Page 11 of Brave Truth

Claudio sucked in a breath, but he cupped his hands around the mug and took a sip before speaking. He kept not quite focusing on the tapestry on the wall opposite, the way the shades and colours didn’t quite stay fixed in his vision. His thoughts were whirling. “There are limits on what you can do without telling people. You especially.”

“And with good reason. But is it worth exploring the options? That’s the question.” Gabe leaned back, and then it was a good half hour of wrangling through the options. The question of consent, of course, was early. But Claudio himself pointed out that the mineral content suggested a base that would take certain kinds of blessing or other ritual enchantments particularly well.

Quartz had a long use for protection, epidote for amplification. Tourmaline was a frequent choice for protective talismans, but also for healing and health. And hornblende was entirely relevant to illusion, so it might do particularly well to supplement the protective illusions around magical spaces. Or as a component in some potion or fertiliser to support fields still damaged by the war or flooding, a rebalancing that was desperately needed in too many places.

The debate was well-balanced, too. Orion had obviously been giving some serious thought to the strategic and tactical considerations— including how much they might reasonably draw from the pool without causing harm. No one had an entirely good answer to what the addition of dragon scales might do to any of it.

The dragons that had been pinned down here for some centuries, until Merlin Ambrosius had released them, had not been custos dragons. There were studies about the materials of their scales. But almost certainly, that’s where some of the concentration of copper and gold came from. That part would take more research from someone.

The idea was compelling. Water flowed; it went everywhere. It filled in cracks and restored in ways nothing else could. Claudio had a nagging thought, one that wasn’t perhaps entirely his, that might be about sitting where he was, in an ancient castle dedicated to magic. There were glimpses in his mind, flashes like they were out of the corner of his eye, of parched land soaking up the rain. Just enough to restore and bring new growth, not so much that it flooded or washed the good soil away. He might have to talk it out with Ursula at some point. Gabe and Orion went at the land magic a little differently. Ursula actually got her hands dirty with the agriculture these days.

In the end, Gabe and Orion went off to clean and tidy upstairs, something they hadn’t specified. Since that was up in the Council spaces, Claudio couldn’t offer to help. It left Claudio settled at the table, waiting for Orion to come down so they could go to tea. Alexander stayed seated across from him.

There was silence for a good minute before Alexander leaned back. “While you’re here.” It had a casual tone to it, but Claudio could tell immediately that the next sentences were anything but casual. Alexander was a master of many languages, but he always had a reason for what he said. Usually more than one reason.

“Yes?” Claudio did his best to match the tone.

“I’ll tell Gabe and Orion later this week. After Wednesday’s meeting, if we get a minute.” The regular Council meeting. “Are you all right knowing something before that?” That, now, was an interesting question, but it was one he’d already sorted with both of them. Alexander lifted a finger. “It will impact them, but it’s not about them directly.”

“Sure,” Claudio met Alexander’s eyes then. “Since you seem to want to tell me, there’s a reason.”

“Mmm.” Alexander flicked a finger. “I’m thinking it’s time for me to consider retirement. I’m not going to tell Silvia yet. Gabe, Orion, Paul. I’ll mention it to Cyrus and Mabyn when I see them for supper next weekend.”

Claudio’s mind was whirring. “That’s the end of an era. Sir.” Alexander didn’t normally stand on formality, not when they were in working mode. But he was, in fact, the most senior member of Albion’s Council and had been since Cyrus had retired. He’d been one of the Council since 1897.

Alexander was the last of them to have joined the Council in the nineteenth century, rather than the twentieth. The next now was Lettice Fowler, in 1915. Then Lucas Holder in 1924, and Mother and Ivor Harris in 1925. Mother, at least, showed no signs of slowing down anytime soon. Not that, for that matter, Alexander had slowed much.

Claudio realised he ought to say something further. “You’ve more than earned it. And things are in a decent place for it, perhaps.”

“Mmm, yes. Would you think about who from your generation you might suggest as a candidate? You know many of them better than I do, and perhaps in a more useful way.” Alexander said it entirely calmly, but it just made Claudio’s mind race further.

Alexander knew as much about the theory that Claudio and Gabe had wrangled through five years ago as anyone did. The idea that each seat had an imprint or an archetype, a sort of person who might particularly fit.

They’d named Alexander’s seat as the Tower, the lightning bolt strike that toppled great stone buildings, the destruction that followed. But it was also the chance to rebuild. Alexander had honestly been made for this. His entire approach to the world fit with it. He was, as he said, Set’s child, in the terms the Egyptian side of his family used.

He talked about Set as the eternal antagonist who challenged not out of selfishness or hatred, but because it was the necessary thing and the road to something better. Set was essential, if often chaotic, balance to the orderly progression of Heru, or his parents, Aset and Wesir. Filling that seat properly would take a particular sort of person.

Claudio had known multiple holders of almost every seat. But Alexander’s predecessor Hereswith Rowan had died a decade before Claudio’s birth. He’d known her only from Father’s dismissive commentary about how she was soft, too yielding. Claudio knew that had to be wrong, to be missing essential details, but not how.

Now Claudio leaned back, not quite looking across the table. “Of course.” He knew that must be the answer. More to the point, he knew he’d be gnawing on it like a dog with a bone for weeks now. “Tell me when you’ve told Gabe and Orion, so I can talk to them about it?”

“As soon as I have.” That part was surprisingly gentle. Then Alexander shrugged once. “This was a good show. I don’t get as much chance to see your work directly, not outside the duelling salle. You’ve got a grand touch with it. Taking the whole into account, not the fragments.”

Claudio glanced up at that last. “It’s always made sense to me, especially for the Penelope work. Pulling the disparate pieces together.”

“Here, it definitely needed someone with more alchemy. We could have got consultants in, maybe.” Alexander flicked his fingers. “But this is delicate politically, as you also pointed out. Not that we won’t consider moving forward with it, but well-framed proposals and protections and all that. It’ll take months of wrangling. I’ll get to miss that part except for as much as I’d actually enjoy.”

“Which is, in fact, some of it. Though you might enjoy talking with Cyrus and Mabyn about it more.” That got Claudio a sharp, fierce grin, and he knew he’d said the right thing. Claudio went on, “I’ll have a look at some references when I get a chance. And ask some questions— the sort that can’t be traced back. Maybe on Tuesday. We’ve got the regular materia meeting. There’s not much on anatase that I recall, but someone might know something else.”

“Entirely reasonable. We certainly trust your discretion.” At about that point, Gabe and Orion came back, and it was time for them all to pack up and go their separate ways. Orion, thankfully, had three other distracting topics for them to talk about before they settled down for tea with both Hypatia and Orion’s younger brother Achilles.

Chapter 8

Thursday, March 2nd

“Another cup of tea, yes, if it isn’t a bother.” Matthew folded his hands in his lap as Charlus took the teacup away to refill it. He’d been in the office on the ground floor of the Courts for half an hour now, and it had been an intriguing conversation. Charlus came from an excellent family, but he had an easy-going way about him.

Deliberately social might be the way to put it. He’d immediately suggested they go onto first names, so fluidly that Matthew hadn’t figured out how to say no. That, rather than his last, was at least a bit of a help. Though it also fit like some of the shirts in his closet, the ones that had been packed up unworn for five years or more. But Matthew was here, determined to try something new, or at least a new pattern. Shirking it wouldn’t help anything.