The Sisters Mederos

by Patrice Sarath

  “What?” Tesara said, as innocently as she could.

  “You sank the fleet,” Yvienne repeated blankly.

  Tesara sighed. “Do you remember how the governesses always said strange things happened around me? I made the fires flare up, I made the pages of their books flutter. That night that Uncle brought Parr over to dine with us, and he teased me about not knowing what his ships were called? So, I went up to my room, and I called up the wind and the waves, and I sank the fleet.”

  Once again, she had a visceral memory of the power coursing through her and out of her, knocking her off her feet. What she had experienced at school or at Jone’s party was nothing but an infinitesimal fraction of that night.

  “Tes,” her older sister started. “Those were just pranks. That’s all it was. You can’t think that you sank the fleet. That wasn’t your fault.”

  Perversely, Yvienne’s blindness irritated her. “Yvienne, actually it was. I sank the fleet.”

  “You were angry, you wished the fleet to sink, and it happened – but that wasn’t your fault, Tesara.” Yvienne sounded irked.

  Oh, now it was really aggravating. She held up her hands.

  “If it’s not true, Yvienne, why would Madam Callier do this?” Her fingers – the pinky of which Yvienne had just linked with her own perfectly formed pinky finger – were crooked and ugly, the broken joints swollen and red. “Do you think she would break my fingers just because of pranks?”

  Tesara watched her sister take in the evidence. She hadn’t known what to believe when they were at the Academy, Tesara knew. Yvienne had suspected, but she refused to continue down that line of thought. Now her sister was being confronted with the evidence to support her own suspicions.

  “I don’t understand why you think this. It’s impossible,” Yvienne said, and Tesara knew something else; her sister was pragmatic and realistic, and if it were out of the ordinary, she could not believe it. Even if it happened right before her eyes.

  “Not impossible,” Tesara said flatly. “Madam Callier knew. She broke my fingers because I pulled the tablecloth out from the table.” The memory of the pain had dulled over the years, but she could still conjure with startling clarity the sounds of the snapping bone. “Listen to me,” she added. “I’m not lying. Use your considerable brainpower, Yvienne. Why would I make up something like this?”

  “If you thought – as a child–”

  “I’m not a child anymore. And I’m not lying.”

  Yvienne lifted her hands in defeat. “All right. You’re not lying. I’m not going to say that I believe you sank the fleet from your bedroom window, but I accept that you aren’t lying about it.” She held up a hand to forestall Tesara’s wry comment. “Nor do I think you are mad. But you have to give me time to come to terms.”

  Distraction achieved, and then some. She would just have to show her sister, and that meant getting her power back.

  “Fair enough,” Tesara said. “But now it’s your turn. What do you mean, you burned down Treacher’s shop?”

  “Well,” Yvienne began. “That’s quite a story.”

  She had a gift for understatement, Tesara thought, as her sister recounted her night: going to Treacher’s shop to search for evidence of the plot against their family, finding Treacher dead and the shop ransacked, and setting the shop on fire to mask her illicit visit there.

  “No one saw me, and I saw no one,” she finished. “I came straight home.”

  Tesara sank down on the bed. What was Yvienne thinking? A young merchant woman, sneaking out of the house alone in the middle of the night? Breaking into shops? Setting them on fire? And Tesara thought she was bringing danger down upon them. She took her sister’s hands and held them tight, feeling how slender they were, but also how strong.

  “Yvienne, you have to promise me. The Guild can’t know that you were involved in any of this.” It was bad, very bad, that Trune found her in the study in the house, and then later saw her at the Saint Frey party. But if they discovered what Yvienne was up to – they were in trouble indeed.

  “I know,” Yvienne admitted. “It was stupid and dangerous and I’ll never do it again. I promise. Besides,” she attempted a smile, “I’ll be a governess soon, and there won’t be time for any more scrapes.”

  The smallest of suspicions crossed Tesara’s mind, but she discounted it. “Right,” she said finally. “No more scrapes. Except for the cards.”

  This time Yvienne’s smile bloomed. “Except for the cards. Now. Here’s what you’re going to do. Do you think you can get into more salons than the Idercis’?”

  Tesara shrugged. “I don’t even know how I came to the attention of the Idercis. But yes, I believe I can snare more invitations.” She was friends with Jone and Mirandine now, and she knew that where they were invited she would soon be welcomed. If the price of attendance for a Saint Frey to appear at a merchant salon was a disreputable Mederos, savvy hostesses would gladly pay.

  The plan was simple – poor Tesara Mederos, the wayward daughter of a wayward House, was going to have developed a Fatal Tendency. Gambling was a genteel hobby among the wealthy, but when it became an obsession, it was a moral failing, and one equally judged and taken advantage of. An eagerness to game, combined with a youthful naiveté and lack of skill, meant that she would be able to sit at any table. Poor little Tesara Mederos, she could hear the matrons saying. So sad that she has fallen so low. Come sit at our table, dear.

  And each time, poor little Tesara Mederos would have astonishing good luck.

  “Did Uncle teach you any cheats besides counting cards?” Yvienne asked.

  “Sweet sister, counting cards is cheating,” Tesara purred in self-satisfied response. “I must say, it will be lovely to hit them where it hurts the most.”

  “Yes,” her sister agreed. “You just keep doing what you’re doing, Tes. Distract them. I’ll take care of the rest.”

  “What do you mean?” Tesara asked, giving her sister a sidelong glance.

  “I’m going to find out who defrauded us. The answer is with the Guild, Tes. And when I find it, I’ll make them pay.”

  “Goodness!” Tesara said. She hoped her encouragement didn’t sound as sickly as she felt. It’s just as well she doesn’t believe me about my powers.

  She would hate to have her sister’s fury turned upon her.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Deceiving Tesara was necessary but it went down ill. Yvienne had but a few seconds to come up with a story that had enough of the truth in it that she could get away without telling the rest. She could not possibly share that she had relieved three drunken gentlemen of their wallets the night before, or that she planned to continue her criminal activities. It crossed her mind that Tesara had come up with her wild story for the exact same reason, but there was something in the way her sister defended her tale that took Yvienne aback. Tesara was serious.

  What if she’s telling the truth?

  Tes was right – Madam Callier’s punishment for the bizarre accident at the headmaster’s table had far exceeded the crime. At the time, Yvienne thought it a way to put the Mederos girls in their place and nothing more, an excuse for unimaginable violence. But had Tesara done something from across the room? Strange things always happen around me. That was an understatement, Yvienne thought. But the family had always discounted it. It was just Tes, clumsy, woolly-headed, naughty Tes, who broke things and dropped things, and didn’t take care of her things.

  Yvienne knew that Tesara had something the Guild wanted. They were being watched for some reason, according to the mysterious correspondence in Madam’s records. There was even a scathing letter about Madam’s punishment, and the wording was most assuredly not for Tesara’s well-being but for how Madam had damaged her. Had she sunk the fleet?

  There had been a dinner party, she remembered suddenly. It had been a few weeks before the news broke that the ships had gone down with all hands but one, and the alarming revelation that Uncle Samwell had not insured th
e fleet. It was before all their troubles began. Tesara had been naughtier than usual that night, disgusting their parents in front of one of Uncle Samwell’s friends. Her little sister had burst out in a tantrum at the dinner table and gone running upstairs.

  Not long after, a massive wind shook the house. The wild weather had been discounted as a freak storm as sometimes happened, but…

  It’s not possible, Yvienne thought. It can’t be possible.

  She had to admit that part of the reason she didn’t want to believe was because if it were true, woolly-headed Tesara Mederos had more power than anyone else in Port Saint Frey.

  As so often happened in Port Saint Frey, the blithe summer days gave way to miserable rain. Tesara hunched beneath her umbrella, her coat buttoned up to her chin, and walked briskly toward the Mercantile. Her skirts dragged in the rain and she felt uncomfortable wetness creep up her ladies’ boots into her stockings. She would be soaked to her waist before she returned home.

  This was the first time she’d had a chance to put the dress under the loose stone, as Albero directed. With Trune having made her identity, the dress was no longer an inconvenience; it was evidence, should he search the house. And she had no doubt that Trune would do that very thing.

  Despite the weather there was still a great deal of traffic, on foot or by wagon, at the intersection of the Crescent and the Mile, the grand stone pillars marking the entrance to the fashionable street streaked with rain and moss. Tesara waited at the edge of the crowd for an opportunity and crossed the street with the surge of foot traffic, and at the corner she backed innocently against one pillar.

  She felt the stone move at her back and with one hand she moved it to the side, wedged the bundle with the dress behind it, and moved the stone back into place. Then she waited with the rest of the pedestrians, her heart beating fast, hoping no one had noticed. No one appeared to. The rain had dulled everyone into miserable, hunched creatures garbed in thick wool and mufflers, as if it were winter. The traffic cleared for a moment and the crowd surged forward. Tesara hurried with the rest, refusing to let herself look back.

  “Look sharp! Look sharp!” The cries of the carters barreling down from deliveries to the Crescent made the crowd pick up their feet and run, and Tesara just barely made it through the intersection before the trotting horses lumbered through. It wasn’t until she had slipped into a bookstore with a vantage point that she managed a look back at the pillars. She rubbed away the steam on the window pane of the door and could see no indication that the stone had been moved or anything put behind it. Reassured, she took a deep breath.

  “May I help you, miss?” said a young shop clerk.

  Tesara gave her a brilliant smile. “Just browsing,” she said.

  The clerk sized her up. “We have the latest by Suristen. Just came in today.”

  Tesara had no idea who that was. “Just browsing,” she repeated. Suiting actions to words, she set down her shabby umbrella next to the other patrons’ and began to wander around the shop, pulling out books at random. After she had judged she had spent enough time, she gathered up her umbrella, turned up her collar and marched out into the rain. This time she spared the smallest of glances at the stone pillar as she marched past it with the next horde of pedestrians, and then it was behind her.

  She was free of the dress, and she was light-hearted because of it. She almost skipped like a child despite her heavy, clinging wet skirts and her thick coat. Too bad I’m feeling so lovely, she thought, irrepressibly. I couldn’t work my power even if I wanted to. Even as a child, it never came to her when she was content or happy, only when she was angry or mischievous. That was no doubt why Yvienne refused to believe in her. If she herself didn’t know better, Yvienne’s theory made sense, that she had been so naughty as a child that she combined the guilt over her bad behavior with the events that everyone blamed her for.

  Some of her good humor slipped away. As if determined to dampen her mood completely, the rain came down harder, and her umbrella dripped through some small tears along its ribs. It was ancient of course, but better than nothing. Tesara wiped the wet out of her eyes and peered out from under the umbrella, hardly able to find her way home. She had practically stumbled into another woman in the fog before she recognized her.

  “Oh! Mathilde!” she said. “Terrible weather, isn’t it?”

  Mathilde started and then gave her lovely smile, linking her arm in hers. “Miss Tesara, goodness, what are you doing out?”

  Tesara had thought the young man standing near Mathilde was a friend of the housemaid’s, but as the girl took her by the arm and turned her neatly away, holding her much nicer umbrella over both of them, she realized she was mistaken. “Visiting a bookstore,” she answered, folding her now redundant umbrella. “The latest by Suristen is in.”

  “Is it?” Mathilde didn’t sound as if she were any more interested than Tesara was. “I didn’t know you were bookish.”

  Oops. “I was thinking for Yvienne, for her birthday,” Tesara improvised. “He is a great favorite of hers.” She would have to remember to tell Yvienne that.

  “Let’s hurry,” Mathilde said. “I don’t fancy getting any wetter than I already am.”

  She and Tesara walked as briskly as possible toward home. The little blue cottage loomed out of the weather and she and Mathilde practically broke into a run into the kitchen, shaking off the water and stamping their feet. At Mathilde’s urging, she unlaced her boots and set them near the stove, and then hung up her coat.

  “It’ll be dry by morning and there should be no need to go outside for the rest of the day. I’ll just put some tea on for the family and then I’ll be off,” Mathilde said.

  Tesara was stricken. “Oh no! Mathilde, you’d already gone home for the day. And here I am dragging you back out.” She was surprised that Mathilde lived near the Mercantile, but then there were plenty of rooms to let over the shops.

  “Nonsense,” Mathilde said. “I could hardly let you suffer. You were a drowned rat, and no mistake.” She began bustling around with the tea things.

  “Oh, please, let me do that,” Tesara said. “Look, I think it’s letting up. I do feel terrible that you had to come back.”

  Mathilde said nothing, just finished lighting the fire under the kettle with brisk efficiency. She gave another smile. “There, I expect you can handle the rest.” She was almost brusque though, and Tesara just nodded uncertainly. It was terribly awkward, but no wonder Mathilde was irked. She must get tired of rescuing us, she thought. Then she smiled. How funny – she had almost curtseyed to the ginger-haired man standing nearby when she ran into Mathilde, thinking he was with her. It would have been so embarrassing when he turned out to be a stranger.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  The TreMondi House was a stately, narrow townhouse at the bottom of the Crescent, near where it met Mercantile Row, not far from the home of the Sansieris. It was not as big as many of the other houses, but the glazing and the sconces on the door, and the fresh paint and the landscaping, as well as the prized cream marble facing the exterior, all screamed wealth. Yvienne straightened her walking dress and knocked the gleaming brass knocker against the sable black door.

  And waited. At length she heard steady footsteps, and then the door opened. A distinguished gentleman in a butler’s coat looked down at her.

  “Miss Mederos, here to see Mrs TreMondi,” Yvienne said.

  “For the governess placement,” he said. “You should have come round to the servants’ entrance.”

  Embarrassment flooded Yvienne’s face. What a little fool, she thought. She could see it in the butler’s expression. She had entirely forgotten her place.

  “I do apologize–”

  “As you haven’t got the position yet, we will forgive this time,” he said, and she bobbed a hasty curtsey and followed him inside. “Wait here.” He disappeared into the house.

  The entranceway spoke of the same understated elegance. The colors reflected the colors of th
e sea, the floor gleamed with fresh wax, and a mirror for guests hung over a lovely table of sleek mahogany and ivory. As she checked her reflection hurriedly in the mirror, she noticed a small red fire wagon beneath the table. So, children lived here after all.

  A quick tattoo of footsteps alerted her and a smiling woman with a housekeeper’s set of keys jangling at her belt, met her with an outstretched hand. “Miss Mederos? I’m Mrs Rose, the housekeeper. Come this way into the parlor.”

  “Thank you. I apologize for not coming round the back.”

  “Yes, Hayres said. Don’t worry – mistress doesn’t know.”

  In the parlor sat Mrs TreMondi with her two daughters and a small boy, evidently the owner of the fire wagon. Yvienne curtseyed and looked up. They made a pretty tableau on the elegant sofa, as if posing to have their portrait made. The girls were dark like their mother, with seal-brown eyes and swooping eyebrows like a penciled bird’s wing. Their complexions were a lovely brown too. Their brother had paler curls, almost silver in the light, but if anything, his skin was darker. They wore matching cream dresses – the little boy wore a cream suit – with pink and black ribbons.

  Oh! Mrs TreMondi was from the Chahoki, a kingdom half-way across the continent to the east. The Chahoki empire was used to be thought savage and barbaric and certainly not at all the thing. That all changed once the Guild learned that the people were as avid for trade as the Guild itself, and were no less able in the arts of war. A truce ensued, one of mutual benefit and mutual distrust. Obviously, in the TreMondis’ case, relations were more amiable, she thought. The society of Port Saint Frey would not approve of Mr TreMondi’s choice of wife, though. That must have been why they were not able to get any other governess. Well, that is to my benefit, she thought.