by M. J. Putney
“Perhaps the Irregulars will help other mages foil Napoleon’s invasion, when and if it comes.” He tucked her hand in his elbow and they strolled back toward the horses. “At least our weapons today are less lethal than the ones we saw in 1940.”
She caught something from him. A feeling, perhaps. “What’s wrong?”
“There are drawbacks to the way we’re connected,” he said ruefully. “As we talked, I had a feeling that I haven’t seen the last of twentieth-century weapons.”
She bit her lip. “You think you’ll go through the mirror again.”
“Yes. That doesn’t mean you must, though.”
“You think not?” She hated the idea of going back, but if her presence might help protect Allarde or her other friends, she’d have to go. “Let’s put the future out of our minds and talk about something pleasant. For example, have you ever thought about how we both have strong talents for lifting that are similar, but not identical?”
“I have thought about how odd it is that I can lift sizable objects, like that boulder.” He gestured and the massive rock lifted a foot into the air, startling two rooks that had been perched on top. As they flew away with angry caws, he continued, “Yet I can’t raise myself or other living creatures. You can’t lift as much, but you can fly.”
“Not fly, really. Just float. Like this.” Tory concentrated until she felt the internal click that meant her power was engaged. She swirled gracefully into the air so she was facing him at eye level.
He laughed with delight. “Just the right height for kissing!” He leaned forward, brushing his lips against hers. They were warm in contrast to the wintry day. “I wish I could fly. It looks delightful.”
“It is rather fun.” Tory drifted back to the ground. “But I can’t move large objects like you do. Odd indeed.”
“Can you lift living people?”
“I was able to carry my two-year-old nephew, but it was a strain. Of course, I’d not had training then. I could probably lift more now.”
“I wonder what we could do if we blended our magic,” Allarde said thoughtfully. “Would I be able to fly?”
“I have no idea, but it’s worth trying.” She turned to face him and they clasped each other’s hands. “Let the magic flow,” she murmured.
She focused her lifting magic on Allarde, pouring it into him. Her power blended with his, becoming stronger, lighter …
His hands pulled free and he swept into the air. Knowing how startling that was, Tory called, “Think yourself still or you’ll end up above the trees and that’s alarming!”
Allarde’s ascent halted about fifteen feet above the ground. High enough to injure him if he dropped, so she concentrated on keeping her magic steady. Combined with his magic, the strain wasn’t too great, though she’d rather not do this for too long.
Face wreathed with delight, he said exuberantly, “This is wonderful! So much more enjoyable than tossing sofas around.” He tucked his body and rolled forward, somersaulting in the air. He came out with his arms outstretched, cruising like a bird.
“I never thought of doing acrobatics!” she exclaimed. “Of course, that’s easier when not wearing skirts.”
He swept down toward her. “Dance on the air with me, Tory?”
After a startled moment, she caught his hands and let her floating magic sweep through her. With a little more effort, they rose into the air together.
He slid one arm around her waist and clasped her hand and swirled her into an aerial waltz. She laughed with delight as they spiraled upward. “This is marvelous!”
When his laughter joined hers, she felt the rumble where her chest pressed against his. Her skirt fluttered wildly and her bonnet went flying, but she didn’t care.
They had shared wonder and danger and fear, but never such pure, uncomplicated playfulness. They spun and swooped giddily, free to move in all dimensions.
They had whirled up to treetop level when Allarde’s energy faltered. They began to fall toward the frozen earth.
“Justin!” Tory grabbed fiercely at her magical reserves and slowed their descent some, but she couldn’t stop it altogether. After a few moments that felt much longer, Allarde’s energy picked up again and they came down in a graceful, controlled landing.
She glanced at his face, wondering what had gone wrong. He was staring at the edge of the clearing. She followed his gaze and saw …
The Duke of Westover. Allarde’s father sat on a fine gray horse, looking old and tired. He had the saddest eyes Tory had ever seen.
Allarde drew a deep breath, then took Tory’s arm and led her across the clearing to the duke. “Good day, sir. You were out for a ride?”
His father nodded. “I saw you rising above the trees. It was a remarkable sight.”
“Allow me to present Lady Victoria Mansfield.”
“Lord Smithson’s sister.” The duke studied Tory’s face as she dropped a polite curtsy. “I saw you at Layton Place.”
“Yes, your grace.”
“You and Allarde danced there, though less dramatically.” Face grave, he said, “Come to the house and have some refreshments.”
They had planned a winter picnic, with Allarde bringing food and Tory some of her brother’s cider, but they couldn’t refuse the duke’s invitation. Besides, Tory was now feeling the cold.
She was no foreteller. But she had a bad feeling about the visit.
CHAPTER 12
The ride to the great house was quiet, apart from the duke asking Tory occasional questions about her family. She could see where Allarde got his grave courtesy. He resembled his father greatly in both appearance and manner, though the duke was so old he looked more like Allarde’s grandfather.
Tory could see a faint glow of connection between the duke and his land. But that seemed to be the only touch of magical power Westover had. Allarde had that connection, and a great deal more.
His life would have been much simpler if he had less power.
* * *
The house was as magnificent and intimidating as it had looked from the other side of the valley. Even Fairmount Hall, where Tory had grown up, looked modest by comparison.
But the Duchess of Westover was a delight. Fragile and lovely with silver hair, she was younger than her husband, though far from young. She had a warm smile and quiet charm in abundance. Allarde had inherited that as well.
The four of them shared a light meal in the family dining room, which was high-ceilinged and immense and far from relaxing. They were all achingly polite, the food was exquisite, and it tasted no better than ashes in Tory’s mouth.
The sword she had been expecting fell when they finished eating and the duchess said to her son and husband, “You gentlemen run off for a bit so that Lady Victoria and I can become better acquainted.”
The men obeyed, though Tory sensed that Allarde’s usual calm expression hid tension that matched her own. The duchess rose from the table. “We can have our tea in my morning room, Lady Victoria. It has a lovely view over the lake.”
The room was lovely, too, furnished with feminine colors and dainty furniture. “How splendid!” Tory crossed to the window. “Are those swans in the lake?”
“Very likely. The gamekeeper has standing orders to make sure they have enough to eat.” The duchess joined Tory at the window. “I’ve lived here almost forty years, and even so, sometimes the beauty of Kemperton catches me in the heart.”
“Lord Allarde has that same feeling for the land,” Tory said.
“You saw that?” The duchess turned to Tory, but before she could say more, a maid arrived with a tea tray.
After the clinking of silver spoons on porcelain and the pouring of fragrant China tea, Tory said, “I think your desire to speak with me was not casual, your grace.”
“You are as perceptive as you are pretty.” The duchess placed her cup in the saucer. “Direct, too. I like that. Very well, we shall be direct. Do you love my son?”
Direct indeed. Her throat cons
tricted, Tory replied, “I do. I will not bore you with a list of his perfections since you know them already. But as soon as I saw him, I wanted no one else.”
“I will not insult you by saying that is mere calf love,” the duchess said gently. “Love is real and always precious, no matter what one’s age. One’s first love has matchless purity and intensity.” The older woman smiled nostalgically. “But one’s first love is seldom one’s last love.”
Tory’s hands began to shake, causing the fragile cup to chatter in its saucer as she set it down. “You want me to turn away from Allarde.”
“Yes.” The duchess’s expression was sorrowful. “I know that I ask a great deal of you. But I believe you have the courage and intelligence to understand why.”
“Because of my magic.” Tory was proud that her voice was almost steady.
The older woman nodded. “Justin is our only child, born long after we had given up hope. He is the joy of our lives.”
Tory could barely keep her voice steady. “Naturally you want the best for him.”
“In another time or place, the best might be you, Lady Victoria. You have all the qualities one could hope for in a Duchess of Westover.” The duchess sighed. “But this is not that time and place.”
“Because here and now, my magic would ruin him,” Tory said dully.
The duchess nodded. “You know our world. If Allarde leaves Lackland Abbey ‘cured’ and marries a girl with no power, his father won’t have to disinherit him. Though his time at Lackland will be considered somewhat scandalous, scandals fade.”
“But only if he is not seen to associate with magic in any way.”
“Exactly. If his power is seen as a minor, youthful weakness, people will accept him as the Duke of Westover. He will be able to perform the duties and responsibilities he was born to.” There was a faint tremor in the duchess’s voice. “Not all members of the nobility are truly noble in their souls, but Justin would make an exemplary duke.”
Tory silently agreed. A peer of the realm was personally responsible for the prosperity of his lands and tenants. Through his seat in the House of Lords, he was also a steward for the nation. Allarde was intelligent, conscientious, and a natural leader who was good at reconciling differences. As a duke, he’d be able to use all those qualities. And yet …
“Is it right that Allarde have no say in such an important decision?” Tory protested. “A relationship is two people, not one. Perhaps you don’t realize how important his magic is to him.”
She thought of his willingness to give his power and his life to protecting Britain. “Much as he loves his parents and Kemperton, he also loves magic, and perhaps also me. It should be his choice which path he takes.”
“I can feel the strength of the bond between you.” The duchess smiled sadly. “Allarde is too loyal and honorable to break that bond. Only if you set him free will he actually be able to choose between magic and his heritage.”
Feeling kicked in the stomach, Tory realized the older woman was right. Allarde had never expected to become involved with a Lackland girl. He’d deliberately avoided the teasing and flirtation that most of the Irregulars indulged in. If not for Tory, he would still have years ahead in which to decide which path he wanted to take.
She must end their relationship or he would certainly lose Kemperton. He might still choose magic when he left Lackland, but at least he would do it freely, not because loyalty to Tory made it impossible to choose his heritage.
“I will think on what you have said, your grace.” Numb to the bone, she rose. “But now it is time to return to Layton Place.”
The duchess took her hand. “Thank you for listening, my dear. Believe me when I say that life can hold many loves.”
Perhaps. But there was only one Allarde.
Blindly she left the room, felling ill. If she truly loved him, she must set him free. She must use the privacy of the ride back to speak to him and end their romance.
Easier to cut out her heart.
* * *
Allarde emerged from his meeting with his face and emotions so locked down that he might have been carved from marble. But whatever was going on behind his controlled façade didn’t affect his flawless manners. He helped her onto her horse, waited until their grooms were summoned and mounted, then rode beside her from the Kemperton stable yard.
He rode so close that she could touch him if she tried. Tory fought the impulse as she wondered how to begin an impossible conversation.
Allarde said tightly, “My mother asked you to leave me, didn’t she?”
Tory swallowed hard, hoping her better self was strong enough for this. “Yes, and she was right to do so. We are too young, and you have too much to lose. It is better if we … we walk separate paths.”
“Do you think you can end this with a handful of words?” He leaned over and caught her hand. The full power of their attachment blazed between them. Love, need, understanding deeper than mere words.
She wanted to dissolve into that sweet heat that connected mind, body, and soul. For an instant, she almost did.
It took all her will to jerk her hand and emotions away. Voice shaking, she said, “Our connection is too strong to break entirely, but we can’t let it become stronger.” She drew a ragged breath. “We can’t be a couple. We can’t touch.” We can’t kiss.
“How can we see each other in the Irregulars and not want to be together?” he retorted. “One of us would have to leave.”
“No!” she exclaimed. “We are both sworn to serve Britain. We need the training and the friendship of the other Irregulars. We can learn to be … separate. We must.”
His eyes narrowed. “My mother must have been very persuasive.”
“She was. Your parents love you deeply. Your father doesn’t want to disinherit you. But he would feel that he must if you attach yourself to another mageling.”
“I know all that,” he said impatiently. “If I must choose, I choose you.”
She wiped at the tears that were spilling down her cheeks. “I am honored beyond words that you say that. But can you survive if you don’t have Kemperton?” In the darkening afternoon, the glow that connected him to his land was even more visible. “Your roots sink so deep into this soil that you might wither if you are torn from it. You mustn’t throw away your heritage for what might be only a … a passing infatuation.”
He stared at her. “I owe you my life, Tory! How can I put Kemperton above you?”
“Saving your life didn’t come with cost or obligation, Justin,” she said softly, seeing how right his mother had been. “As comrades, we risked ourselves for each other. That doesn’t mean you must give up the life you were born to because you feel you owe me anything.”
His mouth twisted. “What we have is much more than obligation, isn’t it?”
She wished she could lie convincingly, but she couldn’t. Not to him. “Yes. But we have known all along how much uncertainty lies ahead of us.” She sighed. “I have never been sure that we would have any kind of future, Justin.”
“Nor have I.” His hands were white-knuckled on his reins. “But I thought we would at least have the time until leaving Lackland. Why can’t we have that?”
“Because the longer we are together, the deeper the bond between us. It’s almost impossible to end things now.” She saw with absolute certainty if she wasn’t strong enough to break with him now, she would never be able to do it later. “I can’t bear to cost you the certainty of the land you love for the uncertainty of me. Of us.”
They rode in silence for the space of a dozen heartbeats before he said in a voice of flint, “Perhaps you are right, though I don’t think so.” He turned to her, gray eyes blazing. “But if you are hell-bent on destroying the priceless gift we’ve been given, I can’t hold you against your will.”
“Staying would not be against my will,” she whispered. “But it would be against my best judgment.” And because she loved him, she must leave him.
Una
ble to bear another moment, she turned and beckoned for her brother’s groom to approach. “No need to take me all the way home. I’ll be safe enough.”
Allarde started to protest, then clamped his mouth shut. He looked like marble again. Cool, impossibly handsome, remote. And under the surface, searing anger. As they stared at each other, Tory felt something tearing deep inside her spirit.
Wordlessly he wheeled his horse and headed back to Kemperton at a furious gallop. She stared after him, one hand pressed to her aching chest. Was it possible to die of a broken heart?
But her breathing continued, her pulse still hammered in her temples, and her horse continued forward as if the world had not changed irrevocably.
She knew she was doing the right thing. And she would pay for it the rest of her life.
* * *
By the time Tory arrived back at Layton Place, it was dusk and flurries of snow were blowing past her. She felt like a bubble of blown glass that would shatter at a touch.
Wishing she had her stealth stone so she wouldn’t be seen, she slipped into the house. The wedding was to be day after tomorrow, and the hum of happy excitement in the air made her feel even worse.
Giving a sigh of relief that she’d reached her room unseen, she darted inside—and found Molly seated by the lamp and singing happily under her breath as she hemmed a garment. The maid glanced up. “Good evening, my lady. Did you have…?” Her face changed and she rose, setting her sewing aside. “Miss Tory, what happened?”
As Tory stared at the maid’s round, good-natured face, she began to shake. She felt cold down to her very marrow.
“Oh, my lady,” Molly said compassionately. “That young man of yours has decided he had best avoid any expectations so he’s turning away?”
“No,” Tory whispered. “I turned from him because if we stay together he will lose—too much.”
Seeing her expression, Molly enfolded her in an embrace, more like a sister than a maid. But Molly wasn’t really a servant. They were magelings together, and the older girl was a reader.
Remembering that, Tory asked brokenly, “What do you see of him and me?”
