Spellswept

by Stephanie Burgis

  Llewellyn might have just exposed a temper, but he had a brain, too—and he was far too clever to misread her message. As she watched with expectantly raised eyebrows, his cheeks thinned and his lips clamped together, visibly restraining an untoward response. Still, he lowered his eyes a moment later without letting any more thoughtless words escape. “As you say.” He sighed. “I’ll look forward to our dance, Miss Standish...the very moment that you are free to enjoy yourself.”

  Good. Amy took a deep, reassuring breath. For a moment, she’d actually wondered...but no.

  “I’ll rejoin you as soon as possible,” she promised—and, with a firm smile, took Jonathan’s arm. “Lead on, Mr. Harwood, do.”

  Jonathan didn’t speak at first, as they moved smoothly together through the crowd; when he did speak, his voice was muted. “There must be a better one that you can find.”

  “I beg your pardon?” Amy slanted a glance up at his face—and realized, with a start, that for the first time in her memory, Jonathan Harwood was utterly furious. The emotion radiated through every inch of his body and blazed out through his eyes, even as his face remained perfectly expressionless—a skill and restraint he must have practiced a great deal after all those years spent away in boarding school with other boys who felt as Llewellyn did about him. “A better what?” she asked, with genuine curiosity.

  He gave a quick, jerky shrug. “A better option, I mean, for you! I’ve been doing my best to hold my tongue about it, but Llewellyn isn’t good enough, and you know it.”

  What? Amy’s breath stopped in her chest for one stunned moment. Then it rushed back into place, propelled by sheer rage. “This way,” she said, and altered their direction. Smiling with all her might, she swept a path through the crowd to the next available pane of glass...where she was finally, finally free to drop her furious smile and openly glare at the dark water beyond.

  “Are you actually commenting on my options?” she demanded in a ferocious whisper. “You?”

  He gave an unmistakable flinch. Then his jaw squared and he stepped closer to the glass, his jacketed arm brushing lightly against her own and sending aggravating sparks along her skin. “Yes, I am,” he said firmly. “I know Mother thinks he’s fated to rise high in his career, but I can tell you, I’ve known him for years, and Cassandra’s right—he isn’t nearly as good at magic as he thinks he is.”

  “And you’re holding yourself up as a judge on that?” Fury nearly choked her. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to hold herself back.

  Of course he knew how she felt—he had to know. No one had ever accused Jonathan Harwood of being anything less than extraordinarily intelligent. That was what had famously driven his parents so wild with frustration. For him to utter such a remark after ten months of unmistakable warmth, bone-deep connection and a longing so desperate that some nights it had nearly choked her...

  “I understand and respect why you made your own decisions,” she said with tight control, her eyes still shut. “But do not taunt me about them now!”

  “Taunt?” He didn’t touch her, but she could feel the breath of frustration that he expelled, ruffling against her upswept hair. “What are you talking about?”

  If they’d been alone, she would have tipped her head against the glass in frustration. They were in public, though, and in full view of the crowd, so she kept her figure upright and relaxed. “You know perfectly well what I mean,” she said bitterly. “I don’t have the freedom to choose the man I most admire. That is not an option for me, as you so charmingly put it, because you chose a different path for your own reasons. So don’t pretend that I need to please you with my marital choice now! That,” she finished wearily, “is asking far too much of me.”

  There. Her shoulders slumped. She’d said what she needed to say. Now she would simply endure his answer, move back into the whirl of the ball, and...

  But no answer came after all. Finally, she opened her eyes to investigate.

  Reflected in the dark glass before her, his own eyes were wide and stunned-looking. “I...what?” he demanded. “What?”

  She stared at his reflection, wordless with confusion.

  Jonathan raked one hand through his thick brown hair, rumpling it hopelessly out of shape. She wished she didn’t find it so appealing. “Miss Standish—Amy,” he said, his voice hoarse. “Are you telling me...would you have actually desired...?”

  She shook her head in pure confusion. “What did I say that was so difficult to understand?”

  “But...” He took a deep breath, his broad chest rising and falling.

  “I know,” she said. “I understand now why you refused to study magic. You were clearing the way for Cassandra, weren’t you?”

  He swallowed visibly. “You’ve always been quick at putting things together.”

  “And I admire your decision. Truly.” It took all of her control to keep her head high and her gaze locked with his in the glass. “But I cannot allow you to judge my decision now.”

  “Of course you have to marry a mage,” Jonathan said. “I’ve always known that. But Llewellyn—”

  “I don’t care how good he is at magic!” Amy snapped. “You don’t need to be the best to do well in any field, and you know that as well as I do. Just look at half the husbands of the Boudiccate! Your father may have been a brilliant mage, but not all of them are. They don’t have to be.”

  “But they should,” Jonathan said, his jaw locked. “Cassandra is.”

  “Then it’s a pity I don’t wish to marry her—argh!” Amy let out a groan even as the inane words escaped her mouth.

  Good God. What was he doing to her? She never lost her temper so foolishly! She squeezed her eyes shut for one anguished moment.

  When she opened them again, Jonathan’s lips were twitching. “I’ll let her know of that terrible disappointment,” he said gravely. “Never fear: she’s currently madly in love only with magic, so you needn’t worry about breaking her heart, too.”

  “I should think not.” Amy gave a rueful shake of her head. She couldn’t look away from his reflected blue eyes, now so full of warmth and humor. It felt too good to feel his gaze holding hers—to feel that indefinable, inexorable connection beneath the skin.

  Once she wed, and moved out of Harwood House, it would become easier. It had to. When she no longer saw him every day...

  No. Her heart clenched. She couldn’t think about that now—not if she wished to hold to her purpose. “You know how the world works,” she said softly.

  “I do.” His lips twisted. “That...is why I’d never even imagined you would consider me as an option in the first place.”

  The moment felt as fragile as glass held between them.

  Cassandra’s voice shattered it. “There you both are!” She burst breathlessly between them. “Have you told her yet? What did she say?”

  Jonathan gave a start and then winced. “Ah, yes.” He gave Amy an apologetic look. “The reason I came to find you in the first place.”

  “You haven’t even mentioned it?” Cassandra demanded. “What on earth have you two been discussing this whole time?”

  For one paralyzed moment, Amy’s mind went blank.

  Then she said brightly, “The upcoming demonstrations—”

  ...Just as Jonathan said, “Refreshments!”

  “Oh.” Cassandra heaved a weary sigh. “I see. You two were flirting again.” She cast her eyes up to the arched ceiling. “Well, if I’m the only one who’s even going to try to save this evening...!”

  “Save it?” Amy stiffened. “From what?” Her mind was already whirling through possibilities. Had one of the guests said something unmentionable to the Fae ambassadress? Had one of the mages done something disastrous to the drinks?

  If Mrs. Seabury had ‘accidentally’ smacked the Head of the Great Library with her walking stick again...

  “Father’s spell,” said Cassandra. “It’s on the verge of cracking if we don’t fix it now.”

  “What?” Amy
’s heartbeat lurched. As her head spun, she yanked her gaze back to Jonathan. “And you didn’t even bother to mention—?”

  “She didn’t tell me what she needed you for!” His already-fair skin had paled at the news. “She only said that she wanted to talk to you privately.”

  “Because I didn’t want to waste time repeating myself!” Cassandra said impatiently. “First, we have to get everyone out of here, and then—”

  “Wait.” Amy held out one hand, forcing herself to take steady breaths even as the walls tightened around her. All those gallons—tons?—of lake water pushing in against them, only waiting to swallow them all the very moment the spell shattered... “None of the other mages here have noticed any particular danger tonight.” Even Mr. Westgate hadn’t considered the matter imminent, had he?

  “Because they don’t know Father’s spell, of course.” Cassandra rolled her eyes. “Do you think Mother would ever let any of them near his private papers?”

  “But she let you?” Amy pointedly raised her eyebrows.

  The younger girl’s skin flushed, but her jaw firmed stubbornly even as she dropped her gaze. “I found my own way in,” she muttered. “Just ask Jonathan if you don’t believe me.”

  Jonathan’s silent nod was confirmation enough.

  “Very well.” Amy took a deep breath, adjusting to the news. Was she only imagining the creak of the rounded windowpane nearby, as if it were suddenly facing excess pressure?

  Surely that was pure imagination. And yet...

  “We’ll have to be as discreet as possible,” she said, even as she cringed internally at the thought of it.

  Where were all two hundred of the guests going to go? The ballroom inside Harwood House hadn’t been used for any public functions in decades. Not only had it not been decorated for tonight, but it had fallen into the most casual of family usage across the years. As Amy imagined the reactions of every visiting dignitary to being shuffled inside tonight to find its thirty-year-old decorations and tattered, comfortable chairs piled with newspapers around the fireplace...

  What excuse could possibly explain that, apart from the truth?

  But Miranda... “What did your mother say when you told her?”

  Only silence answered Amy’s question.

  “I beg your pardon?” Amy’s eyes widened. “You haven’t even tried to tell her?”

  “She wouldn’t listen to me!” Cassandra’s face flushed deeper. “I couldn’t even get her away from the group that she was talking to. And if I’d dared utter the word ‘spell’ to her in front of all of them...” She shook her head, her fists clenching at her sides. “You’re the only one who might actually get her to pay attention.”

  “I...see.” And Amy did see, all too well.

  Oof. Well, she had promised Miranda to deal with any dramas that arose tonight, even if this wasn’t quite the sort of excitement that either of them had had in mind.

  How long did they have before the spell gave way?

  Amy squared her shoulders. “Right,” she said briskly. “Cassandra, you need to find Mr. Westgate and tell him exactly what you’ve just told me. Beg him, on your mother’s behalf, not to share your secret with anyone else, but when you are speaking privately with him, don’t hold a single detail back.”

  “Will he believe me?”

  “Probably not,” Amy admitted. “But he’s the only one I know who’s already worried about the spell, so he’s the most promising mage for you to approach. In the meantime, I’ll find your mother—and Jonathan, would you please start charming all of the non-mages outside for an evening walk around the grounds? You can tell them we’ve decided to hold tonight’s magical demonstrations on the lakeshore tonight, to take advantage of the weather.”

  “Of course.” He moved away without another word, heading for the closest group of fan-wielding politicians.

  Cassandra hung back one more moment, her face taut with anxiety. “Do you…are you certain you can’t come with me to talk to Westgate? If—”

  “Don’t worry,” Amy said firmly. “I’ll tell your mother that you did it only under my instructions.”

  Miranda might well not forgive her for that—and the plausibility of that result was enough to make Amy’s stomach twist with a sickening mixture of loss and shame.

  But Amy had been given charge of all of the details for tonight, and that meant protecting everyone in this ballroom, no matter how she had to do it. So as Cassandra darted off, Amy lifted her chin and set off to tell her mentor everything that Miranda Harwood would least like to hear from her tonight.

  She was halfway across the room when Llewellyn caught up with her. This time, he didn’t physically take hold of her; clearly, he was capable of learning that sort of lesson, which she filed away as a promising sign for their joint future. But his voice rippled with impatience as he said, “Finally! I thought he’d never be finished with you. What was he nattering on at you about before his sister arrived? If—”

  “My lord.” Amy didn’t slow her stride across the room, her fey-silk skirts swishing purposefully around her long legs. “I am glad to see you. I need your help quite urgently.”

  “You...do?” She heard the frown in his voice, although she didn’t take the time to look around. “With what?”

  “Can you cast a spell to amplify my voice? I’d like to make an announcement.” She could already sense a ripple in the crowd as Jonathan worked his own, good-humored form of magic on the various guests, but he couldn’t possibly make his way through the entire crowd in time.

  “I thought you wanted to wait until after the demonstrations?”

  “What?” She took one baffled second to absorb his words—then realized what he meant. “Oh, no, that isn’t the announcement that I meant. No, this is urgent. Can you help me with it quickly, please?”

  He let out an irritated huff of air. “Perhaps if you would slow down and take the time to give me the courtesy of a proper explanation, so that I could make my own decision about the matter—”

  “Never mind.” It was only a few more steps—

  There. She came to a halt, smiling serenely, in front of Lord Cosgrave, Lady Cosgrave’s good-natured husband, who was standing gossiping with a group of fellow mages. “My dear Lord Cosgrave. Would you do me the favor of providing me with a moment of amplification?”

  He slanted a startled look at Llewellyn, but stepped forward agreeably. “Of course, Miss Standish.” Murmuring something under his breath, he gestured toward her—and Amy felt a sudden, thrumming power in her chest. Perfect.

  “My lords and ladies and distinguished visitors,” she said brightly, and all of the music and chatter broke off as her voice rang around the circular ballroom. “May I have your attention? On behalf of Mrs. Harwood, I’d like to invite every lady and non-mage among our guests to enjoy a delightful evening stroll around the Aelfen Mere. The musicians will accompany all of you to perform in the open air for your enjoyment whilst the mages remain here to prepare for their demonstrations afterward. If you could all move as quickly as possible, please, our marvelous mages would deeply appreciate your assistance. Thank you!”

  She finished with a confident nod and a discreet silencing gesture in Lord Cosgrave’s direction. His own nod, a moment later, confirmed that the spell had been safely removed. “Thank you,” she told him in her own normal tones, and spun on her heel as a genteel queue formed for the marked exit point on the tiled floor.

  This time, she didn’t have nearly as far to go. Miranda Harwood was already aiming for her through the shifting crowds, a pleasant, social smile pinned to her lips.

  “What in the world is going on?” Miranda murmured under her breath as they met, squeezing closely together to make space for the stream of chattering guests. “An evening stroll by the lake for all of them, together? We haven’t even set fey lights about the perimeter, much less—”

  “I needed an excuse,” Amy murmured back even more softly. “It’s a matter of magical safety, and we need
the mages to fix it before we can allow anyone back inside the ballroom.”

  “Oh?” Miranda looked past Amy to Llewellyn, who’d followed her. “Lord Llewellyn, can you explain the particular magic that’s involved?”

  “Don’t ask me, Mrs. Harwood.” His smile was decidedly strained. “Miss Standish hasn’t chosen to share those details with me, either. Apparently, my expertise was not desired.”

  Ouch. Amy stifled a wince. “There wasn’t time for explanations, I’m afraid. I’ve been notified of an urgent magical crisis, and—”

  “From whom?” Llewellyn frowned. “The only people you’ve talked to since our dance were Harwood and his sister, and neither of them...”

  Amy could see the exact moment when Miranda realized the answer to that question. It was the first time she’d ever seen her mentor pale.

  The sudden look of horrified vulnerability on Miranda’s face felt unbearable—and the fact that she had caused it, even more so. But Amy kept her gaze fixed steadily upon her mentor as she said quietly, “It doesn’t matter exactly how I found it out. The point is, the spell that keeps this ballroom safe is on the verge of shattering for good. If we don’t find a way to fix it quickly—”

  “Is this whole fuss about old Westgate’s cawing?” Llewellyn gave a dismissive snort of laughter. “Mrs. Harwood, as I told Miss Standish earlier—”

  “It was explained to me—persuasively—by someone whose magical opinion I trust.” Amy kept her voice low and gentle and very clear as she watched the different emotions flash across Miranda’s face. “The only step we can take at this point is to evacuate the non-mages as swiftly as possible. Mr. Westgate has already been informed, and I’m sure he’ll direct the other officers of magic who are in attendance tonight.”

  “Without the original spell to hand?” Llewellyn shook his head impatiently. “No, no. Even if you were right, that would be impossible. You may be an expert in standing around talking people into trade agreements and suchlike, Miss Standish”—his upper lip curled in undisguised disdain—“but when it comes to the manly issues in life, you may trust my assurance that no one in this ballroom could possibly bolster the original spell without knowing exactly what it said in the first place. So unless you happen to be keeping it here...?”