said, gently taking it from me before I could read more.

  “No, I had not read the novelized version of my personal affairs relayed as the Cuckold Prince and the Nymphomaniacal Witch.” I was shaking. It was mean-spirited and ugly, no doubt, but, as I snatched the book back from Alice’s protesting hands and skimmed further, it was more toxic than that. Political aspirations fueled the fictionalized version of me, bent on avenging a scheming brother and instigating a new revolt. The illustrations depicted a grossly caricatured Pellian woman, with unruly dark hair and brawny shoulders.

  A hollow fear grew in the pit of my stomach—could there be some truth, some tiny grain of reality embedded in these pages, that would reveal my well-kept secret? But no—from a grotesque depiction of a blood sacrifice ritual victimizing an alley cat and a bizar
re magic-fueled orgy, it was clear the author of the piece knew nothing about real casting. The author did, however, place particular emphasis on the curses as Pellian traditions, and on the leadership of the revolt as Pellian. If anyone believed the trash excuse for a novel, they would understand the Midwinter Revolt and the Reform Bill both as borne out of a cabal of scheming Pellians.

  I threw the book on the counter with shaking hands, and it skittered onto the floor.

  “If I’d known you hadn’t seen it… I’m sorry.” Alice pursed her lips.

  The meaning behind Alice’s statement dawned on me, horrible and clear. “You mean you’ve already seen this? It’s widely circulated?” I recalled the book Lady Sommerset had slipped into her pocket at the croquet party and her cruel clandestine laughter. How many had read it, had digested the wretched propaganda about not only me but the validity of the Reform Bill itself? “How did you come across it?” I asked, my tone sharp.

  “I didn’t mean to!” Alice protested.

  “I know,” I said, softening my voice.

  “They pass them around in the taverns and sell them in front of the coffee shops,” Alice said. She hesitated, and added, “There are others. They all have that you practice magic—they don’t get it right, though. I thought you knew.”

  I traced my fingers over my ledger, which lay closed and bound on the counter. Years of charm casting out of this shop, the discretion for the benefit of my clients and the mystique for the benefit of my business, all tainted and tawdry in the light of some badly written propaganda. I had endeavored since opening the shop to practice my art with deft integrity, and it didn’t seem to matter at all in the face of vicious rumors.

  “My sister brought another one of them home… it was meant to be about Lady Viola, I think.”

  My hands felt cold, even in the warm humidity of the summer air. “What about her?”