Sabine's Night

"Very kind of you to visit, Baron de Sulis," Stephen said with a stiff bow, momentarily pulling up the corners of his lips and exposing his teeth in an expression that could theoretically be mistaken for a smile. "I recall I did once invite you to visit my home some time. Although I wish it had come under better circumstances, I am glad for the company of an old friend."

Lord Thurston Austen, Baron de Sulis, gave a return bow that was equally stiff, accompanied by a smile thinner than his mustache. "Likewise. But please, from peer to peer—call me Thurston, would you, old chap? Petronilla tells me you now hold a like title in your own right."

"Yes, I do," Stephen said, his lips equally thin. Not that the title of Baron Penrose mattered much to Stephen de Lancaster, who was now fourth in line for the throne of Lancaster—he would rather his father were still alive to hold the title. However, it technically made him Thurston's peer, which was moderately more tolerable in the moment than the man's usual overt condescension. "Have you seen Miss Mallory lately?"

"Yes, of course. My condolences on your loss, by the way," Thurston said, spending two seconds to quickly and casually acknowledge the death that preceded the transfer of title. "But to your question: I met her on the road to London. She's with me now, in fact—she should be in from the carriage shortly, she wanted to examine how the floor was sprung from the floatboards."

A servant silently took Thurston's coat.

"We are hardly en route to London from anywhere. Don't you live in Bath?" Stephen glanced at the door behind Thurston. Out of everyone he had met at Oxford, Thurston was the worst company and Petronilla Mallory the best.

"Yes, but the Irish have come down in force. Rumor had it that the Prince of Cornwall was slain by their agents shortly before the landing, and they handed his heir's army a sharp defeat at Glastonbury Tor in spite of imperial reinforcements. Bath really doesn't have any more than the old Roman walls for defense—no Irish corsair goes that far inland, at least not ordinarily—and the imperial garrison had just been emptied. And I was naturally concerned, um." Thurston hesitated, the illusionist's theatrical tendencies stymied by the lack of a prepared script. "Concerned not to have seen a more effective imperial response, so I was going to London to lobby on behalf of my tenants and neighbors."

"So, you fled Bath for London," Stephen said. "Pardon—departed Bath in dignified haste, I didn't mean to imply you lacked courage. But, again, we are very far from the road from Bath to London."

"Well, then I saw Petronilla out by the side of the road, and of course I had to offer her a ride. She'd seen a dragon headed to London—probably not really so large and frightening as she thought, but you know how women are, prone to flights of fancy—and thought that perhaps she might like to travel in a different direction than the dragon had done, so I obliged." Thurston swirled his finger in the air, a trail of golden sparkles following behind. "And of course, naturally, I suggested that we pay our old classmate a visit. With a four-phantom team pulling a floating phaeton, we were up here in practically no time at all."

The door opened, revealing a waxy-skinned glass-eyed manservant, smelling faintly of formaldehyde and dressed in the de Sulis colors, moving very slowly as it carried a large traveling chest that Stephen recognized from his student days. Ostentatiously decorated and heavily enchanted, the chest was larger on the inside than it seemed on the outside, and while its weight was limited, it could have quite substantial inertia when fully loaded. Another manservant appeared to usher the zombie down a hallway and out of the way, taking hold of one end of the chest to assist in swifter movement.

"You've packed your whole house up?" Stephen asked, his eyebrows raised as he watched his servant and the zombie struggle with the difficult task of trying to turn the course of the chest as it reached a corner in the hallway.

"Just a few things—it's better to have and not need than need and not have, I always say." Thurston's lips spread wide in a rictus that looked nearly like a smile. "Ha!"

Next through the door were a pair of women. One was a welcome sight: Petronilla Mallory, wearing a yellow dress, a traveling bag slung over her shoulder. The other was someone Stephen had never seen before—what looked like a shorter and friendlier version of Thurston, minus the mustache and with the addition of some feminine softening and rounding. Behind them was a footman bearing another traveling chest, this one looking more humble.

"Miss Mallory," Stephen said with a gracious bow. "And Miss Cassie Austen, I presume? When we were at Oxford, Thurston had mentioned a sister."

"You are correct, milord," the woman said, bobbing in a quick but deep curtsy. "Though I prefer Cassiopeia."

Petronilla belatedly followed suit, dipping in a motion that was half a curtsy and half a bow, a motion that drew Stephen's attention to the cut of her bodice. "Baron Penrose, it is very kind of you to receive us on short notice. I hope it is no great inconvenience."

"Of course not," Stephen said, beaming. "My aunt is in the best of the guest rooms, but I can put you two ladies up in my sister's chambers, as she has gone away to be married, which puts her out of need of a bedroom here as thoroughly as my deceased father. But please—we are all among old friends and my title still feels like it ought to be directed at my father. Would you favor me of simply calling me Stephen, as you usually have before?"

Petronilla's mouth twitched into a brief but genuine smile that vanished before Thurston took note. "If you will, Stephen. And you may naturally return the familiarity. Thurston does."

"I shall, Pernilla." Unsure if there were any servants still in earshot, Stephen briefly glanced over at one of the mirrors. There was a maidservant standing unobtrusively in the corner behind him to his left. Good. He held up a finger. "The cook shall be given a change of menu—I know we have a couple of fine York long hams hanging in the larder from that hunting trip with the late Baron Richard, before all that unpleasantness about the succession, and by now I expect at least one should be fully cured. Nothing but the best for my old college friends."

Stephen could hear the rustle of skirts behind him as the maidservant scurried away to pass on his orders to the cook. Dinner would be late—proper preparation of a cured York ham, long or short, would take considerable time, and the servants would extend that with their efforts to decorate and arrange the table to suitably impress honored visitors. However, settling his new guests in their rooms and carrying out all the appropriate introductions between his various visitors would help fill the time in between. Aunt Sapphira wouldn't wake until after sunset, and the woman could fill a whole bell with small talk whenever she met someone new.

Petronilla found herself seated at Stephen's right, with Stephen's aunt, Sapphira, relegated to his left. The centerpiece of the meal sat equidistant from the three of them, a long slender gammon raised above the table on a stand with the thigh end facing the host at the head of the table. To Petronilla's right, seated between her and Cassiopeia, was a sullen young (or at least young-looking) man named Rowan, third in line for the throne of Lancaster and, in Petronilla's opinion, infinitely less qualified than Stephen. Rowan seemed to have little interest in the centerpiece at the table, his gaze hungrily drifting to Cassiopeia instead as he gulped from the thick opaque contents of his glass.

Mirrors ringed the room, and Petronilla kept her gaze fixed in a range from Stephen on her left to ahead of her, where she could readily see Cassiopeia's expression while still pretending the seat next to her was unoccupied. Rowan's contributions to conversation were, in any event, uniformly uninteresting. Thus, Petronilla was staring intently at the mirror when it shimmered, the enlarged face of Stephen's intimidating and beautiful sister appearing for a moment before receding, revealing a chamber whose stone walls were partially covered with old-fashioned hung tapestries. There was a bed in the foreground; next to it was a side table with three empty glass vials lying on their sides. Deeper in the room, Petronilla could see a harpsichord and a table with a chessboard built into it. A maidservant came into view, opening a door to let in a man who, to judge by his visible chain of office, was an imperial notary.

A servant unobtrusively leaned forward to refill Petronilla's glass with dark red wine, and she glanced around the table. Was it normal for Stephen's absent sister to look in on dinners at Penrose Castle through a paired mirror? Nobody else was looking at the mirror, and the servants hadn't broken their silence to call Stephen's attention to the sudden appearance of his sister. Pernilla took a cautiously small sip of wine and reached for her fork.

"Milord, she's ready for you," the maidservant said, bobbing in a curtsy.

Avery wasn't sure what he had expected, but the day-bright magelight illumination that he found on the other side of the door was not it. He blinked, his eyes adjusting. The imperial notary sat in one corner of the room along with several other witnesses—including Fiona. He had dreaded but expected to see the imperial notary standing witness; he had hoped there would not be any others. That one of his other brides would volunteer to witness his consummation with Sabine was a disconcerting surprise.

His quarter-elven bride had a thoughtful look on her face, her gaze fixed in the direction of the bed on the opposite side of the room. Avery glanced in that direction himself. There were two paintings and a plain rectangular black piece of glass behind the bed, and Sabine herself was standing in front of her bed. Her usual intricate braids had been undone, her hair hanging loose and sheeting around her shoulders in a golden wave. Then she bowed her head, dropping into a deep curtsy. Her vermillion dress fell directly to the floor at the nadir of the motion, slithering away to hang itself up in the wardrobe as the Lancastrian blonde noblewoman rose, her poise unaffected by her sudden change in attire.

"Your Grace, I swore you two oaths. I am pledged to be your bonaire and buxom wife—good and obedient. I have waited two nights. Will you now seal my troth?" Sabine's voice sounded humble, but there was a challenging look in the bright blue eyes that gazed back at Avery as she held out her hand.

"Yes." What Sabine offered—what his marriage to the grandniece of the Duke of Lancaster meant—was too important to decline. He stepped forward, grasping her hand in his, keenly aware that what he wanted to say could not be spoken aloud in front of witnesses. She had impersonated Johanna in the night before their wedding. She had deceived him. She was a slippery snake, and—somehow, tonight, that slipperiness extended now to her mind. He pushed hard, his mind pushing through the physical connection between them. gripping her hand firmly as he forced open a mental connection to tell her what he really felt.

I should be punishing you for what you did the night before the wedding, he mentally growled.

Sabine's eyes crossed and her mouth sagged open, tongue lolling as she shuddered and collapsed. Her hair dusted the carpet as she hung backward, legs limp as noodles, her body only held up off the ground by Avery's grasp. Hastily, Avery brought his other arm around beneath Sabine's shoulders, holding her more securely and bringing her closer. A hint of perfume tickled his nose, blending with rather than masking Sabine's natural feminine scent. A moment later, her voice sounded back along the connection between the two of them, languid and slow.

Mmm. Yes, you should, Sabine sent, her mage-sculpted flesh pressing into Avery as she found her feet beneath wobbly knees and leaned into him. Once I am truly your wife, you may punish my acts of mouthy mischief. I surely deserve a spanking. But while I have not broken my troth, you have not yet fulfilled yours. Crystal blue eyes gazed up at Avery unapologetically.

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Avery growled audibly. I will give you what I promised, he sent. He grasped her by the shoulders and turned her to face the bed, pushing her ahead of him. Sabine leaned backwards into him as they walked, lightly at first, then more heavily—and then, as he impatiently shoved, suddenly not at all, allowing herself be flung face-first onto the mattress.

As Sabine crawled forward on the bed, Avery hesitated, looking all around the bed. There was a side table next to the bed, three empty glass vials lying on their sides. There was a framed rectangular piece of black glass, flanked by two framed paintings of castles—Castle Penrose and Castle Lancaster. The bed had four posts for stability, and was piled with blankets and pillows. But there was no canopy and no curtains.

Where are the bedcurtains? Avery hesitated, fidgeting nervously with the hem of his doublet. He did not turn, but felt keenly aware of the eyes watching him from behind. Surely you do not want to be a spectacle for the imperial notary.

There must be no doubt in any English mind that you have taken my virtue and made me a true wife of yours, Sabine sent back.

Althea's Night

Avery hesitated in the doorway, glancing over Helen's strawberry-blonde head into the room. By dim candlelight, he could see Althea sitting on the bed with the blanket pulled up to her shoulders, staring shyly up at him, her brunette hair spilling to either side. The curtains were pulled wide open.

"Ah. You could go fetch the witnesses," Avery said, looking down at Helen. He felt as if he were shriveling up as he recalled, with considerable embarrassment, the way his previous night's consummation had become an exhibition. His marriage to Althea, though, did not have the political importance peculiar to his marriage to Sabine de Lancaster, and the shy brunette seemed unlikely to possess the Lancastrian blonde's willfully wanton drive.

"I'm the witness," Helen said, bright blue eyes flickering away to glance back at her best friend. She waved him into the room, closing the door behind him. "The only witness. Besides, this is my room, too—I'd rather not be put out and have everyone reminded that I am last in the queue."

"Is that proper?" Avery asked. "I mean you being a witness, not your being last in the queue. Though if being pushed to last in the queue was something forced upon you by the others, you being placed last in the queue would be improper, as you were the third to give your oath."

"No and no, everything is proper," Helen said. "Maude said it should be fine, and besides, the imperial notary already left for London, so…"

Avery breathed a heavy sigh of relief. After the spectacle of Sabine's consummation, he was glad to have near-complete privacy for his joining with Althea.

Helen continued. "And the queue thing too, that's fine. I volunteered to switch places with Sabine," Helen said. "I'm not—I just—um—maybe I want to see what I'm getting into. Before I do it."

"We did all that practicing," Althea said, continuing to hold the blanket modestly over her chest. "You told me you know how it works." Her voice sounded vaguely accusatory.

Helen shook her head. "I do, in theory, but also, even if we practiced, it's different," she said. "I don't have a, um…" She gestured down at Avery's crotch, then looked up at him, blushing. "And it's not as if I've been with a man, either. Anyway, I'll get out of the way. Just pretend I'm not here." She retreated to a chair in a corner of the room, curling her legs up under her arms and peering over her knees. "It's nothing I won't be seeing at closer hand four nights from now. I'll be quiet as a mouse, really."

Avery turned to Althea, his gaze flickering and one hand raising questioningly to the tie holding open one of the bedcurtains. The candlelight was dim and Helen unobtrusive; still, he wasn't sure if Althea was fine with her friend seeing everything.

"It's fine," Althea said, her hazel eyes nearly colorless in the dim light as she looked back at Avery. "She's been my best friend forever—I have kept no secrets from her, and it will help her if she can witness directly that one's first time with a man is nothing to fear."

Avery nodded. Althea swallowed nervously, fingers clenching and unclenching, then tore the blanket away from herself, throwing it off to one side.

Anna's Night

Anna uncrossed and recrossed her legs impatiently one more time, looking around at the other three women gathered around the little card table in Johanna's room. Fiona and Merilda kept their gaze down at their own cards; Johanna met Anna's look with eyes as green as her own, framed by lighter, straighter, and far more easily managed brown hair.

Then there was a knock at the door. Surely, this time, it is Avery, Anna thought to herself. He had spoken of business after dinner, made a furtive glance over at Sir Marcus, but that had been at least half a bell past. Anna threw down her cards face down on the table and sprang eagerly to her feet just as the door opened to reveal Rose.

"His Grace has just finished walking the walls with the seneschal—he will be up after he has doffed his armor and donned nightclothes," Rose said, blue eyes flickering down to the floor after registering her friend's disappointed look. "I thought I might come up to give you fair warning and assist you in any preparation."

"Oh. Yes, thank you." Anna's hands fluttered over her bodice, a moment of sharpened worry as she turned to look in Johanna's mirror, Rose coming over to stand next to her. The turquoise pendant was still in place with its promise of lunar fertility, its dappled blue surface reminiscent of the swirling white, blue, and green orb that dominated the nighttime sky. If Madame Jocosa spoke the truth and it truly came from one of the lunar expeditions, that is. The possibility seemed unlikely now that she had time to reflect, not that she wished to communicate those doubts to her friend.

Especially not after Rose had paid for it—a dear price for ordinary turquoise, but a bargain for a rare lunar stone, much less one blessed with subtle moon magic. Anna adjusted the pendant to ensure it was perfectly centered in the middle of the square-cut decolletage of her dress, right where it would look as if it were at risk of being swallowed up, though she had made sure the chain was too short to allow it to slip wholly out of Avery's view when he looked down at her.

"How do I look?" Anna asked.

Rose tugged minutely at her sleeves, then reached up to fiddle with one stray curl, first tucking it behind Anna's ear and then pulling it back loose. "Perfect."

"If she's perfect, she's in no further need of assistance," Johanna said drily, "perhaps you could take over her hand at the table. Unless you were coming to watch her and Avery? I heard Sabine had hers thoroughly witnessed. I can't imagine how mortifying that must have been."

Fiona nodded, a blush creeping from her collarbones all the way up to the tips of her ears, the shade of her skin coming halfway to a match with the bright red of her hair. "She did not seem mortified at all," commented the wizardess. "And there was something very curious about it—magically, I mean."

At the four suddenly concerned gazes turned her way, Fiona held up a slender, elfin hand and shook her head quickly before continuing.

"No, before you ask, there was no compulsion on Avery or arousing enchantment—I would have detected such. There was no glamour in that room and no charm directed outwards, though she reeked of alchemical magic directed within herself. And, more—she has many enchanted possessions, but I felt it was striking that her mirror was magically active, somehow. It was blacked out, and I could see nothing coming through. The wards are intact enough to disrupt any divination coming from the outside if another were to use it as a focus to try to peer in. I was thinking she may have trapped a phantasm of the act that could be watched later. Some mirrors do technically broadcast phantasm when they connect to each other, and my master said it was a possible variation when I asked about it."

"Trapping a phantasm to show someone else, or to watch for her amusement?" Merilda's bushy blonde eyebrows furrowed over slate gray eyes, asking the question that Anna had personally wanted answered but had not been willing to speak aloud.

Johanna turned pink, her gaze dropping to the ground as she shifted her weight to one side. "I cannot imagine wanting to watch that for amusement," she said quietly, then forced her head back upward, refusing to retreat back into her old habit of shyness. "But then, I cannot imagine not insisting upon closed bedcurtains for privacy with witnesses in the room. Or watching—you must have been mortified, Fiona."

The wizardess shrugged, a carefully neutral expression on her face. "Under the circumstances, I felt it was necessary that either I observe or that Master Warin do so," she said. "The thought of my father watching Avery rut another woman before I had truly sealed my pact perturbed me more than witnessing it myself. He taught me that I should not hide from the truth, even if it is at first uncomfortable, and the truth of sharing a husband seven ways is uncomfortable."

"Eight," Anna said, frowning as she corrected Fiona. "Seven others other than yourself, but you must count yourself."

Fiona opened her mouth as if to reply but closed it at the sound of a gentle rapping noise, almost more of a clicking noise, wood on wood. All five women turned, three seated and two standing, but the door remained shut.

"Hello?" Avery's voice sounded deep but muffled.

Rose hastened to open the door, and Avery walked in. "Oh. I thought I would come in this way rather than bother Althea and Helen. Am I interrupting something?"

"Nothing that cannot be interrupted in favor of my awaited wedding night," Anna said, stepping forward to lay a hand on her newly wedded husband's chest as she looked up. "I am here, anyway, and that is who you have come for." She stayed uncommonly close to Avery rather than stepping back to an ordinary conversational distance. Her theory was that from a close distance, his gaze would fall more naturally to an advantageous angle.

Golden eyes tilted down first to meet Anna's eyes and then sinking that fraction of an angle lower, slit pupils widening just a little bit as they rested somewhere near her pendant. Then Avery blinked, shaking his head briefly and looking over at Johanna apologetically, his hands resting on Anna's shoulders. "If I am to bother you or Helen and Althea three nights out of every nine passing through, perhaps I should have another door put in to access the meditation room directly from the ramparts," he said. "That, or maybe I should come down from the stairs to the upper watchpost."

Johanna smiled graciously. "It is not necessary to put yourself out of the way to avoid my gaze," she said. "I will be glad of your regular visits on your way through in either direction—no need to perturb multiple others or to bang your head going up and down those stairs. And if one of them puts you out for snoring, you may stay here with me to finish your night's sleep. As, I think, the others will tonight, though that will be a less regular affair."

Anna felt the temptation to growl possessively at Johanna's invitation to the duke but held her tongue. She reminded herself that the four of them had already had a long talk about who would sleep where for her and her roommates' three wedding nights, and Johanna's willingness to play hostess to Fiona and Merilda so that Anna could have a private wedding night was appreciated. She raised her arms and went up on her tiptoes as she wrapped her arms around Avery's neck, the motion encouraging Avery's hands to slip down along her body. "I think I am tired," she said, pulling at Avery's neck with half of her weight. "You carried me from the wedding to the feast—will you now carry me off to bed?"

"Yes." One of Avery's hands slipped lower, stroking downward over her derriere before tucking under her thighs, and then the tall silver man glanced over at Rose. "Would you mind opening the door for us?"

Rose smiled and complied, dropping into a deep curtsy as they passed through, then closed the door behind them with a click.

"None of them are acting as witnesses?" Avery asked after his eyes had adjusted to the dim room.

"Better to say all of them are," Anna said. "There's no quiet way in or out of this room. The stairs up to the watch heights creak quite alarmingly when anyone other than Fiona scales them." She tugged on Avery's neck, pulling him into a kiss. That will stop you from talking, she thought to herself.

Are you sure you will not need Rose's assistance in doffing your dress? Avery's voice felt deeper as it sounded inside of her own mind, more resonant.

She squirmed, disconcerted. She did not unlock her lips from Avery's but spoke directly into his mouth as directly as she could, a series of muffled noises accompanied by twitches of her tongue. Madame Jocosa made it but lately—you can afford repairs from the maker herself.

You need only think the words, Avery sent. He broke their kiss and laid her down on the bed. I will tell you something I dare not speak aloud: The day of the wedding, when I carried you away, I was sorely tempted to take you straight up here and have you already. His hands ran down her sides and then her legs, pulling off her slippers.

The others would have been irate, Anna sent back. She smiled brightly at her bridegroom, then turned away from him. If you would untie and loosen the strings, the whole thing will slip off overhead.

She could feel Avery's frustration through the strange connection between them as wooden caps clicked against each other.

You can take off your finger caps, she sent. If you scratch me a little bit, I shall be fine—I know your talons are filed beneath.

There was a long moment as Avery's fingers retreated, and Anna curled her shoulders forward.

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