Original Fiction The Princess Exile (Schooled in Magic Stand-Alone Spin-off)

Chapter Nineteen New
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Chapter Nineteen

Madam Jacinta spoke with a hint of dark amusement. "Tell me, have either of you heard of the Gentleman Thief?"

Charlotte shook her head. "Am I to assume he's a thief who happens to be a gentleman?"

"Perhaps." Jacinta shrugged. "Three months ago, there was a burglary at Appleton Mansion. The thief somehow got into a heavily-warded building and stole a worthless painting, leaving a card saying YOU HAVE BEEN ROBBED BY THE GENTLEMAN THIEF. I checked around, when I heard the story; the painting was definitely worthless and the thief could have easily taken a few others that would have netted him thousands, if he sold them to the right person. If he got in so easily, he must have known the painting was worthless."

Anastasia frowned. "Sentimental value?"

"Not according to the owners," Jacinta said. "They're not too pleased about the robbery, of course, but they haven't bothered to offer to pay for its safe return. They didn't even bother to post a large reward for the thief's capture."

"Curious," Charlotte said. "It's the principle of the thing."

"I wondered if the whole affair had been faked for some reason," Jacinta said. "And then there was another robbery, and another, and another. Some worthless shit gets taken, a card is left lying around … some thefts lead to embarrassment, even real trouble, for their victims. Lady Penacook was apparently trying to extort compensation for land redistribution, only to have papers stolen that proved she had no actual claim to the land. A couple of others followed … one lord was refusing to pay child support to the poor maid who'd had his baby, another was short-changing her maids. In both cases, the Gentleman Thief saw to it that word reached the broadsheets and Her Majesty. He's well on the way to becoming a folk hero."

Anastasia considered it. "And there are no suspects?"

"Not as far as anyone can tell," Jacinta confirmed. "The wards appear unbroken, but the thief gets though. The stolen goods have never been recovered, save for the papers exposing criminal activity. The Guards have to be looking for a magician, given how the wards should be enough to keep everyone else out, but so far they've drawn a complete blank."

"Assuming they're actually trying to find him," Charlotte said. "If they think he's a magician, they'll probably look the other way rather than trying to arrest him. Good way to spend the rest of your life sitting on a lily pad, croaking loudly."

Anastasia felt sick. Circe had threatened to do just that to her.

"The only thing most of the thefts have in common is that the victims held a party shortly before the theft," Jacinta said. "But that doesn't prove much of anything."

"So you work through the lists of whoever attended the party," Charlotte said. "Anyone who attended them all must be considered a suspect."

"So you'd think," Jacinta agreed. "But there isn't anyone who attended all of the parties."

Charlotte snickered. "Did you check the staff?"

Jacinta gave her a sharp look. "Naturally," she said. "Again, no single suspect who attended every party. The later victims were careful not to bring in outsiders, and put their staff through the wringer, and … well, they drew a blank too."

"And they still got robbed," Charlotte mused. "Interesting."

Anastasia felt her stomach rumble. "So, what do you want us to do? Catch the thief?"

"If you can get his name, we'd like an interview," Jacinta said. "There have been a few … hundred … letters claiming to be from the thief, but they're so different that it's impossible to believe they're from the real Gentleman Thief. One says he's a nobleman extracting revenge for King Randor, another claims to be working for the Levellers … there are too many I'm certain they're fakes."

She shrugged. "More seriously, I want you to spend some time as society reporters," she added. "The aristos are too used to certain faces by now."

"And it's making it hard to get some good gossip," Charlotte finished. "How many noblemen claim to be the thief?"

"Nine, so far," Jacinta said. They shared a smile. "None stood up to interrogation, of course."

Anastasia shook her head. "What?"

Charlotte glanced at her. "There's always a bunch of young male fools in the quality who like dropping hints of roguish dealings to impress young female fools," she said, sardonically. "A hint of dark connections in the right ear and the young lady's hear starts fluttering … nonsense, of course. They have no real contacts and they never stay in such places after dark. If the Gentleman Thief is a nobleman, he's keeping his mouth firmly shut."

"Naturally," Jacinta agreed.

Anastasia nodded, slowly. A young nobleman's behaviour reflected on his family … and if it reflected poorly, his family would take extreme measures to cover it up while ensuring their ungrateful child was sent into de facto exile. There was an entire community of young nobles, almost all men, who were sent money by their families, as long as they stayed well away from their homelands. It was quite bad enough to be caught alone with a young woman of quality, or to gamble away vast sums without a care in the world, yet … she couldn't imagine what the nobles would do to a thief. They'd send him away …

She looked up. "Has anyone been sent into exile recently?"

"Not as far as I know, although such exiles are always handled discreetly," Jacinta said. "The only high-profile case in the last year was two minor lords from the southern marches – and both were told they couldn't return to their home, let alone the capital. Lady Emily gave them the boot and Her Majesty backed her up."

"And besides, the thief is still around," Charlotte mused. "Very well. We'll see what kind of gossip we can pick up. You'll set up some cover stories for us?"

"Of course," Jacinta said. "Just be careful. The more interest you attract, the more people will look into you."

She rang a bell. "Jackie will show you to your room, and get some food sent in," she said. "You can sleep inside our wards tonight. I'll see what we can find you for tomorrow."

"Thanks," Charlotte said. "We'll do our best."

Anastasia nodded as the secretary entered the office and led them up a flight of stairs to an upper floor that reminded her of the Dog and Duck. The newspaper had rooms for visiting reporters … she wondered, idly, if they were the first who'd been forced to flee, after discovering something that could easily get them killed. Probably not, she guessed. Charlotte had told her the job was dangerous, after all. She thanked Jackie as she showed them a simple bedroom, then sat on the bed. Her head felt confused, as if something was very wrong.

"I'll have the clippings sent in," Jackie said. "Good luck."

Charlotte laughed, bitterly, as the door closed behind them. "A gossipmonger. Me!"

Anastasia glanced at her. "Is it a bad thing?"

"Who's wearing what and who's on the outs with who might be interesting to some people, but it isn't interesting to me," Charlotte said. "And she doesn't really want us hunting the thief."

"Oh." Anastasia allowed herself a moment of relief as a servant appeared, carrying two trays of food. "What are we going to do?"

"Our job," Charlotte said. "Write meaningless puff pieces, pretend to be interested in digging for the Gentleman Thief, and hope we can go home before it's too late. They won't give us anything interesting to do here, not unless we're staying for good. And we won't. This isn't my place. I'd have to start from scratch."

"I see, I think," Anastasia said. Another servant arrived, carrying several heavy notebooks. "You never know. Something might come up."

Charlotte snorted. "You want to hear a terrible truth? Most people aren't selfish, but they're self-interested. They won't do things they consider to be against their self-interest. Jacinta won't help us, let alone give us something with real meat, because it isn't in her self-interest to promote us over her permanent staff. She knows we're not planning to stay. Why should she help us?"

"She took us in," Anastasia pointed out.

"Only because Perry asked her," Charlotte countered. "And that doesn't mean she has any obligation to go out of her way for us."

Anastasia sighed and ate her dinner, then turned her attention to the clippings. Charlotte ate too, then lay down on her bed and went to sleep. The clippings ranged from sober analysis to articles that were high in drama and low in facts, a number detailing swordfights and magical duels between the Gentleman Thief and the guards that the more sensible writers left unmentioned … probably because they'd never happened. Anastasia was no expect, but even she knew magic had a trace. If someone got into a fight with another magician, there'd be enough residue left behind to give the City Guard a good chance of tracking them down. The notes beside the clippings agreed with her. The articles were exaggerated to the point of uselessness.

Her eyes narrowed as she mentally compiled the data. Jacinta was right – the only clue that made any sense was that there had been a party, shortly before the thefts. Nothing else made any sense at all. The stolen goods were worthless, save for a handful of documents … the thief didn't seem interested in untraceable goods or money, as if he was doing it to prove he could rather than out of a desire for money or power. So far, he hadn't hit the castle or any of the families with powerful magic, which meant … what? Did he think he couldn't break into a mansion with a living mind connected to the wards? Or wasn't he interested in harassing the castle? All of his targets were older families, declining families …

Which might not be proof of anything, she mused. There aren't many noble families that are doing well for themselves, not now.

She stared down at the clippings for a long moment, then dug through the rest of the data. Rockfall's aristocrats made sure to publish guests lists for bragging rights and Zangaria's clearly thought along the same lines, ensuing that everyone knew who was being rewarded and who was being shunned. A few dozen names had attended several of the parties, but none had attended all of them. She contemplated the existence of someone like Circe for a long moment, then dismissed the thought. No one could work in all of the victimised houses without being noticed.

Probably something to look into, anyway, she thought. She put the folder down and clambered into bed. The problem nagged at her, a puzzle she wanted to solve. All the thief had done was embarrass his victims … was that the point? Or had something else been stolen, something the owners didn't want to admit existed? She couldn't think of anything that could be taken from so many households without someone leaking. Maybe the worthless goods are actually worth something …

She drifted off to sleep, awakening a few hours later. Charlotte was seated on her bed, reading the file and making dozens of notes. Anastasia wanted to ask if she'd spotted something, but Charlotte held up a hand for silence when she opened her mouth. A maid arrived a few moments later, with kava. Charlotte took her mug gratefully. Anastasia winced at the smell, but drank her own without complaint. She'd never grown used to the taste.

"Nothing." Charlotte sounded disgusted. "It all seems pointless."

"Unless the thief took someone else, something the family didn't want to admit owning, let alone losing, "Anastasia said. "Is there anything?"

"In thirty-odd households?" Charlotte considered it. "Books of dark magic, perhaps, or … I don't think they'd report the theft at all, if he stole one of the few things forbidden even to aristos of their station. They'd sooner keep mum than admit to owning something that would get them executed. Or …"

She smiled, humourlessly. "Perhaps he stole the daughter's maidenhead."

Anastasia made a face. "That's horrible."

"You think a young woman can't make one or two … dozen … stupid decisions when she's young and foolish?" Charlotte snorted as she stood and headed for the washroom. "It wouldn't be the first time some noble brat got pregnant out of wedlock, or had to visit a magician for an abortion or a hasty repair job on their maidenhead or … I could name a handful of young nobles who grew up with older sisters, unaware that those poor girls were actually their mothers. You'd be surprised and horrified at what gets covered up, over the years."

"I don't want to know," Anastasia said.

"Then you're in the wrong line of work," Charlotte told her, bluntly. "But I shouldn't worry too much about it. Half the targeted households don't have daughters of marriageable age."

She stepped into the washroom and closed the door behind her. Anastasia stared at the closed door, her thoughts churning. The idea she'd ever be alone with a man was just … she shook her head. It was one thing to pretend her pillow was a handsome young man, quite another to actually be with him. She'd always been chaperoned … she didn't want to believe that someone could have taken advantage of her, if she'd had a moment of weakness, but she didn't want to lie to herself either. She had felt something when Felix had kissed her and who knew? It could have gone a great deal further. Were there girls back home who had gone too far? Or was Charlotte lying … it struck her, not for the first time, that she knew very little about her mentor. Where had she come from?

"Get washed and dressed," Charlotte ordered, when she emerged. "Jacinta will be ready for us downstairs."

Anastasia obeyed. The washroom was surprisingly modern, right down to hot and cold running water. There was no time for a bath, so she showered and changed into her spare outfit. Charlotte was standing outside, looking impatient, and hurried her back down the stairs. Jacinta was waiting in her office, reading a letter that looked official. She put it aside as they entered and closed the door behind them.

"We put together a cover story for you," she said, shortly. "You, Anastasia, will be a young lady of quality from the Wilfred lands, with Charlotte as your maid and chaperone. Earl Wilfred had a habit of forbidding his subject lords to send their daughters to the city, for reasons that have never been properly explained, but after both of his sons were sent into exile he's apparently relaxed that policy. You'll be countrified, which will explain why no one has ever met you. You may get some ribbing because of it."

Anastasia frowned. "No one will think to check?"

"You're a very minor young woman from a very minor house that is subject to a very minor earldom," Jacinta explained. "Your family doesn't have the wealth to do much of anything without the earl's permission, which hasn't been forthcoming until now, and you can't really afford to put on a show, which explains why you'll be living in a rented townhouse rather than a mansion. As long as you don't do anything stupid, you should be fine."

"I'll try," Anastasia said, doubtfully.

"You know how it works," Charlotte said. "As long as you look the part, people will bend over backwards to keep from realising the truth."

Anastasia hoped she was right. Zangaria was much larger than Rockfall, and it was quite possible the local aristocracy would never have met a girl from a border earldom, but still … she took the file Jacinta handed her and scanned it quickly, memorising the pertinent details. Lady Anne and her family had little to offer, even without their local superior being a pain in the unmentionables. No money, no vast tracts of land … it looked as if the real Anne had never been fostered, let alone had a marriage arranged for her. Anastasia felt a stab of pity. The poor girl would likely be trapped for the rest of her life.

"I'll take your word for it," Anastasia muttered. The basics of aristocratic etiquette was universal – or so she'd been told. Boss Hank's party suggested otherwise, although if she had been so isolated for most of her life she wouldn't be expected to be as perfect as a noblewoman who'd been raised in Alexis. "I won't be the centre of attention."

"No," Jacinta agreed. "But as long as you're slipping into the gatherings and keeping your ears open, who knows what you'll find?"

Charlotte looked irked. "We'll practiced a set of signals too," she added. "We might need them."

"Let her draw all the attention," Jacinta advised. "You see what all the servants have to say."

"Of course," Charlotte said. She still sounded annoyed. "We shall see."

Jacinta picked up an envelope and held it out. "That's the keys to the townhouse," she said. "We own it through a blind trust, renting it out to visitors … they may look down on you for renting such a small place, instead of a mansion, but they won't see anything odd in it. The staff work for us too."

"Good," Charlotte said.

"We'll get the word out too," Jacinta added. "You should have some invitations shortly. Good luck."

Anastasia said nothing until they were outside. "Invitations?"

"It's common to invite everyone of noble blood, particularly someone new to the city," Charlotte said. Something was clearly gnawing at her. "Not to be given an invitation is a grave insult."

"I see," Anastasia said.

"And you be careful," Charlotte added. "Tell me everything you find out, when you do."

Anastasia gritted her teeth. Why? So you can claim much of the credit again?

But she kept the thought to herself.
 
Chapter Twenty New
Chapter Twenty

"Don't forget yourself," Charlotte warned, as the carriage entered the driveway leading up to Marlinspike Mansion. "You're a very minor noblewoman and nothing else."

Anastasia gave her an odd look. The last four days had been spent brushing up on her cover story, reading the broadsheet files on everyone who thought they were anyone in High Society – a very long and tedious list – and practicing her etiquette, while waiting for the first invitations to come rolling in. Charlotte had started out with enthusiasm, but as the days crawled onwards she'd become more and more irked by her absence from Beneficence. It didn't help that she was condemned to play the role of maidservant and chaperone, a person who couldn't be the centre of attention. Anastasia wanted to reassure her, but there was nothing she could say. Whatever happened in Beneficence, Charlotte wouldn't be involved. She had good reason to sulk.

"I'll do my best," she said. The great advantage of posing as a low-rank noblewomen, too low-born to be presented at court, was that the cover story had a built-in excuse for any mistakes. No one would expect such an isolated personage to be up-to-date, not on such ever-changing matters as politics and courtly etiquette. "I'm sure the servants will have a lot to say."

Charlotte scowled. "We'll see," she said. "You keep your ears open and your mouth shut."

"You never know," Anastasia teased. "We might get an interview with the Gentleman Thief."

The carriage rattled to a halt before Charlotte could come up with a response, the driver jumping to the ground and opening the door for his passengers. Night was falling over the city, but the mansion was brightly lit, every window blasting light into the darkness. Dozens of tiny lightglobes bobbled around, casting an eerie white radiance over the driveway and the lines of carriages parked outside. The driver would be taking himself around the back, Anastasia knew, once he'd helped them to the ground. He'd wait there for their return. She couldn't help feeling a twinge of envy. No one would be paying attention to him.

"The styles have definitely changed," Charlotte muttered. "Everyone is a lot more dignified these days."

"Good," Anastasia murmured. A man in a black outfit, the Marlinspike crest clearly visible on his chest, was hurrying towards them. "Here we go …"

The man bowed low, then held out his hand. Anastasia passed him her card and a couple of coins, watching with frank admiration as he made them vanish with practiced ease and led her through the main doors. Charlotte dropped away behind her, heading to the servant quarters. The interior was even brighter than the outside, the air heavy with perfume and the sound of music; she smiled, despite her nerves, as she recognised the tune as on she knew and loved. The ballroom itself was on the lower floor, allowing her and the other guests to make a grand entrance … her lips twisted as she saw the line of people waiting to be announced, the line shifting rapidly as more and more guests arrived. They had to be presented in reverse order of importance, she recalled from her etiquette books. It was probably the only time when the senior aristocrats had to wait their turn, to ensure there was a big audience watching as they descended the stairs. It was no compliment that she was pushed forward as quickly as possible. As far as they were concerned, she was one step above a commoner.

"Lady Anne of Keeton," the herald bellowed.

Anastasia felt herself flush as she walked down the stairs. Lady was a very basic title for an aristocratic woman, normally followed by a series of ranks and titles. The fact she hadn't been given any of those was clear proof that she wasn't particularly important, perhaps even less important than commoners who might lack good breeding but had plenty of money to make up for it. Queen Alassa had been aggressively promoting merchants and industrialists and encouraging them to take their place in High Society, something the aristocrats resented even though they needed the influx of money and blood. Anastasia didn't see anything wrong with it. Rockfall had been doing the same longer than Queen Alassa had been alive.

She stopped at the bottom of the stairs and looked around. The party hadn't yet gotten started and there were only a handful of dancers on the floor, the majority of the guests scattered around in small groups. They looked pretty closed off to her, not bothering to welcome a newcomer … Anastasia took advantage of the lack of interest to note a handful of faces she recognised from the broadsheet files, then looked up to see the jewelled ceiling glowing with magical lighting and a handful of other spells she didn't recognise. Lord Marlinspike had spared no expense. There were dozens of servants gliding around with trays of wine, a large buffet placed against the far wall … her stomach growled loudly as she spied the food, delicacies from right across the Allied Lands. A stab of homesickness caught her by surprise as a servant offered her a drink. It was one she knew.

A young woman rushed up to her. "It's marvellous to see you again," she said, her voice so loud Anastasia tried not to wince. "Isn't this a wonderful evening?"

Anastasia felt a brief flash of panic. The young woman knew her? How? She wasn't someone she'd met at Rockfall, nor was her face in the files. Anastasia had always had a good memory for faces, and Charlotte had assured her the pencil sketches were as close to perfect as possible, but the young woman was a stranger. Her dress was so low cut it was actually hard to look her in the eye, every last piece of the design intended to draw attention towards her chest. Anastasia had no idea why she was dressed in such a blatant manner. Most of the young women around her were far more demure.

"You'll have to come and meet these girls," the young woman said, catching hold of Anastasia's arm and pulling her forward before she could object. "I'm sure you'll love them."

She giggled inanely as she marched up to the group. Anastasia saw a handful of flashes of irritation as the group made room for the newcomers and groaned inwardly. She knew the newcomer's type now, the kind of person who always had to be the centre of attention and made up for a relatively low birth by sucking up to everyone above her while putting everyone below her down as hard as possible. The other girls were an odd bundle of contradictions, their dress suggesting high-rank and yet … Anastasia guessed their families were financially embarrassed. It was hard to be sure, but …

"This is Lady Anne of … Somewhere," her companion said. "We should all make her very welcome."

Anastasia knew the game now. She wasn't going to be welcomed. She was going to be put in her place. She'd seen it before, although she'd never been on the receiving end. Her heart twisted, a grim reminder of just how lazy she'd been before she'd been kidnapped. She could have spoken out for the girls who'd been bullied, back home. She was the princess! A word from her could have stopped the bullies in their tracks. But she hadn't …

"I'm sorry," she said, as placidly as she could. "I seem to have forgotten your name."

Her companion flushed angrily. Anastasia couldn't help noticing how the redness spread down to the tops of her breasts, something that would have been charming under other circumstances. She felt the grip on her arm tighten and ignored it, silently relieved that Charlotte had spent so much time training her to conceal her true feelings. It would have been harder to keep her face blank with the nails digging into her skin … she made a mental note to ask for a different outfit next time, perhaps one with a thicker sleeve.

"Lady Michelle," her companion managed. She nodded to the other girls, who were hiding their smiles in a manner intended to conceal nothing. "Lady Gwynne, Lady Saki, Lady Cecelia II."

Anastasia curtseyed. "A pleasure to meet you all," she said. "I hope to see more of you soon."

Michelle pulled her away and steered her around the ballroom, her grip too tight to break without causing a scene. Anastasia allowed her to pull her around, listening carefully as Michelle pointed out a dozen names and faces, her voice betraying a little more than perhaps she intended. She was probably older that Anastasia had thought too, from the hints of frustrated ambition she'd revealed as she spoke. Anastasia guessed she was in her mid-twenties, a young noblewoman with little to offer beyond a family name. She didn't wear a wedding ring, or even tie her hair up in a manner befitting an engaged or married woman.

"Stick with me and I'll take care of you," Michelle said. "I'll make sure you're introduced to all the right people."

Anastasia had been worried about maintaining her cover story, but Michelle didn't show the slightest bit of interest in her fictional family … even her fictional brother. Anastasia figured her family might be poor, by aristocratic standards, but too proud to even consider marrying their daughter to a marcher lord. Being a big fish in a small pond clearly didn't appeal to them. Or Michelle herself. She bragged about her family when Anastasia was the only one who could hear her, but went quiet whenever someone else was in earshot. Anastasia was fairly certain she was either exaggerating or outright lying. If she hadn't been such a strange mixture of contradictions, Anastasia would have wondered if she was faking it too.

"That's Lady Imaiqah," Michelle pointed out, indicating a dark-haired woman with an oddly tinted face. "A Queen's Companion, despite her unfortunate birth. Noble birth matters little these days, but one day …"

Anastasia tried not to roll her eyes. Zangaria was a monarchy! A Queen's Companion would be very close to the Queen, able to whisper in her ear and offer advice and suggestions, promoting their allies and putting down their enemies. If Michelle wanted advancement, she should be sucking up to the Queen's Companions, in hopes they'd mentioned her to the Queen. But instead she was putting her down …

A young man came up to them. "Would you like to dance?"

Anastasia felt cold. The question was mild, but his tone suggested he wouldn't take no for an answer. She felt Michelle's hand tighten on her arm again, her entire body bristling. The young man was handsome enough, with hair so blond it was almost white and a tall lanky body … he was wearing a sword at his belt, a mark of high birth or special favour. Anastasia guessed it was the former. The lack of campaign ribbons on his jacket suggested he hadn't fought in the civil war.

Or he fought on the wrong side, she reflected. He wouldn't want to advertise that he took arms against his rightful queen.

"Court Lucas," Michelle simpered, adjusting her pose to reveal more of her chest. "I'm just showing Anne around the ballroom …"

Lucas held out a hand. Anastasia took it and allowed him to pull her forward, leaving Michelle behind. She could feel the other woman's eyes burning into her back as they joined the dance, an endless swaying motion with predictable steps that allowed dancers to enter and leave as they saw fit. Lucas was a good dancer, she noted, although he had a tendency to lead a little more than he should. She suspected it was a bad sign.

"You're new in society," Lucas said. "First gathering?"

"Yes," Anastasia said. It was a little more dangerous to bandy words with Lucas. Michelle likely had little experience of the world outside Alexis. It was unlikely she'd been anywhere near the border. Lucas, on the other hand, might well have been on a grand tour of the country, if not the rest of the Allied Lands. "My family wouldn't send me here earlier."

"How unfortunate, for us to be deprived of such a beauty," Lucas said. He leaned closer, his lips brushing against her ear. "What actually happened to Earl Wilfred and his sons?"

Anastasia shrugged. "My parents never discussed it with me," she said, which was true. "I was given to understand that respectable young ladies didn't ask questions about such things."

Lucas snickered. "And what do you know about it?"

"Very little," Anastasia said. The files had offered several different explanations of the affair, some more convincing than others. "We're quite isolated on the border."

The dancing went on, the music shifting to a military march and then to a slow and romantic waltz. Anastasia had never been allowed to take part in such dances and she was starting to understand why, her body brushing against his in a manner that excited and worried her at the same time. It was like Felix … a flash of horror ran through her, a sudden realisation that Felix might also be attending the gathering. She didn't look much like the drowned rat he'd pulled out of the waters, but …

Lucas pulled her forward. It took longer than it should for Anastasia to realise they were heading towards a side door, leading to private rooms … she froze, a tingle of fear running down her spine. Lucas might not take no for an answer … and in any case, she dared not attract official attention. The cover story might not stand up to close scrutiny. She shook her head, gritting his teeth as he tried to pull her. Most young ladies were taught not to make a scene. It made her wonder just how many young women back home had been forced into dangerous situations because they didn't dare make a fuss. She didn't want to know.

She lifted her foot and pressed it down on his, bracing herself. "Let me go."

"You …" Lucas's handsome face darkened. "You led me on …"

"Let me go or I'll push down very hard," Anastasia said, pitching her voice low. The dance shoes weren't high heels, unfortunately, but she could probably make him yelp if she pushed hard enough, ensuring that all eyes would be drawn to him. "Now."

Lucas looked, for a brief second, if he was going to draw his sword, then let her go and stepped backwards, bowing with an elaborate flourish before turning and stalking away. Anastasia let out a breath she hadn't realised she'd been holding. She had no idea how it would have worked out if they had attracted attention … she blinked as she looked up and saw Lady Gwynne watching her, her eyes oddly amused. Lady Saki joined her a moment later, slipping out of the side door with a mischievous expression on her face. Anastasia felt a hot stab of envy. The two girls were friends. Anastasia had never had a real friend in her life.

Michelle appeared from behind Anastasia and caught her arm. "I can't believe you led him on like that!"

"I didn't," Anastasia protested. "I …"

"Oh, of course." Michelle shot her a look that was probably intended to be pitying, but came across as condescending. "You've never attended a gathering before. You change partners with every dance, or they think you're interested in them."

"I see," Anastasia said. She glanced behind her, but Lady Gwynne and Lady Saki had vanished. There was no hope of a reprieve. "You could always go dance with him yourself."

Michelle mimed being shocked. "I can't ask him to dance!"

"Why not?" Anastasia glanced at the clock and was surprised to note it had only been a couple of hours. "I'm sure he'd love it."

The older woman snorted and led her around the ballroom, pointing out a handful of other aristocrats and – in her words – uppity commoners. The latter were dressed in a manner that suggested they had no sense of style, but plenty of money to indulge themselves. Anastasia suspected it was a clear statement of purpose, if one Michelle wasn't perceptive enough to understand. She kept the thought to herself as the hours went on, listening to the combination of gossip, manipulation, sharp-edged verbal warfare and a handful of backroom deals that weren't actually being carried out on the backroom. The latter puzzled her and she made a mental note to discuss it with Charlotte. What was the point of a private agreement being hashed out in plain sight.

A low tapping sound ran through the chamber. Lord Marlinspike was calling for attention.

"It gives me great honour to host all of you tonight," he said, his tone irritatingly pompous in a manner that grated on Anastasia's ears. "My family and I have enjoyed the evening enormously and …"

He droned on, Anastasia keeping her face blank with an effort. He never used one word where a sentence would do, his speech so long and rambling that she found herself losing track of the point. His daughter was a great artist and he'd hired the greatest painters to teach her the tools of the trade and … Anastasia felt a flicker of pity for the young woman standing beside him, as her father announced he was going to present the painting to his guests. If it was anything less than perfect, she was going to be savaged.

"And that is why he held this gathering," Michelle muttered. "If he …"

Lord Marlinspike snapped his fingers. A pair of servants carried a covered canvas into the chamber and placed it in front of him. The musicians, no doubt carefully briefed on their role, produced a loud drum roll as Lord Marlinspike revealed the canvas, a painting of Queen Alassa and her family …

And, written over the paint in bold red letters, the words GENTLEMAN THIEF.
 
Chapter Twenty-One New
Chapter Twenty-One

Michelle gasped.

She wasn't alone. Gasps and giggles ran through the crowd, snickers turning rapidly to outright laughter as Lord Marlinspike whirled around to see the defaced painting. His daughter went very pale – too late, Anastasia recalled that some kingdoms regarded vandalising a royal portrait as high treason – and fainted. Real or faked, it didn't matter. She would probably have to leave the city for a while and go into de facto exile, no matter that it hadn't been her who'd defaced the portrait. There'd certainly be no shortage of people intent on blaming her for the debacle.

Anastasia allowed herself to look around, trying to see the reaction. The older aristocrats appeared shocked, a handful of women fainting so dramatically Anastasia was sure it was faked; the younger generation were tittering, some at least trying to swallow the urge to laugh. The merchants and industrialists seemed torn, the older ones fearful and the younger ones more inclined to smile. Anastasia wondered, absently, how Queen Alassa would react to the act of lèse-majesté. Her father wouldn't be very pleased, although he'd also be aware that a gross overreaction could cause more problems in the long run. There was certainly no way to cover up the affair without executing a few hundred aristocrats and their servants and that wasn't going to happen.

Something moved, overhead. She glanced up just in time to see dozens of leaflets falling from above, a snowstorm that threatened to cover the entire ballroom in paper. Lord Marlinspike yelled something incoherent as the leaflets descended, guests grabbing for the papers and scanning them before it was too late. Anastasia read hers, rolling her eyes at the outline of just how much Lord Marlinspike had paid to have his daughter trained in the creative arts. Anastasia had often been told it was the duty of the aristocracy to patronise artists, to ensure the best painters and sculptors had the funding they needed to produce their artworks, but there were limits. She felt a twinge of second-hand embarrassment. The painting wasn't that great even without the words defacing it. Clearly, the poor girl had very limited talent.

"GUARDS," Lord Marlinspike bellowed. "Find the bounder!"

Anastasia glanced around, wondering if the Gentleman Thief was somewhere in the audience, watching the chaos he'd caused. There didn't seem to be anyone particularly pleased about the affair, save for a woman who was so old it was hard to imagine her as the thief, but that was meaningless. The thief would probably be very capable of hiding his reactions. She allowed her eyes to linger on Lucas for a moment, her dislike leading her to wonder if he was the thief, before deciding he was an unlikely suspect too. And yet … her mind raced, considering possibilities. Lèse-majesté was a serious crime. The thief wasn't going to get a mere whipping, if he were caught, or even a lifetime in jail. He'd be hung, drawn and quartered …

Unless he happens to be high-ranking enough that charges get quietly dropped if he leaves the kingdom and never comes home, she mused. Someone that high ranking might not care about offending the rest of the nobility, either.

The guards crashed into the room, their arrival starting a series of angry arguments. They could legally search any commoner, but searching an aristocrat would cause all sort of problems even if their victim agreed to allow himself to be searched. She saw a handful of aristocrats resting their hands on their swords, others holding their hands ready to cast spells; she felt a twinge of dark amusement at how Lord Marlinspike tried to calm them down, in a manner that wouldn't do anything of the sort. It looked as if someone was about to draw a sword … she turned away, leaving Michelle behind, and made her way towards the podium. The servants were already carrying the daughter out, leaving the painting behind. Up close, the paint looked fresh. It hadn't been applied that long ago.

She frowned, thoughtfully. There'd been hundreds of aristocrats and an equal number of servants, perhaps more, coming and going throughout the night. All of them were potential suspects … most of the aristocrats too high-ranking to be interrogated properly. Accusing the wrong person, or even the right person without proof, would be disastrous. Hell, interrogating the servants would be asking for trouble too. For all she knew, the thief had posed as a servant long enough to accomplish his task, then changed his clothes and vanished into the night. And yet, the wards should have kept them out.

"It isn't a bad painting," a quiet voice said. "I've seen worse."

Anastasia looked up. A man was standing beside her, wearing an outfit that made a number of contradictory statements. It was made of fine materials yet simply cut; it drew attention to his muscular arms and legs, but carefully designed to allow absolute freedom of movement. A simple sword hung from his belt, a functional blade rather than something forged to look good; a faint whiff of magic, heavily focused, hung around him like a shroud. His face was rough-hewn, lacking the good looks of Lucas and yet projecting an air of common decency the younger man lacked. She looked from the man to the painting and back again, knowing who he was. Who he had to be.

"Prince Jade," she said, stumbling slightly over the words. She remembered herself and dropped a curtsey a second later. "I …"

Jade smiled. "Don't worry about it," he said. She could feel his magic brushing lightly against hers. It was so tightly controlled that she knew he was a skilled magician. "You are Lady Anne, are you not?"

"That's what they call me," Anastasia said. If he wasn't using a lie detector spell, she'd be astonished. "Um … what is the proper title for a Prince Consort?"

"Lord Jade will be sufficient," Jade said. His lips twitched. "I've occasionally answered to Hey You as well."

Anastasia had to smile. Queen Alassa was lucky to have such a husband. Jade was so accomplished in his own field he didn't feel remotely threatened by her rank. He wouldn't be trying to undermine her, let alone ruling the kingdom in her name. Anastasia hoped her future husband would be half as good. Assuming, of course, she ever got home …

I will, she told herself. Whatever it takes.

Jade turned his attention back to the painting. "What do you make of it?"

"The painting was done from a drawing, not from real life," Anastasia said. She wasn't sure why she wanted to impress him, but she did. "And it was defaced only a few hours ago."

"No doubt," Jade agreed. He glanced behind her, into the ballroom. It was nearly empty now, save for the guards and their master. "Impressive, isn't he?"

Anastasia blinked. "I beg your pardon?"

"The mansion is heavily warded," Jade said. "I checked the wards myself. It should have been impossible for anyone to get inside … I would have sworn it was, if I hadn't known it had been done. Very curious, don't you think?"

"Yes, My Lord," Anastasia said. Jade was nice, but talking to him could easily land her in hot water. No one became a full-fledged sorcerer without being very smart and capable as well as powerful. "I don't know how it was done."

"Nor do I," Jade said. "I don't suppose you did it …?"

Anastasia felt herself flush. "No, My Lord," she said. "I arrived only four days ago."

"I had to check," Jade said. "Sorry."

"You're pardoned," Anastasia said, waspishly. Lady Anne wouldn't have noted the lie detector spell, perhaps wouldn't even have imagined its existence. She couldn't either. "I think …"

She broke off as she spotted Charlotte entering the ballroom, a guard beside her. "I think my chaperone has arrived," she said, dropping the sweetest curtsey she could. "Please give my regards to your wife and daughter."

"Of course," Jade said. "And I hope you enjoy the rest of your season."

Anastasia turned away and hurried over to Charlotte. She looked irked, as if something was bothering her … Anastasia wanted to talk, to ask her what was wrong, but they couldn't talk freely until they were back at the townhouse. Instead, she allowed Charlotte to hurry her out the door and down into the garden. The line of carriages she'd seen earlier had mostly evaporated, leaving only a handful remaining … one with a regal sigil that suggested it was how Jade had reached the mansion. A guard glanced at them both, then nodded as they scrambled into their carriage. Charlotte shut the door, rapped on the forward wall and snapped a command. The carriage rattled into life a moment later.

"Not a word," Charlotte muttered. "We'll talk later."

"Yeah," Anastasia muttered back, not bothering to disguise her irritation. "I understand."

She sat back in her seat and watched the city go by. The streets were surprisingly well-lit, lanterns driving back the shadows and making it harder for footpads and pickpockets to ply their ghastly trade, but there were fewer people on the streets than she'd seen in Beneficence. A handful of guards were marching around, keeping their eyes open for trouble. She couldn't tell how effective they were, but they had to be better than nothing. Queen Alassa was very determined to keep crime under control and it showed. Anastasia wondered, idly, how well her efforts compared to Anastasia's father.

"That was an interesting end to the evening," Charlotte said, once they were safely back in the townhouse and the driver dismissed. "Did you learn anything interesting?"

"Not much, just a bunch of names and faces," Anastasia admitted. "And I had to threaten one man to keep him from dragging me off."

"You'll often discover there are very few differences between men born in a mansion and men born in a ditch," Charlotte said, dryly. "Whoever decided to deface that painting, on the other hand …"

"At least I have an excuse for asking about the thief now," Anastasia said. "What did you find out?"

"A lot of chatter, mostly pointless gossip," Charlotte said. "A few gems amidst the slop … a couple of aristos having an affair, another pair of bearded men and women …"

Anastasia blinked. "Bearded women?"

Charlotte gave her an odd look. "Where did you grow up?"

She went on before Anastasia could say a word. "A beard is slang for a married woman who provides cover for her husband being more interested in men than women," she said. "In this case, we have a pair of happy couples that are providing cover for each other … unknown to the aristocracy, of course, but very well known to the servants."

"Oh." Anastasia considered it for a moment, then shrugged. "How did the thief get into the mansion?"

"Good question," Charlotte said. "If you were in his place, how would you go about it?"

Anastasia shook her head. "I couldn't," she said. "I mean, I couldn't get through the wards. I'd need to be invited in, which means I'd have to be one of the guests, but … where was the painting being stored? And where did they hide the leaflets?"

"Good question," Charlotte echoed. "I wonder if it happened earlier. Like … a lot earlier, the paint charmed to remain invisible until now."

Anastasia shrugged. She didn't know enough to know if it was even possible. But …

"They insulted the Queen," she said. "That's … odd."

"Yeah," Charlotte agreed. "What did the Prince say to you?"

Anastasia frowned. "He was running his own lie detector spell, I think," she said. "And … why was he even there?"

"I hope you're not suggesting he's the thief," Charlotte said, dryly. Her lips twisted into a humourless smile. "Although that would be funny, wouldn't it?"

No, Anastasia thought. Poor Queen Alassa.

"He's the Royal Wizard, as well as the Lord Commander of Her Majesty's Armies and the City Guard," Charlotte said. "He's probably in charge of tracking down the Gentleman Thief. But so far he's drawn a blank."

Anastasia scowled, something nagging at her mind. Something that didn't quite make sense.

"Get some sleep," Charlotte ordered. "You can make breakfast in the morning."

"If you want," Anastasia said, although she had no idea where to begin. Charlotte's apartment hadn't had a kitchen. "Why … what's bothering you here? I mean …"

Charlotte scowled. "You know how difficult it is to build a reputation?"

Her voice hardened. "When the printing press was invented, there were thousands upon thousands of broadsheets … most barely lasted one or two issues, but there were so many it was hard to get any traction. For every reporter who gets lasting fame, there are thousands who no one has ever heard of. I only became a senior reporter because I broke a bunch of stories back home. And now Perry has sent me out here, to save my arse, while others are poking and prodding at the story of Old Grimy and Boss Hank! They're get feted, I'll get …forgotten."

"I'm sorry," Anastasia said, quietly.

"If we can break a story here, I'll rise to the top again," Charlotte said. "The bigger the better. And right now, the Gentleman Thief is the biggest story there is."

She pointed at the door. "Bed. I'll see you tomorrow."

Anastasia nodded and headed for her bedroom, not bothering to remove more than her outer layers before collapsing into the sheets. The townhouse had no permanent staff, only a couple of cleaners who came every few days rather than living on the premises. Charlotte was going to regret asking Anastasia to cook breakfast … her lips twisted at the thought as she closed her eyes, her thoughts fading into darkness. She had forgotten something …

She started awake a few hours later, bright sunlight streaming through the windows. She staggered out of bed, stumbled into the washroom to splash cold water on her face, then headed downstairs to the kitchen to light the fire with a spell, before putting a filled kettle over the flame. The magic came easier to her now, after weeks of practicing … she felt a flicker of hope as she left the kettle to boil and collected the post, a handful of broadsheets, invitations and a handwritten note from Michelle. She sighed inwardly. It looked as if the older woman wanted to invite her to go shopping, which was probably code for an interrogation. Or worse.

Shaking her head, she cut up the bread, cheese and ham, then made kava with the water and put half on a tray. Charlotte was half-awake when Anastasia entered her room; she took the food and drink with a muttered thanks, then started to eat in a distinctly unladylike matter. She certainly didn't look as if she'd had a good night's sleep. Anastasia decided it would be a bad time to point out that it was her, rather than Anastasia, who was supposed to be the servant.

She drank her own kava, while reading the broadsheets. They ranged from sober reporting to the downright hysterical, calm and focused articles competing with stories so bizarre that Anastasia was certain the writers hadn't been anywhere near Marlinspike Hall. Lord Marlinspike had not drawn a pistol and started shooting into the crowd and his daughter had not killed herself on the spot, or destroyed her painting with a curse before anyone could see it. There was no mention of her, for better or worse. Lady Anne would be irked at her debut in the city passing unnoticed, Anastasia was sure, but it was probably for the best. The more attention she drew, the greater the chance of crossing paths with someone who could poke holes in her story.

Charlotte stepped into the room, wearing a nightgown that was positively indecent. "Anything from home?"

"Not as far as I can tell," Anastasia said. The broadsheets had very little to say about events outside the country. Beneficence might as well be on the other side of the world for all the attention it got, even though it was right next door. "I got an invite from Michelle."

She held it out. Charlotte took it and frowned. "You'll have to watch yourself," she said. "And make sure you keep her talking about herself, rather than you."

"I think she's her own favourite subject," Anastasia said. It was funny, but it was also sad. "Why isn't she married by now?"

Charlotte shrugged. "Could be anything. She might come from a cash-poor family, too low-born to offer a decent rank in exchange for money. There could have been some scandal, affecting her or her family … she might simply be too prideful to marry the men who asked for her, only to discover it's too late now she's older. Or she's just got a personality that turns men off. I don't know."

She shrugged again and sat down. "Are there more invitations?"

"Yep." Anastasia held them out. "Are we going?"

"Yeah," Charlotte said. "If we can get a lead on the thief …"

"If," Anastasia agreed. "What sort of person would do it?"

"Someone in search of a thrill," Charlotte said. "It's the only reason I can think of."

Anastasia shook her head. She could understand the search for excitement, but the thief wouldn't be given a slap on the wrist if he were caught. Too many people were mad at him, too angry and too humiliated to tolerate anything less than exile – if that. They'd want him dead after a prolonged and agonising session with the torturer. The Queen couldn't overrule them even if she wanted to. And after her painting had been defaced, why would she?

It made no sense. "And that's worth insulting the Queen herself?"

"It's like playing with fire," Charlotte agreed. Her voice was hard, her eyes distant, lost in her own thoughts – and memories. "That's always fun until you burn the house down."
 
Chapter Twenty-Two New
Chapter Twenty-Two

"Three more thefts in ten days," Madam Jacinta said. "And that's just the ones we know about."

Anastasia nodded, curtly. The editor had visited them under cover of darkness, bringing the latest updates from her contacts and listening carefully to what gossip they'd picked up over the last two weeks. If they'd been interested in tiny scandals and little pieces of largely-harmless babbling, they'd have been laughing … but there was no progress at all on the real mystery. The reward for information leading to the capture of the Gentleman Thief had been upped again and again, providing all the incentive anyone could want to unmask him. So far, the detectives – professional or otherwise – had drawn a blank. There were plenty of stories and sightings, but Charlotte was fairly sure most had been made up out of whole cloth and Anastasia was inclined to agree. The real thief had never been sighted. Not once.

"He's broken into a dozen mansions, five townhouses and at least four merchant offices," Charlotte said. "Perhaps more. And his tactics make no sense."

The frustration in her voice was all too clear. She'd grown snappier and snappier with every passing day, even though she had little reason to care about the thief. Anastasia suspected Charlotte had told herself it would be easy to unmask him and claim the credit, in hopes of boosting her reputation before she returned home. Or ensure she had a place in the city, if she found she couldn't return. Anastasia had found herself bearing the brunt of her mentor's worsening mode, all the more irritating because she would otherwise have been quite happy with the situation. She was earning money, with few real expenses. A few more weeks and she'd be able to start heading home.

"Anastasia, go read the paperwork," Jacinta said. "I need a few private words with your mentor."

Anastasia nodded, standing and hurrying into the makeshift office. It had been a dining room once; now, the table was strewn with paperwork and the walls covered with maps, charts and a large evidence board. Charlotte had pinned up pictures of possible suspects – young, male, magic – and done her best to plot out their locations during the thefts, but Anastasia suspected she was wasting her time. The thief was too clever not to have a decent cover story, and it was impossible to verify where half of the suspects had been at any time. Her lips twisted in annoyance. Far too many of them had attended the parties shortly before the thefts …

They might have stayed behind afterwards, she mused. Mansions were huge, even the smaller buildings having plenty of nooks and crannies a careful thief could use to hide. Or they might have weakened the defences from within before returning later to carry out their thefts.

Her mind churned. Charlotte was right. The pattern of evidence just made no sense. The thief had stolen a bunch of largely worthless items, while embarrassing aristocrats by exposing their misdeeds … no wonder so many commoners practically worshipped the man. Her eyes narrowed as she looked down at the list of stolen goods. She could understand risking one's life for a few thousand crowns, or something worth that much if it were offered to the right collector, but the list in front of her was largely worthless. She couldn't help wondering if there was more than one thief. Perhaps there were two, working independently. Or …

She stared down at the guest lists, mentally cataloguing who'd been where. There simply hadn't been much time for the thief to ruin Lady Marlinspike's painting, let alone set up a pile of leaflets to fall at just the right time. Whoever did it had to have been a guest … a servant just didn't make sense. Unless a servant had been cursed and compelled to carry out the act … it was possible, she supposed, but Prince Jade and the rest of the magicians would have checked the servants for curses. They'd found nothing.

Nothing that they're prepared to admit to, at least, she mused. The list of guests was long and confusing, but no names jumped out at attending all the parties. She scowled at herself a moment later. If it was that easy, the thief would have been caught already.

Her mind raced. Something was nagging at her mind, something she was missing … her earlier thoughts came back to haunt her, a suggestion there might be more than one thief. A gang made a great deal of sense, particularly if its members were prepared to swallow their pride and act as a team. Rare amongst the aristocracy, but … not impossible. And that meant …

Anastasia's mouth dropped open as the pattern fell into place. There were a handful of guests who hadn't attended every party individually, but if she took them as a group there'd always been at least two or three of them at every single one of the thief's targets. Perhaps more … she tested the theory as carefully as she could, going through the papers one by one. It was difficult, if not impossible, to wrap her head around what she was seeing. No wonder the investigators had drawn a blank.

Careful, she told herself. You have a theory. You don't have proof.

She heard Charlotte stomping towards the room and hastily mussed up the paperwork. The pattern wasn't obvious … she wasn't sure if she wanted to keep it to herself to ensure she got the scoop, and the reward, or if she had something else in mind. She'd expected a junior aristocrat like Lucas, someone too high-ranking to be dismissed and yet too low to be trusted with anything important, but if she was right … if. The theory might have more holes in it than a piece of mountain cheese.

"She thinks we're not pulling our weight," Charlotte said. "If we don't get a lead soon …"

"It takes time to get into aristocratic circles," Anastasia pointed out. All the little cliques had been established years ago, long before she'd been kidnapped. "There's no way to get them to like and trust me in a hurry. The only person who's invited me to their house is Michelle and she's …"

"A contemptible social climber," Charlotte finished. "No wonder she never married."

"Yeah," Anastasia agreed. "There's just no way to speed up the process."

"I know that," Charlotte said. "But if we could …"

She turned away. "We're going to Rothman Hall tonight," she added. "Get your glad rags on, and your snootiest face."

"Of course," Anastasia said. "It will be my pleasure."

Her mind churned as she changed into a dress and cast a handful of charms to make it harder for anyone to notice her, then kicked herself for a fool and carefully removed all the spells. They might be too subtle for her to notice, but Lord Rothman would have made damn certain to cram his mansion with detector wards, watching for people who didn't want to be noticed. She stripped bare again, then donned a simple outfit and pulled the dress back over it. The layers of clothing shouldn't attract attention, while allowing her to change in a hurry if she wanted to go unnoticed. If she was right, the thief – the thieves – were doing the same thing,

If Charlotte noticed that Anastasia was lost in her own thoughts, she didn't show it as she checked her appearance and then ordered the driver to take them to the mansion. Rothman Hall was relatively new, the land purchased by an up-and-coming industrial family that had married into the aristocracy to ensure their children would have both wealth and rank. It managed to be both surprisingly tasteful and also tasteless: elegant pieces of artwork clashing oddly with pieces that appeared to be random junk, portraits of the great and the good positioned next to erotic artworks and paintings that were little more than random splashes of colour. The ballroom was larger, she noted with some relief, and the balcony carefully designed to provide plenty of cover for people who wanted to sneak off for a little bit. She spotted Lucas with another girl and shook her head. She hoped the poor girl knew what she was getting into.

Or what's getting into her, her thoughts pointed out, darkly. It wasn't supposed to happen; everyone knew it did. Charming.

Michelle caught her arm. Anastasia gritted her teeth. "You want to find a few friends?"

"I just want to have an easy night," Anastasia said, instead. The room was already heaving with people. "We'll just get some food, if you don't mind."

She kept her eyes open as she walked to the buffet, taking a small plate and piling it with finger foods. The names and faces surrounding her were familiar now, most looking down on her for having been born in the marches, so close to the border she might as well have been on the other side. She wondered how they'd feel if they knew who she truly was, although … she shook her head. It wasn't going to happen, not as long as she had the curse keeping her from admitting the truth. She kept looking around, picking out the faces she expected to see. There were three of them in the ballroom, such a commonplace sight it was easy to overlook them. The guards certainly weren't eying them.

"You've been here two weeks," Michelle said, as they were joined by two other young women. "How are you finding it?"

"It's much more exciting than the marches," Anastasia said. It was probably true. She'd certainly been told the same of the mountainous borderlands of her own kingdom, back when the world had made sense. "And what do you two think?"

She allowed the other two to talk, trying to steer the three girls into a small clique of their own. It was easy to feel sorry for Michelle, but Anastasia couldn't allow her to get in the way and there weren't many kinder ways to keep her busy. She listened to the talk with one ear, silently grateful for the times she'd been forced to pretend to pay attention to long-winded bores, while keeping an eye on her targets. Rustles ran through the chamber as more senior guests arrived, including a handful who were close to Queen Alassa. Or claimed to be. Anastasia had been told that quite a few young ladies of the court were her close friends, which had come as a surprise because she'd never heard of them. The sad thing was that she would have liked a friend or two …

She'd been watching, and yet she almost missed the movement. "I've got to visit the little girl's room," she said, quickly. She would have to break away fast, before they decided to come with her. "I'll be back shortly."

Michelle barely responded. She was too busy with the other girls. Anastasia wondered if she'd gotten boring, then told herself not to look a gift horse in the mouth as she hurried away. Her target was heading up the stairs, her form hard – almost impossible – to see. Anastasia wondered just what sort of magic it was, because she had been sure any sort of notice-me-not spell would be noticed. It was strong, whatever it was. If she hadn't been watching for it, she would have missed her target's departure completely.

Clever, she thought. The target kept walking, up the stairs and onto a higher floor. Anastasia followed, silently thanking Charlotte for her lessons. She's going right to the nearest wardstones

Magic hung on the air, taut and threatening and utterly unresponsive. Anastasia felt cold as she reached the bottom of another flight of stairs, this one sealed by powerful magic. She sucked in her breath, grimly aware she was nowhere near capable of getting through the wards without setting off the alarms. Or worse. They could be linked to anything from freeze spells to change spells or lethal curses, if Lord Rothman had no intention of trying to take the thief alive. She settled back instead, telling herself she knew the name of the thieves now. She didn't have to wait. But it would be easier to make her case if she caught the thief in the act.

It was nearly thirty minutes before the thief returned, as silently as before. Anastasia was quietly impressed. It was hard to keep her eyes from simply failing to register the thief's presence … she took a breath, mentally bracing herself, and stepped out. Lady Gwynne's eyes went wide and she reached for something in her pocket. It looked like a rather odd wand … Anastasia dared not assume it was harmless. Lady Gwynne wasn't supposed to have magic, according to the broadsheet files, but she was clearly doing something magical.

Anastasia held up her hands. "We need to talk."

Lady Gwynne studied her for a long moment, her face unreadable. Anastasia wondered if she was about to have something cut out of her memory or if … in hindsight, she wondered if Circe had erased chunks of her memory already. It was impossible to be sure … she gritted her teeth and leaned forward, trying to appear firm and yet unthreatening. If Lady Gwynne panicked, it might be disastrous.

"I want in," Anastasia hissed.

"What?"

"You're the Gentleman Thief, you and your friends," Anastasia said. In hindsight, it was pretty clear how they'd gone unnoticed for so long. Four or five young girls from minor nobility, lacking magic or money … expected to be nothing more than pretty faces, obedient daughters, attentive wives and loving mothers. She supposed that explained their odd choice of targets too. They didn't need money. They just wanted to embarrass the nobility. "I want in."

Lady Gwynne leaned forward. "We'll invite you around tomorrow," she said, shortly. Quick and decisive … Anastasia liked that in her. It was almost a shame they hadn't met under better circumstances. "Until then, keep your mouth shut."

"I will," Anastasia promised. It was interesting that Lady Gwynne hadn't tried to threaten her. Or to do something more drastic. A full-fledged sorceress could have done any number of horrible things to her. She would probably have gotten away with it too. "Good luck."

She turned and hurried away, half-expecting to be cursed in the back. The four – or five – girls might not be executed if they were caught, one of the few advantages of being born female in a very patriarchal country, but they'd be sent into exile and their families would be disgraced. She dreaded to think what would happen after that, given how many guards and sorcerers they'd outwitted. It wouldn't end very well at all. The commoners might not even believe they were the thieves. Everyone knew the Gentleman Thief was a gentleman.

And I wonder how that rumour got started, she thought. She'd heard quite enough rumours flying around the ballrooms, growing in the telling until the story was completely unrecognisable. They must have been cackling like loons as they spread the cover story themselves.

The remainder of the evening was surprisingly uneventful. Michelle and the two new girls seemed to be hitting it off, to the point they agreed to go shopping the following day. Anastasia begged off the invite to accompany them, all too aware she was expecting another. If Lady Gwynne kept her word …

"Nothing happened," Charlotte commented, as they drove home. "Nothing important, at least. A lot of high-stakes gambling, a couple more love affairs, one adulterous … oh, and your friend Lucas seduced a lady of quality."

"Charming," Anastasia muttered. She didn't have to pretend to be tired. She hoped Charlotte wasn't perceptive enough to realise she was hiding something. "I spent most of the night trying to widen my social circle."

"We need a few more allies out here," Charlotte said. "It would be easier if we had a man by our side too."

"I suppose," Anastasia said. She yawned. "If you don't mind, I need my bed."

"I'll see you in the morning," Charlotte said. She yawned too, covering her mouth daintily. "I don't know how much longer we're going to have here."

Anastasia cocked her head. "We could try sneaking back to Beneficence …"

It was the last thing she wanted to do, after what she'd just found out, and she was relieved when Charlotte shook her head. "Boss Hank still has enough reach to get us both killed and next time he won't hire a pair of morons," she said. The bitterness in her voice stung. Charlotte didn't enjoy being scared – or threatened. "Perry will tell us when it is safe to return. We won't be here forever."

She sounded as if she didn't believe herself. Anastasia felt a twinge of pity and guilt, the latter ruthlessly suppressed. She didn't care if the Gentleman Thief was exposed or not … not when she could work with them instead. Besides, Charlotte had already stolen the credit for her earlier insight …

Not that it would have been a good thing if you shared the credit, she reminded herself, sardonically. You'll be targeted for death too.

She slipped inside the moment they reached the townhouse and hurried up to bed, getting undressed and under the covers before Charlotte could say a word. Her mentor had a tendency to sleep in after late nights, something Anastasia could hardly complain about … not when it suited her purposes. The post had already arrived when she went down the following morning, a handful of broadsheets and a single gilt-edged invitation. She read it quickly, feeling suddenly unsure of herself. If the thieves were bent on silencing her, she was about to give them a perfect chance to shut her mouth for good.

But if I can work with them instead, she told herself, it'll work out well for all of us.
 
Chapter Twenty-Three New
Chapter Twenty-Three

Lady Gwynne, somewhat to Anastasia's surprise, owned a small townhouse along the Royal Mile that would not, under normal circumstances, have been considered a suitable possession for an unmarried young woman. Anastasia had read the broadsheet files carefully, but they'd offered no insight into precisely why she'd inherited the townhouse … although, to be fair, Lady Gwynne and her peers had never been considered particularly important. Their families might be aristocracy, but they didn't have much to offer suitors from the merchant or industrial families beyond their name. Anastasia suspected that was short-sighted of the latter, yet … she shrugged. It wasn't her problem. She had more immediate issues she needed to tackle before it was too late.

She tapped the door once and waited, feeling oddly exposed. The pedestrians on the streets were largely aristocrats, or at least wealthy, but she couldn't help feeling as if unseen eyes were watching her. The aristos kept eyes on their peers and their servants kept eyes on them, something she hadn't realised until Charlotte had started to teach her the harsh realities of entering High Society if you weren't already at the very top. She'd done what she could to conceal her identity, changing her clothes and donning a cloak that would hide her features, but visiting the townhouse was a risk even if she had an invite. Who knew who might be watching? Who knew what conclusions they'd draw?

They won't assume we've become friends in a hurry, she thought, sourly. It was easy to get an invitation to aristocratic gatherings, if only because inviting newcomers to the city was a noble obligation, but harder to earn an invite to more private meetings. I've not been here long enough to make some actual friends, even if I wanted to.

The door opened. Anastasia had expected a maidservant, but instead it was Lady Gwynne herself, wearing a simple dress and a cap that concealed her hair. She looked Anastasia up and down carefully, saying nothing, then stepped aside and motioned for her to step into the townhouse. It managed to be both elegant and shabby, in a surprisingly comfortable way. A handful of wards brushed against her awareness as she walked through the corridor and into a parlour, one that appeared designed for sleepovers. There were no chairs and tables, none of the miniaturised adult furnishings that convinced children they were older than they actually were; the floors were strewn with oversized cushions, blankets and pillows. Anastasia couldn't help feeling charmed, wishing she'd had such a clubhouse in her early life. The four girls relaxing on cushions looked as if they didn't have a care in the world, lying back in a manner that should have earned them a scolding from their chaperones. They looked perfectly at ease with themselves. Only their eyes betrayed their nervousness.

"Please, take a seat," Lady Gwynne said, indicating a cushion. "Would you like something to drink? Or eat?"

"Just juice, please," Anastasia said. It was rude to refuse refreshments, if offered, but she didn't want to drink anything that might make it harder to think clearly. She had no idea how much alcohol she could drink safely and she didn't want to find out the hard way. "Thank you for the invitation."

She sat on the cushion, crossing her legs. The scene was almost surreal and yet … she felt a hot stab of anger at her parents and their damned sense of etiquette, for their belief that their daughter, the Crown Princess, could not be allowed to choose her own friends. She would have liked her lessons a great deal more, she thought, if she'd had someone to share them. And if she had had a friend …

Lady Gwynne sat facing her, her face so composed it betrayed the turmoil of thoughts and feelings behind her mask. She was pretty enough, in a bland sort of way … it was hard, even now, to get a solid impression of her appearance, certainly nothing beyond the most general terms. She would have made a good student for Charlotte, Anastasia reflected, if she'd been allowed to study under her. Perhaps she had a tutor of her own. She could easily dress as a man and walk the streets as one, if she had the nerve. That wasn't in doubt.

"You know us, I take it," Lady Gwynne said. "Who are you?"

Anastasia smiled. "Lady Anne, of …"

"No, you're not," Lady Gwynne said, cutting her off in a manner that would have earned her some very sharp remarks from the Grande Dames. "I used a chat parchment to check in with a friend of mine, along the marches. Apparently, Lady Anne is still there … a big fish in a tiny pond. Which begs the question … who the hell are you?"

"You're definitely an aristocrat," Lady Suki added. She had one hand held out of sight. Anastasia guessed it held a wand. "Who are you?"

Anastasia felt the curse tighten its grip and swore under her breath. She couldn't tell them the truth, but she had to be careful what she said. One hint she was openly lying to them and all hope of using them, of learning from them, would vanish. If that was a wand Suki was concealing, who knew what spell might have been used to prime it? Anastasia didn't …

"My name is Anastasia," Anastasia said. "I was forced to leave my home for reasons I'll leave to your imagination. Suffice it to say I wound up in Beneficence, working as an assistant to a broadsheet reporter. We were sent here and … my mentor wants to track down the Gentleman Thief. Does that answer your questions?"

There was a long pause. Anastasia waited, all too aware there was nowhere to run. Would they accept her story? Or would they demand more details, details she couldn't give them? She couldn't get any more specific without risking her life, or worse, and yet …

"Your mentor wants to track us down," Lady Gwynne said. "What about you?"

"I want to learn from you," Anastasia said. "How do you do it? And why?"

The girls exchanged glances. "How do we know you won't betray us?"

"I could have ratted you out already, if I'd wished," Anastasia pointed out, dryly. It was quite possible no one would believe her, but at least she could have tried. "It wouldn't have been that hard to contact the authorities and let them know, putting an end to your crime spree."

"Assuming anyone believed you," Lady Tasha said, equally dryly. Anastasia hadn't been certain she was one of the thieves, if only because she'd been at the fewest parties, but seeing her in the townhouse was proof you were part of the group. "I could go straight to my father and confess, and hand over all the junk we stole, and he'd tell me to stop wasting his time."

"He would, too," Lady Yvonne agreed. "People just look past us."

"Or do they?" Lady Gwynne spoke quietly, but very firmly. "How did you find us?"

Anastasia took a moment to compose her thoughts. "Everyone was so hung up on the Gentleman Thief being a man and a magician. They were looking at people who might have a grudge against High Society, without the urge to tear it all down. Their suspects were bastard sons with magic, kids who'd grown up on the margins … part of the aristocracy and yet not truly part of it. I looked past it and noted the pattern … none of you attended all of the parties before the thefts and other incidents, but collectively …you were there."

Lady Suki muttered a very unladylike word. The rest giggled.

"You spotted us, just like that?" Suki shook her head. "Why did none of the others pick out the pattern?"

"They were looking for a man," Anastasia said. "How are you doing it? And why?"

Lady Gwynne smiled. "Fun. And boredom."

Anastasia blinked. "That's it?"

"Mostly," Lady Tasha said. "A couple of our targets deserved some embarrassment. A couple of others … well, let's say they won't be marrying girls young enough to be their daughters any longer. But mostly … fun."

Anastasia shook her head slowly. She would have understood petty spite, a desire to humiliate aristocratic society. But fun? It struck her as perverse. And yet …

She cocked her head. "How do you do it?"

Lady Gwynne smirked. "If we teach you what we know, we want you to help us in return," she said. "There will be a price for our teachings."

"Of course," Anastasia agreed. "What do you want?"

"Your help with a heist," Lady Cecelia said. "But that will come in time."

"And it will help you, if you want a story," Lady Saki said. "And not one about some stuffed shirt getting married another stuffed shirt."

"Those stories are rather boring," Anastasia agreed, dryly. She didn't understand why broadsheets covering society rumours sold so well, not when most pieces of juicy gossip were exaggerated, outright lies, little real interest to anyone or some combination of the three, but it was hard to argue with success. If the reading public wanted to read about the relationship between Lord Someone and Lady Someone Else, the broadsheets would do their best to give them what they wanted. "Anything special would be much appreciated."

Lady Gwynne winked. "And you're not going to tell your boss?"

"She took the credit for the last story," Anastasia said, not bothering to hide her irritation. There would be some kind of cash reward, from what she'd heard, and most would go to Charlotte. "If I let her know what's happening, she'll steal the credit for that too."

She kept her face under tight control. If she broke the story, in a manner that would keep either Jacinta or Charlotte from stealing the credit, she would be able to claim the reward as well as a bonus. It would give her enough money to get back home … and all she'd have to do was betray the girls in front of her. Cold logic told her she should, that the sooner she got home the better, but her heart argued otherwise. She liked the girls, admired their willingness to risk it all … in a way, she even envied them. She couldn't betray them.

"My brother took the credit for something I did," Tasha said, darkly. "What a shame my work wasn't perfect and it all fell apart in front of the guests."

"Yeah," Saki agreed. "What a shame."

Anastasia looked from face to face. "How do you do it?"

Lady Gwynne reached into her dress and pulled out an odd-looking wand. Anastasia had no time to react before Lady Gwynne jabbed it at her … and there was an odd moment of disconnection … and then the girls were in different places, their positions switched so rapidly they seemed to have teleported around the room. Anastasia blinked, confused. Her magic was twitching, as if something had happened; her skin itched unpleasantly, although she wasn't sure why. It felt as if the entire universe had started to sneeze, only to catch itself.

She swallowed. Her mouth was suddenly dry. "What did you do to me?"

"We needed to talk without you," Lady Gwynne said. She'd been holding a wand a moment ago … where was it? "Tell me, have you ever heard of magitech?"

Anastasia hesitated. "I heard something about it," she said. Her tutors had mentioned it, if she recalled correctly, but what they'd said had been vague to the point of uselessness. She kicked herself, mentally, for not asking any questions. "What does that have to do with me?"

Lady Gwynne stood and led the way through the door. "The difference between magicials and mundanes is that magicials have magic," she said. A hint of light amusement darted through her tone. "Who would have guessed that, I ask you?"

She laughed. "If you have magic, you can learn to cast spells. If you don't … no matter how much time you spend roaring and chanting and waving a wand around like an idiot, you'll never be able to cast even the simplest of spells. You don't have the power to make the spell work. The best you can do is draw out a spell for someone else to cast."

Anastasia eyed her back as she led the way up the stairs. "You don't have magic, right?"

"Magitech is a way to cast spells without having magic of your own," Lady Gwynne said. "It's very new. The first discoveries were made only a year or two ago, and word hasn't spread as far as it ought. Those airships you see flying over the city? They use magitech to fly."

"Oh." Anastasia mentally cursed her tutors. This was important! If everyone could use magic … it would change the world. "And you know how to use it?"

"Yeah." Lady Gwynne stopped and turned to face her, her voice becoming a bitter parody of little-girl speak. "I have a brother. Sort of. Daddy did a bad thing with Not-Mommy and out popped Not-Brother. Daddy had him raised on the estate, ignoring Mommy's protests … when he got old enough, he went to Heart's Eye. He sent me some magitech. We made some more on our own."

Her voice hardened. "We figured out a great deal for ourselves," she added. "And now you're here … you can help us do more."

She turned and pushed open a door. The room had clearly been designed as a bedroom, but the window shutters were firmly closed and the chamber stripped of its original furnishings, the bed and wardrobes replaced by solid wooden tables and bookshelves, the latter groaning under the weight of hundreds of tools. Anastasia couldn't help being reminded of Master Avitus's workshop, except there were no dead bodies hanging from meathooks and few fewer potion jars resting against the walls. The tables were covered with pieces of scrap metal, arranged in jigsaw patterns that reminded her of some of the spell diagrams she'd seen in her stolen books. One table had a transparent glass cauldron in the exact centre, filled with an eerie reddish liquid and surrounded by a complex network of jigsaw pieces carved with strange runes. Anastasia wished she'd spent more time studying the runic alphabet. It was just another area in which she was dangerously ignorant.

Anastasia sucked in her breath. "That's blood!"

"Quite," Lady Gwynne agreed. "Blood isn't the only substance that can store magic, according to the textbooks, but it's easily the most efficient. We gather magic and channel it into the blood, then use the charged blood to power our magitech. Mostly. Some others are designed to draw magic from the surrounding area, or the wards we're trying to subvert. It lets us do things other magicians can't match."

"If you say so," Anastasia said, doubtfully. "Why don't you get spotted?"

"Most wardcracking spells are designed to either take the wards down or subvert them," Gwynne explained. "In both cases, there are limits to how far you can go without setting off alarms. Most wards have a ward to watch the wards, sometimes more than one. You can't subvert the outer wards without triggering the inner wards and vice versa. It gets harder if there's an actual mind attached to the ward, monitoring it. A tiny flicker might not be spotted by an automatic charm, but a living magician will notice it. Our magitech is designed to warp the ward around us instead, letting us get through the network without being detected. Other charms make it harder for others to even register our presence, let alone get a good look at us. The detection spells aren't set up for spotting us."

She smirked. "We've also managed to leave magitech inside our target's ward networks during the parties, then used them to infiltrate the buildings afterwards," she added. "They probably check for chat parchments now, tricks magicians can use to take down the wards from the inside, but … we just engineer a gap in the network that is much harder to detect and simply walk into the building. We've had some close calls and I won't deny it, but …"

Her smirk widened. "What do you think?"

Anastasia said nothing for a long moment. She was painfully aware that Circe was a vastly superior magician, even though the bar wasn't set very high. It would take years of training to match her and in that time, Circe could do a great deal of damage to the kingdom. Hell, if she were formally crowned, there would be a legal case she was the rightful monarch even if she wasn't in the line of succession. Anastasia had no idea how that would work out, but … she feared it would end poorly for her. She had no friends in Parliament. Circe had plenty of time to get the MPs on her side. The more she thought about it, the more hopeless it all seemed.

But magitech might give her an edge …

"I think it's wonderful," she said, seriously. "But what did you do to me?"

"There's a very basic freeze spell," Gwynne said. "It freezes the body, but not the mind. There's a more complex version of the spell that freezes thoughts too … it's rarer, because most magicians find it harder to cast, but we figured out how to duplicate the effect through magitech. From your point of view, no time passed; from ours, it was nearly two hours between casting the spell and undoing it. We needed to have a long chat about you."

Anastasia shivered. If the girls had wanted to cut her throat, they could have done it effortlessly.

"I see," she said, finally. "What did you decide?"

"To accept you as one of us," Gwynne said. "And if you betray us …"

Anastasia could guess. "I won't," she said. "I need you as much as you need me."
 
Chapter Twenty-Four New
Chapter Twenty-Four

"The problem with most magicians is that they find it hard to learn the ins and outs of magitech," Gwynne said, an hour later. "It's like spending most of your life playing chess, then finding out you actually have to play checkers."

Anastasia nodded, slowly. Three of the girls had gone off somewhere, leaving her alone with Gwynne and Saki. They were actually good teachers, she noted as they showed her how to put the magitech patterns together, although it helped that she had much less to unlearn. The spells she did know clashed oddly with the magitech, making it difficult to work out how to cast them without making a mess of it. Gwynne was very patient with her, showing her how to parse out the spell diagrams without actually casting the spells. It was strange and yet … she needed to learn. She forced herself to commit as much as she could to memory, from the simple to the extremely complex. There was no way to know what would come in handy until it was too late.

"This is a fairly simple magic detection tile," Gwynne explained, holding out a simple piece of metal. "It gets warm in the presence of other magics. We have a couple of similar runes carved into rings, to get the warning without making it obvious, but we can't use them very often."

"They get very hot," Saki said.

Gwynne nodded. "This is a little more complex," she said, showing Anastasia a second tile. "I won't bore you with the details, unless you have a sudden yen to learn about magic theory, but the important details is that most spells are effectively knots, holding the magic in place. If you undo the knot, the magic flows away and the spell is undone. Depending on just how much magic is involved, the sudden exodus of magic can be quite dangerous. It's very much a brute force method for breaking a spell."

She nodded to Saki. "Flip a coin?"

"I'll volunteer," Saki said, before Anastasia could ask what she was volunteering for later. "But you'll owe me big for this."

Gwynne grinned at Anastasia as she picked up a handful of tiles and slotted them into her metallic wand. "The trick is triggering a spell, as we lack the magic to get things started," she said. "We use a set of charged tiles to get the ball rolling, rather like shaking a bottle of fizzy wine until the top explodes, setting off a chain reaction that triggers the spell. It lacks the finesse of a proper magician, and there's no way to adjust the spell while casting, but it works."

"Mostly," Saki said.

Gwynne jabbed the wand at her. Saki melted, her body flowing downwards into a blob of brownish matter that grew arms and legs and … Anastasia felt her heart skip a beat as Saki became a frog, a tiny creature so small it was impossible to believe it was once human. It was … she recalled Circe's threat to do the same to her and felt sick, her legs suddenly too weak to hold her upright. Saki croaked loudly, her froggy lips unable to form human words … Anastasia wondered, suddenly, if her mind had been destroyed too. Was she a human trapped in an animal form or was she an animal that had forgotten it was once human? Anastasia wasn't sure she wanted to know.

But she had to ask. "Is she still human? Can she think?"

Saki croaked loudly. "I think that's a yes," Gwynne said, dryly. "We've all been frogs. There's no sense we're losing our minds, although it is dangerous to stay in animal form for too long."

She placed a tile on the floor and nudged it towards Saki. There was a brilliant flash of light as soon as the tile touched the frog, so bright Anastasia threw up a hand to cover her eyes. When it faded, Saki was standing in front of them, looking dishevelled but human again. Anastasia blinked hard to clear her sight, gritting her teeth. The flash of light had been almost painful.

"That was unpleasant," Saki said. "But we can't fine-tune the spell."

Anastasia frowned. "Why not?"

"A magician's magic is woven into her body," Gwynne answered, as she adjusted her wand. "They have near-perfect control … instinctive too. Us? We're always working at one remove, fiddling with forces we can't sense unless they touch us, which means we're practically groping in the dark. A lot of this is informed guesswork, don't kid yourself otherwise. If they ever work out what we're doing, they'll probably be able to shut us down."

Saki brushed down her dress. "We design the runes to convert the magic into light," she added. "It's blindingly bright, but it doesn't set off alarms that would be triggered by a surge of raw magic. Even if the wardcrafters don't realise what's happened, they'll come to check. We had a couple of very close calls in the first few weeks …"

Anastasia frowned. "How did you manage to practice?"

"We sneaked in and out of our mansions," Gwynne said. "Getting caught would have been unfortunate, and we'd have been thrashed until we couldn't sit down for weeks, but it wouldn't have been a total disaster. My legitimate brother used to sneak in and out all the time and the worst that happened to him was being told off for going out without his bodyguards."

Saki snorted. "And you know what happened to him?"

Anastasia shook her head. "What?"

"He got married, had a couple of kids, pretends to be a nice respectable gentleman," Gwynne said, sourly. "If his wife knew about his past …"

"She probably wouldn't care," Saki said. "Your brother is hardly the only young man to go out drinking every so often, is he?"

Gwynne shrugged. "You need to put the spells together very carefully," she cautioned, as she passed Anastasia the wand. "You have an edge here, because you have a little magic, but you still have to be careful. Leaking magic at the wrong time could get you in jail. Or worse."

Anastasia glanced at her. "Doesn't the risk of getting caught bother you?"

"What are they going to do to us?" Gwynne snickered. "If they catch us, they'll have to admit they were chasing a pack of teenage girls who don't even have a spark of magic between them."

"Oh," Anastasia felt a twinge of something she didn't care to look at too closely. The girls had grown up in a very sheltered environment, just like her. They didn't have any idea of just how bad it could get, just like her a few months ago. They didn't realise they could lose everything in the blink of an eye, that their parents might be so humiliated they married the girls off as quickly as possible or simply sent them into de facto exile. Or worse. The girls had an innocence she no longer shared, an innocence she found touching and galling at the same time. "I suppose it would be hard to swallow."

"Yeah," Saki agreed. "And all those girls who claim to have been tumbled by the Gentleman Thief …"

Anastasia rolled her eyes. "How many are there?"

"So far, there are nine girls who claim to have shared dances or kiss or more – nudge, nudge; wink, wink – with the Gentleman Thief," Saki said. "Apparently, he's taller and darker and handsomer than any man has a right to be, and an utter gentleman too. His lips are as soft as pillows and his arms as hard as iron, yet so gentle a lady can swoon safely …."

"Splendid," Gwynne agreed, with heavy sarcasm. "With that description, the moment he steps into a mansion the guards will snatch him."

She smirked. "But as long as they're looking for a tall, dark and handsome man with the intellect of a sorcerer and the muscles of a blademaster, they won't have a hope in hell of finding us."

"I guess so," Anastasia said.

She kept the rest of her thoughts to herself as the two girls drilled her, explaining how each piece of magitech worked and how best to pull it together into a coherent whole. Anastasia had to admire the sheer cunning of the spellware, from the stealth charms designed to let them pass through the wards without being noticed to the perception filter that made it very difficult for anyone to register their presence. The subtle charm was nothing as crude as a simple invisibility spell, Gwynne explained. Anyone who laid eyes on them would come up with their own explanation for why they were there, an explanation they would accept without question because it came from inside their own minds. And then they'd forget what they saw …

"Don't take too many risks with this spell combination," Saki warned. "If you are in a public place, no one will notice you. If you're in a place with servants, most people who see you will take you for just another servant and dismiss you accordingly. If you're in a place where there's no legitimate reason for you to be there …"

Anastasia leaned forward. "I'll be spotted?"

"Probably," Gwynne confirmed. "A couple of people spotted me. One was drunk out of his mind, and I don't think he ever registered that I shouldn't have been there. The other thought I was a lady of the night attending his brother … I think. He did have someone with him, so …"

She shrugged. "It's a delicate balancing act. Be careful."

Anastasia's stomach growled. She glanced at the bolted windows and cursed. "What time is it?"

"Late," Gwynne said. She started to pack the magitech away. "Is that going to be a problem?"

"I don't know," Anastasia admitted. Charlotte had known she was going out, but … "I'd better get home."

"We'll see you again," Gwynne said. "Tell her you're trying to ooze your way into our good books, and that we've invited you to spend time with us tomorrow."

"And that we're very happy with our new friend," Saki said. She put on the most sickly-sweet voice imaginable. "Really."

Anastasia felt her heart clench. She'd never paid attention during the first set of magic lessons and she'd hated the second, with a death magician, but learning magitech was fascinating … and the idea of having friends was wonderful. There was a part of her that wondered what would happen if she gave up, if she left Circe to the kingdom and threw herself into being Lady Anne for the rest of her days. But Charlotte was never allow it. Even if she did, sooner or later, someone else would see through the guise. Or the real Lady Anne would come to court. Or …

"Thank you," she managed. It wasn't fair. It really wasn't fair. Life wasn't fair. "I'll be back."

She pulled her cloak on, then headed downstairs. The townhouse felt like a paradise and yet, it was the clubhouse of five girls who refused to remain children or take the final step into adulthood. She couldn't help thinking they really were overgrown children, playing games in a violent adult world they didn't truly understand. She snorted at the thought as she headed outside, cursing the darkening sky as she walked. She wasn't that much older than the five of them … physically, at least. Mentally, she'd aged a great deal over the last few days.

A surge of hope ran through her. Was it possible to remove the curse keeping her from telling everyone who she truly was? Could she drain the spell before it killed her? The thought was tantalising, although she feared it wouldn't be that easy. The transfiguration spell had released a flash of light … would the curse do the same? Or would a sheet of raw magic crash thorough her head instead? She lacked the theoretical knowledge to guess what that would do to her, but she doubted it would be anything good.

Charlotte met her as she stepped into the house. "Where the hell have you been?"

"Lady Gwynne's townhouse, catching up on all the gossip," Anastasia said. Charlotte sounded pissed. A faint whiff of alcohol hung in the air. "She had quite a few things to say."

"And you went there unchaperoned?" Charlotte's face was flushed. "Do you know what could have happened …?"

"She had no servants," Anastasia said. "She wouldn't let any of mine into the house either."

Charlotte scowled at her. "A young woman with no servants?"

"You know as well as I do that servants hear everything," Anastasia reminded her. A memory flickered through her mind, a grim reminder of just how closely Patsy had watched her before revealing her true identity. "I guess she knows it too."

Charlotte turned and led the way into the living room. "You have to comport yourself with due care and attention," she said. "If you give them a reason to question your cover story, it will fall apart in good order."

Anastasia followed her, frowning as she spotted the bottle of wine on the table. "Have you been drinking?"

"What's it to you?" Charlotte rounded on her, fists clenched. Her words threatened to blur together as she leaned forward. "What is it to you?"

"If you get drunk, you may say something that will get us both in trouble," Anastasia said, as coolly as she could. She'd seen drunks on the streets of Beneficence and knew they could turn nasty in the blink of an eye, no matter how friendly they seemed. A handful of stories she'd heard over the last few days suggested there were aristos who drank too much too, then turned just as nasty. "What happened?"

"Nothing," Charlotte said. "Nothing happened. That's the point."

"That makes no sense," Anastasia protested.

"I went out," Charlotte said. "I played my role. I flirted and giggled at all the right moments, leered and winked at my prey. And it was worthless. I got nothing."

Her voice weakened. "And soon I'll have nothing."

Anastasia had never thought of herself as particularly motherly. She might be expected to marry and bear two children, a heir and a spare, but she wasn't expected to do the hard work of raising them herself. There were servants to do everything from changing nappies to feeding the babies until they were old enough to feed themselves. In hindsight … she put the thought aside as she reached out and helped Charlotte to her bedroom, half-carrying her into bed. It was hard to tell how much Charlotte had drunk, but it was clearly enough to have an effect

"Get some sleep," Anastasia said. "The world will feel better in the morning."

Charlotte made a rude noise as Anastasia turned and left the bedroom, feeling unsure if she'd done the right thing. It might be smarter to give Charlotte water, or food, or … she shook her head as she ate a quick dinner and then hurried to her own room, opened the books of magic and settled down to study them. Some of the spell diagrams made more sense now, others were still beyond her comprehension. She doubted she could cast the spells even if she did understand them. She was lacking in raw power.

I'll need to get more books, she mused. Gwynne had mentioned magitech textbooks. There would be copies around somewhere, just waiting for her. And see if I can find a way to remove the curse.

Her breath stilled, an invisible noose tightening around her neck for a long cold second. Anastasia reached up to touch her throat and felt nothing, even as she felt the pressure growing stronger. She gasped for breath, wondering if she'd pushed the curse too far and it was the end, before the noose faded away into nothingness. Her breathing came in fits and starts, a grim reminder that she dared not mess with the curse. If she tried to get it out of her and failed, she would die. And Circe would be unstoppable.

She put the books back, her stomach growling again. Her head spun as she stood, forcing her to catch hold of the wall to stay upright before the room stopped spinning. Gwynne had said something about magicians needing to eat … could it really be that simple? Master Avitus had fed her gruel and little else, hardly enough for a growing girl. Anastasia looked down at her chest and shook her head, then hurried back downstairs. Her parents were much bigger than her. She'd always been told her body hadn't finished maturing. Not yet.

A set of broadsheets lay on the table. She made herself sandwiches and settled down to eat, rolling her eyes at the latest set of speculations. The Gentleman Thief was a foreign nobleman, a refugee from Alluvia, who'd become a mercenary and was now showing off his skills to potential customers. The broadsheet helpfully printed a list of suspects … Anastasia felt a twinge of pity as she ran her eye down the names. No women, naturally. She might have met one or two of them, but she didn't recall it. And now they were tainted …

No one is going to believe them, she told herself, firmly. The foreigners would have been investigated by now, surely. Besides, the thefts didn't feel like the work of outsiders. She doubted anyone who'd been keeping up with the story would believe it. They're nowhere near the truth.

She sighed. If she hadn't seen the pattern, she would never have worked it out either.

And I really can't tell Charlotte, she thought, tiredly. It wasn't just that she liked the girls or that she could use them, learning the skills she needed from them. It was … something else. I have to keep this to myself long enough to get everything I need, then run.
 
Chapter Twenty-Five New
Chapter Twenty-Five

"Did you have any trouble slipping away?"

Anastasia shook her head. As far as Charlotte was concerned, Anastasia had spent the last two weeks worming her way into a clique, one that would give her access to circles of power and gossip no servant could hope to match. They had done a great many things friends did with friends – they'd been seen together, they'd gone shopping together, they'd gone back to their mansions and other properties – and there was a part of her that knew she'd miss it when it was gone, even though there was little choice. The longer she stayed in the city, the greater the chance someone else would see through her disguise.

"She didn't raise any objections," she said. "As long as we don't get caught …"

"We won't," Gwynne assured her. "Are you ready?"

Anastasia looked down at herself. She had changed the moment she'd arrived at the townhouse, dressing as a modest maid, with a loose long-flowing dark dress, a simple cap to cover her hair and a pair of shoes designed to let her walk without making a single sound. It was a very common outfit, the kind that would blend into the background even without magitech-based subtle magic. She had to admire the skill of the tailor. There was barely even a hint of her curves, nothing to draw a roving male eye. She would be unnoticed in a crowd.

"I think so," she said. Her mouth was dry. It was hardly the first time she'd pretended to be something she wasn't, but the stakes were dangerously high. If they were caught, someone would tear away at her cover story, work out the truth and then put her to death. Or worse. "You?"

"I look perfect, as always," Gwynne said. Her maid's outfit was identical to Anastasia's. "And Tasha?"

Tasha grinned. Anastasia shook her head in awe. Tasha looked like a young coachman, wearing an oversized jacket and trousers that neatly hid a very feminine body without suggesting there was anything to hide. Her voice was a little high-pitched, but the girls didn't seem to think that would be a problem. A tiny piece of magitech concealed in her outfit would convince any listeners they hadn't heard what they thought they'd heard, or so Anastasia had been assured. Tasha would hardly be the only young woman working as a coachman, in any case. There were quite a few on the streets.

"Be careful, girls," Saki said. "It's a rough world out there."

Tasha nodded and hurried outside. Gwynne checked her tools one final time and then followed, leading Anastasia outside. The carriage was already waiting, a nicely anonymous horse and trap that had nothing to set it apart from the hundreds of others cantering up and down the city streets … not even a number. Anastasia vaguely recalled hearing complaints about unlicensed carriages in Caithness and she guessed Alexis had the same problem, although she hadn't paid enough attention to understand why it was an issue. Gwynne clambered into the carriage, waited for Anastasia to join her, then pulled the door closed. The carriage rattled to life a moment later.

"We'll be there shortly," Gwynne whispered. "Just remember, act like you have a perfect right to be there.

Anastasia forced herself to sit down and take deep breathes as the carriage rattled onwards. The curtains had been closed, making it impossible to see outside … she knew where they were going, and why, but she still felt hopelessly confined. Gwynne reached out and squeezed her hand lightly, leaving Anastasia feeling a rush of affection. She wanted to suggest they turned back and spent the evening doing whatever girls did during sleepovers, but she knew better. She had to learn the ropes and the only way to do it was through doing it.

The carriage rattled again and then came to a halt. "Here we go," Gwynne muttered. "If you want to back out, now is your last chance."

Anastasia shook her head as Gwynne opened the door, revealing near-absolute darkness. She started to mutter a night-vision spell before catching herself and following Gwynne out of the carriage and onto the street. The area was surprisingly quiet, the darkness broken only by a handful of puny lanterns mounted on the wall. She could hear a faint buzzing of chatter from the far side, as Gwynne led her down the street. The rear gate was open, a handful of guards keeping an eye on the maids as they walked in and out. Anastasia had expected the guards to notice two more maids, particularly ones keeping their heads down, but they were all trying to remain unnoticed. A glint of Maurice's memories surfaced, making her grit her teeth. The guards could easily take advantage of the maids, and no one would care.

She followed Gwynne, relying on the magitech to keep the guards from looking too closely. The garden was a mess, a tent on the far side of the grounds glowing with light and sound as the guests ate and drank to their heart's content. Anastasia had wondered why there were so many maids going in and out, but she understood now. Their target couldn't afford to hire more than a handful of servants at any one time, certainly not when they didn't need them.

Gwynne turned right as they reached the mansion itself, walking along the walls towards the rear entrance. It was brightly lit, dozens of servants scurrying in and out so rapidly it was hard to believe they'd go unnoticed. Gwynne had the same thought, because she stopped outside a side door and pressed a piece of magitech against the lock. Anastasia could feel the magic twisting as they pushed open the door, then inched inside. It snapped back into place a moment later.

A rush of excitement ran through her. With such tools, I could get in and out of anywhere.

She looked around with interest as Gwynne led her through a maze of semi-dark passageways and rooms, then up a flight of stairs. Gwynne moved with more assurance, looking as if she had a perfect right to be in the middle of enemy territory. Anastasia tried to match her poise as they walked down a long corridor, shaking her head in private amazement. The portraits on the walls seemed to be glowering at them disapprovingly, although there were no traces of any magics that might have turned the portraits into detection systems.

A grim-faced woman stepped out of a door and glowered. "What are you doing here?"

Gwynne's voice was calm and controlled. "We were sent to get clothes for the guests."

The woman nodded and walked away, a small quirt resting on her thigh. Anastasia would have thought she was the mistress, if she hadn't seen the signs the woman was a senior maid. Her attitude was striking, although perhaps understandable. Anastasia wouldn't be very pleased if she were a maid either, hopelessly vulnerable to her master and mistress. No wonder she took it out on the servants. There was no one else.

"I can't believe that worked," she muttered.

"Why shouldn't it?" Gwynne sounded as if she were trying not to laugh. "As long as she has no reason to be suspicious, her own mind will fill in the blanks – and then forget us."

Anastasia nodded as they walked up two more flights of stairs, passing more open bedrooms and a small army of maids trying to get them ready before the guests stopped drinking and came upstairs. It was clear the maids didn't know each other, from the way they snapped and snarled at their temporary workmates, and most looked too tired to notice a pair of strangers in their midst, even when the strangers collected a bundle of laundry each. One was asleep on a bed … Anastasia hoped the poor girl's comrades would wake her before it was too late. She'd be lucky if she was only fired.

They went up a final flight of stairs, into the upper level. The air grew colder, wards bending and twisting around them. Gwynne kept moving, although there was a new terseness to her movements. If someone caught them here, there would be no convincing explanation, nothing they could say or do that would be accepted without question. And if that happened …

The office sat in front of them, the doors heavily sealed and warded. Gwynne nodded to Anastasia. She drew a piece of magitech from her pocket and pressed it against the lock and waited for the wards to widen, then stepped back to allow Gwynne to pick the lock and push the door open. The office inside was as dark and silent as the grave. She followed Gwynne into the office, then through a second door. The next room reminded her of her father's smaller audience chamber, where he held discussions with his closest advisors. She had to admit the room in front of her actually managed to look more regal.

Gwynne pointed at a small object resting on a plinth, then headed into the next room. Anastasia took a breath and stepped up to the object, shaking her head in amused disbelief. It was a carving of a bird … or so she'd been told. It was so crude she found it hard to believe anyone actually thought it was a bird. It looked more like a piece of stone that had been left out in the wild for years, exposed to the elements … she dismissed the thought as she tested the plinth for charms, then carefully picked it up. It felt crude too. It was hard to believe it had pride of place in an aristocrat's inner office.

The noise from outside grew louder. She slipped over to the windows and peered down at the party, noting that more guests had only just begun to arrive. The party was due to end in an hour or two, but it looked as though it was going to do on forever. A handful of drunkards were singing a song. It was so poorly sung that it took her a moment to recognise it was Zangaria's national anthem. Singing it so badly was probably a form of treason.

A hand fell on her shoulder. She jumped.

"Don't get distracted," Gwynne snapped. She was holding a folder in one hand. "We have to move."

Anastasia flushed, then followed Gwynne back into the outer office. The chamber was still quiet, the air unmoving, but she could hear something outside. Gwynne produced a wand and hurried forward, darting out of the room. Anastasia followed, just in time to see a tired-looking maid stop dead. Her body was utterly unmoving. Even her eyelids were still … ice shivered down her spine. The girl was isolated from time itself, her body trapped in a second that could be prolonged indefinitely. Anastasia couldn't help herself. She reached out and touched the girl's arm. Her fingers skittered over it, as if they couldn't quite make contact. The sense of eerie unreality was too great to be borne.

She glanced at Gwynne. "How much did she see?"

"Too much. Not enough." Gwynne pulled the door closed, then slipped the wards back into place. "Don't worry about it. She won't notice a few moments of missing time."

Anastasia felt cold as Gwynne finished her work, then motioned for her to wrap the carving up in the stolen laundry. It was a grim reminder of just how easily a magician could mess up a person's life, from turning them into a slave to transforming them into an object, or an animal, or simply locking them out of time. All the stories she'd heard of people being transformed for years suddenly felt very real, as if such a dreadful fate was lurking at her shoulder, breathing down her neck. She glanced down at the hidden carving, wondering if it was a transformed person. But it seemed unlikely.

Gwynne led her down the stairs, then along the corridor. The maids were still hard at work, pretending not to listen as the housekeeper screamed at a maid who looked as if she'd barely entered her teens. The poor girl was crying openly, tears dripping down her cheeks as the housekeeper berated her … Anastasia wanted to lash out at the housekeeper, to strike her or humiliate her, but she dared not draw attention. Not now. There was a long line of maids carrying dirty washing downstairs, some in baskets and some under their arms, a handful snickering in a half-fearful manner. She heard the girl cry out in pain behind her and winced inwardly. Maids weren't treated like that in Rockfall.

Oh, really? The thought was hers, but it sounded like Circe. How would you know?

She pushed the thought out of her head as they flowed into the garden, heading for the washkitchen at the rear of the garden. Gwynne pulled her to the side instead, heading for the gate. More guests were hanging around, some clearly as drunk as lords. The guards pretended to look the other way. Anastasia grunted in disgust as a man's hand brushed against her rear and did her best to ignore it, as they made their way onto the streets. The carriage was waiting for them.

Gwynne giggled as soon as they were inside. "Take us home."

The carriage rattled to life. Anastasia unwrapped the tiny carving and stared down at it. It was crude and unfinished, without even a hint of magic … she shook her head and looked at Gwynne. "What is it?"

"Lord Utterly – known as Lord Uppity to those who have had the misfortune of meeting him – has a wife," Gwynne said. "She's actually his second wife and she's only four or so years older than me, which makes her nearly four decades younger than her husband. She fancies herself a sculptor and her husband seemed inclined to support her, which would speak well of him if she was actually good at it. As you can see" – she indicated the bird-like carving – "she's not very good."

Anastasia frowned. "And we took it … why?"

"It's worthless to us," Gwynne said. "But it will irritate Lord Utterly no end."

"Oh." Anastasia wasn't sure what to make of it. The thought of being married to a man old enough to be her father was sickening. There was no way in hell she would agree to it … unless, she supposed, it was that or poverty. Even then … she supposed it spoke well of Lord Utterly that he was supportive. "Do you have something personnel against him?"

"My cousin was one of the girls he tried to marry, after his first wife died," Gwynne said. "She didn't want to become a stepmother to a girl older than herself and who can blame her? Her parents were very keen on pushing her into marriage, because Lord Utterly is utterly loaded. She had to go to the Queen to get her freedom, and that annoyed her parents so badly they sent her to the country. I haven't seen her in years."

Her lips twisted. "And because everyone will notice the carving was taken, they won't realise what we really took until it was too late."

Anastasia cocked her head. "And that was?"

"His will," Gwynne said. "He's an old man. His heirs are already fighting over who gets what. If the will gets out ahead of time, who knows how much trouble that'll cause?"

"I see," Anastasia said. She wasn't sure she did, but it didn't matter. "What now?"

The carriage rattled to a halt. "We go upstairs, get showered and changed, then spend an hour or two chatting before we go to sleep," Gwynne said. She wrapped up the carving before opening the door and jumping out. "Tasha will join us, once she'd put the carriage away."

Anastasia followed her inside, shaking her head. "I can't believe it was that easy."

"We got lucky," Gwynne corrected. "Too many strangers on the grounds, the whole affair arranged at short notice … forcing the housekeeper to bring in additional maids and manservants, ensuring we had plenty of cover. The late night booze-up didn't help. Anyone who noticed us is likely to write it off as a drunken hallucination, rather than something real."

"The maid," Anastasia said, suddenly. "The one you froze. What'll happen to her?"

"The spell will have come undone by now," Gwynne said. "I don't think she saw the open door, but if she did … from her point of view, it'll look like a trick of the light. Given how tired she was, I dare say the subtle magic will be enough to push her into forgetting what little she saw completely. If she remembers something when they realise the carving is gone … she'll be smart to keep her mouth shut. It'll get her in hot water for nothing."

"Ouch." Anastasia couldn't help feeling a little sorry for the girl. "Poor her."

"Yeah," Gwynne said. She looked down, her face shadowed. It was rare for an aristo to have any empathy for a commoner, Anastasia had noted, and Gwynne was little different. "But it can't be helped."

She was as good as her word, once they had the carving under lock and key. Anastasia had never been to a sleepover before, and she had no idea what to expect, but she found herself enjoying their company even though she didn't understand their stories or recognise half the people they mentioned. She did her best to add her own stories, although the curse made it impossible to be too specific … and, in truth, she didn't have much to offer. Her life had been very isolated, practically friendless. She wished she could stay …

You can't, she reminded herself, again. The longer you stay here, the greater the chance someone will realise you're not who you claim to be.
 

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