by Y. S. Lee
Miranda’s jaw tightened. “She’s still young,” she grated. “She could have outgrown—”
“Did your husband ever outgrow those interests?” Amy asked gently.
She had seen the portrait of Mr. Harwood in Miranda’s study—and she had seen an identical look of confident genius in his daughter’s face, too, tonight.
Miranda clearly had as well. Her gaze dropped. When she spoke again, her voice was low and bitter. “What could be the purpose in trying to judge such matters? The world will crush her if she tries to stand against it.”
“Not if we don’t let it.” For the first time ever, Amy let her tone ring with authority over her mentor.
Her admiration for Miranda Harwood would never change. Nor would her love and gratitude; but after a lifetime of supervising the world as it was, how could it not be nigh-on impossible for Miranda to imagine that world turning upside down? To conceive of such an outright transformation, one required a younger generation with fresh eyes—and Miranda’s own children had supplied that in spades.
Together, the Harwood siblings had shown Amy how to imagine new possibilities outside the norm. But neither of them would ever move in the political realm—which meant that she, alone, might be the only person who could make those possibilities take shape for them both...and win an undreamed-of victory for herself along the way.
“What if,” she said, holding her mentor’s gaze, “we make this tonight’s magical demonstration after all?”
Miranda frowned. “You mean, we summon all of the guests back to the ballroom to witness it?”
“No,” Amy said, “but we’ll tell them exactly what happened here afterwards—in great detail. And then we’ll send the announcement to the newspapers ourselves.”
Miranda’s eyes narrowed. “Rather than attempting to hide the news, which would be a lost cause regardless...”
“We shall brag about it shamelessly,” Amy finished with deep satisfaction. “Because of course it would be a Harwood woman who finally broke the bounds of tradition to excel in magic above every adult mage assembled here! As they all admitted themselves—and we’ll make very certain to repeat that in our statement—not even all of them together could have fixed the spell here, tonight, without her expertise.”
A smile began to tug at Miranda’s lips. “Oh, yes.” Her eyes began to dance as the pleasure of the game finally overcame her shock and grief and fear for her daughter’s future. Amy had known her mentor would see the way once a real opening was placed before her! “We’ll be sure to quote Mr. Westgate himself on the matter,” said Miranda. “Won’t that be a lovely paragraph to read in all of the morning papers? And as Cassandra will have publicly proven herself to be one of the most astonishing new talents in magery...”
“Let the Great Library try to keep her out now!” Amy’s grin was as fierce as the one painted on the great Boudicca herself. That great leader had faced down an army of Roman soldiers and the Roman empire itself; with their combined powers of persuasion and the newspapers on their side, Amy and Miranda could certainly take on a mere college of mages.
Miranda gave a sudden wince. “Of course, the Boudiccate won’t like it, either. Once magic is opened up to women, after all...”
“Not to women,” Amy said firmly. “To just one extraordinary girl—the single, shining exception in our history who saved the assembled Boudiccate from certain death tonight. They can call her the exception that proves the rule...unless they choose to stand against her and turn the matter into fodder for an open debate through all the newspapers.”
Miranda let out a low laugh of delight. “Of course!” she said. “Can you imagine the letter columns? That’s exactly how I’ll put it to them. If they don’t want it to turn into a wildfire that rages until far wider-reaching reforms are called for...”
“What in the world—?!” Lord Llewellyn’s sputtering voice broke through their warm circle of happy scheming. “Miss Standish!” Glaring at her, he shook his blond head. “You cannot be serious in your intent. If you imagine I could ever ally myself with a plan so offensive to any gentleman of dignity and standing—”
“What a pity,” Amy said calmly, and gave him a nod of gracious dismissal. “Just as well we hadn’t made any announcements after all, then, don’t you think? We can part friends and say no more of the matter.”
“But—!” He stared at her, blinking. “You can’t change your mind now. Once you’ve given your word as a politician—”
“I,” said Amy gently, “haven’t given my word on anything—or even made any proposals to be revoked, Lord Llewellyn. Had you forgotten that salient detail?”
His pale cheeks flushed. His jaw worked. “Everyone will hear about this disgrace,” he snarled. “How you threw away a match that could have brought you everything you’d ever dreamed of...”
“Oh, dear. My very dear Lord Llewellyn.” Miranda Harwood’s tone had quelled generations of stronger mages. “Tsk, tsk.” She shook her head gently as she considered him. “To be so afraid of one young lady entering your field? What exactly is it that strikes such fear in your heart, I wonder?”
“Good question, Llewellyn.” Jonathan Harwood slipped into place on his mother’s other side, his narrowed eyes focused on the other man. The tangible comfort of his presence slipped around Amy like a warm coat, relaxing muscles in her back that she hadn’t even realized she’d been clenching. “You don’t think my sister might be proven better at magic than you, do you, old boy? Because that’s certainly what it sounds like to me.”
“Harwood!” Llewellyn glowered at him. “Of all the insulting, outrageous—!” Turning his glare around their united semicircle, he snapped, “Miss Standish, I have been grievously mistaken in your character. Everyone will soon understand that I would never even dream of accepting any proposals from you now or in the future!”
“Of course not,” Amy said soothingly. “So I won’t embarrass either of us by asking. But don’t you think you should go and assist the others? You wouldn’t want the papers thinking you had fled in fear, after all.”
“Insupportable!” Llewellyn gritted through his teeth, and strode away, visibly seething, to take his place among the other gathered mages.
“Phew!” Miranda gave herself a shake, as if she were ridding herself of a bad smell. “I do beg your pardon, my dear. Clearly, he was not the right man for you after all. Have no fear, though. Once we put our heads together, we’ll soon find a far better partner for you, and then—”
“Actually...” Amy drew a deep breath and looked past her mentor, her heartbeat suddenly racing in anticipation. Time to change the world...again. Her voice came out sounding uncharacteristically breathless. “I believe I’ve already found him.”
Jonathan had looked away, expression tight, at his mother’s last words; now he jerked around to meet Amy’s gaze, his blue eyes blazing with an intensity that made her breath catch in the most delicious manner.
“What, you’ve chosen someone else already?” Miranda’s eyebrows rose, and she discreetly angled herself to study the group of mages before them. “How beautifully organized of you, as usual. May I ask which of these gentlemen—?”
CREEE-AAAAAAAKKKKKK!
Every voice in the room broke off. Amy’s gaze flew to the rounded ceiling. Oh, no.
They’d all waited too long after all. Under her horrified gaze, the high panes of glass bent, buckled, and—
“Now, gentlemen!” snapped Mr. Westgate.
Glass shattered. With a roar that resonated through Amy’s bones, water that had been held back for nearly thirty years swept down in a nightmarish torrent. Amy barely even felt herself move as she threw her arms out—for Miranda, for Jonathan, for both of them at once. She felt their arms close around her, too...
And then the water simply stopped twenty feet above their heads. It hung there in perfect silence, catastrophe incarnate waiting to rush down and overwhelm them all.
Amy’s harsh, broken breath filled her ears. Still
clinging to Miranda and Jonathan, she turned her head...and found Mr. Westgate gesturing a white-faced Cassandra forward while the gentleman mages remained in a semicircle behind her, their arms raised, their jaws clenched with visible effort, and their intent gazes fixed on the water that hung unmoving above them.
Cassandra’s face was pale and set. She glanced at her mother, and a flash of pain broke her mask of composure; at her brother, and Amy saw her mouth soften with sudden, heart-stopping anxiety. Then Cassandra looked, with unmistakable desperation, to her.
Finally. This, Amy did know how to handle.
Fixing a calm, confident smile on her own face, Amy ignored the mounting panic within her chest, gave Cassandra the brisk nod that the other girl clearly needed, and then raised her eyebrows in a firm message: Well? Get on with it!
There. The younger girl’s face eased, and her shoulders settled with visible relief as the uncertainty fell away from her. Nodding back to Amy, Cassandra lifted her arms with all the unshakeable authority of her mother stepping forward to address the assembled Boudiccate of Angland.
Amy held her calm smile with every ounce of strength left in her. This is really happening.
Miranda’s hand tightened convulsively around her arm. Only Jonathan’s hand, warm and steady on Amy’s lower back, held her upright in the whirling terror of the moment, like a promise of his own unshakeable certainty.
That was what he did, wasn’t it? He kept every woman in his family steady with a deep well of strength that had absolutely nothing to do with either magic or status—and no other touch in Amy’s life had ever felt even half so right.
Amy had always known she would do anything to protect her family whenever and wherever she found them. But she’d never imagined just how much they would do for her.
Now Cassandra opened her mouth, her gaze still fixed on Amy’s face as if it were a touchstone, and spoke a stream of bright syllables that filled the air with sparking, dancing impossibility. Under Amy’s wide, eager gaze, a cloud of stars formed around Cassandra, brighter than any fey-light she’d ever seen.
Goosebumps skated across Amy’s skin as those stars massed together and flew to the center of the ballroom...directly above Boudicca’s ferocious grin of victory. It was an unmistakable sign, and from Miranda’s sudden indrawn breath beside her—and the grim tightening of Mr. Westgate’s mouth, when she glanced in his direction—Amy wasn’t the only one to have witnessed it.
Another kind of nation-shaking history was being made before their eyes tonight.
Cassandra called out one final word—and as Amy sucked in a breath of awe, the gathered stars exploded. Points of light shot outward toward the broken glass and crumbling walls of the underwater ballroom.
Grunts and gasps broke out from the gathered mages as the water flung itself outward, too, apparently wrenching itself from their combined grips. Several of them stumbled in the aftershock, and a few fell to their knees—but Amy had scant attention to spare for any of them as she watched the rounded ceiling reform itself before her eyes, higher and smoother than ever before. Glass panels built themselves out of magic stars.
When she turned, she found stars on Miranda Harwood’s cheeks, too—the first tears she’d ever seen from her mentor.
“Isn’t it amazing?” Amy breathed. “She is amazing.”
“She’s lost,” Miranda whispered. “I’ll never get her back. Not now. She...” Breaking off, she gritted her jaw tight.
But she never looked away as the ballroom was rebuilt, even as the tears streamed silently down her face. Amy silently closed her fingers around Miranda’s, holding on with all of her love as the world shifted around them.
“See, it’s even better than it was before.” Jonathan’s warm breath rustled against Amy’s hair as he spoke. “Just look what she’s added over there, Mother.”
Miranda blinked, peered—and let out a choked laugh. “That little minx! If your father could only see this...”
Amy couldn’t help the gurgle of laughter that escaped her own lips as she followed Jonathan’s gesture toward the line of familiar portraits from Anglish history. Now, a portrait of the late Mr. Harwood—a perfect copy of the one that hung in Miranda’s study—rose above all the rest, beaming confidently down at the company in the ballroom he’d created. Cassandra herself was painted just beneath him: his magical heir, in every way.
How long had the girl worked before tonight to develop such detailed amendments to this spell? Amy couldn’t even hazard a guess. But one conclusion was inescapable.
“You see, Miranda?” she said, squeezing her mentor’s hand. “She has learned something from you after all. She knows exactly how to make a political statement!”
“Pahh.” With a sniff, Miranda dashed the final tears from her face. Taking a deep breath, she lifted her chin.
All around them, the most powerful mages of the realm were racing around the rebuilt ballroom like rowdy, untrained children, calling back and forth to each other in shock, admiration, or dismay as they made note of every detail. Cassandra stood in apparent ease at the center of the chaos, her shoulders and expression perfectly relaxed, but Amy knew her well enough by now to recognize the rebellious glint in her eyes. She was more than ready to take them all on in verbal battle—and if the mages were given enough time to overcome their initial shock, that battle would be both forthcoming and disastrous.
“Time for a distraction,” she murmured. “Quickly, too.”
With a brisk nod, Miranda stepped forward, clapping her hands for silence. “Gentlemen! Would you all be so good as to assist me in bringing back the rest of our guests? I believe we’re now ready for your own magical demonstrations of the evening, as my daughter’s performance has come to such a satisfactory conclusion.”
Aha. Amy grinned inwardly as she watched the gathered and outraged attention of the room swing directly to her mentor, who was more than capable of dealing with it.
Cassandra might not realize it, but she always had her mother on her side—and like Amy, Miranda Harwood would do whatever it took to protect her family.
There was no need to interfere in Miranda’s entertainment now. So Amy stayed discreetly in place near the rounded wall, enjoying the impressive spectacle of her mentor putting the gathered ballroom in its place and setting every mage in the room, like it or not, into order. As all the fear, exhilaration and relief of the evening finally streamed out of Amy’s body, just one tingling point of physical awareness remained.
Jonathan Harwood hadn’t moved, either—and his hand still rested against her lower back.
Standing as they did, facing the rest of the party, no one else could see that single point of contact. His strong fingers hadn’t curled against the silk of her dress; she knew they would fall away the very moment she stepped forward.
With every breath, she felt the warmth from his hand spread a little further along her skin, like a sparkling, illicit secret between them. He seemed to be watching the political show with all of his attention; but it only took the slightest sidelong glance to see that his broad chest was rising and falling with his quick, shallow breaths. Amy didn’t even bother to bite back her smile of satisfaction at that sight.
Everyone who’d ever read the newspapers knew that Jonathan Harwood was a problem. But after ten months of being twisted round and round by that problem, she finally knew how to solve it.
Amy loved it when she could see exactly the right path for her future stretching before her, only waiting for her to make it all happen.
“Shall we make the announcement tonight?” she asked. “I think it’s probably the best timing for everyone, all things considered. That way, we can let all of the shocks collide at once.”
“Announce—you mean, Cassandra?” He blinked, his hand falling away from her back. “I rather thought she’d already announced herself.”
“Well, of course, that’s all taken care of,” Amy said briskly. “Your mother and I have a plan to deal with that.”
“Of course you do.” His lips curved appreciatively. “You always do.”
“And I like to keep to my plans, too,” Amy told him. “You know exactly which announcement I was planning to make tonight.”
“What?” He shook his head, his eyes widening with horror. “But—but you said...”
“Oh, really, Jonathan.” Amy tucked her hand into his arm with an affectionate pat. “Your editors wouldn’t believe it if they heard you stammering like this. I’m meant to be announcing my betrothal tonight, don’t you recall?”
“Oh, I recall that point perfectly well.” Jonathan’s tone was grim. “But since you’ve sent Llewellyn packing at last...”
“I’ll just have to announce the man I’d really like to wed, instead.” She gave him a darting, mischievous grin. “Don’t you think that’s the only sensible conclusion?”
He stared at her for one speechless moment, his fair skin flushing. Then he shook himself hard and took a step backward, pulling his strong arm free from her grip.
“No.” His voice sounded as raw as if it had been scraped over stone. “You can’t do this, Amy. I won’t let you!”
“Oh, really?” She raised her eyebrows, stalking toward him with predatory delight. “And how do you plan to stop me, exactly?”
“Amy!” He raked an impatient hand through his thick hair, creating irrepressible brown tufts that stood upright with outrage as he backed toward the wall. “You were born to be a politician. Just look at what you’ve accomplished tonight! You can’t throw that all aside. Not for me.”
“And I won’t,” she told him with satisfaction.
Only a cruel woman could have enjoyed the unmistakable flash of dismay that passed through his blue eyes at those last words. Did he really think that she’d change her mind about him now? Amy had learned as a child to be intensely conscious of what any observer might think of her—but now, regardless of everyone else in the room, she reached up for a quick, reassuring touch against his faintly stubbled cheek.
