A Season of Spells (A Noctis Magicae Novel) Read online

  PRAISE FOR

  Lady of Magick

  “Entertaining . . . Hunter’s charming world, just a few steps off-center of our own, continues to offer many possibilities for future adventure.”

  —Publishers Weekly

  “Intriguing fantasy.”

  —Library Journal

  “Alba is a stark contrast to Hunter’s version of Britain but every bit as creative and fascinating, allowing for a completely new and unexpected plot . . . A new twist in every chapter will keep readers desperately turning pages until the end.”

  —RT Book Reviews

  PRAISE FOR

  The Midnight Queen

  “A fresh and inventive historical novel . . . I can’t wait to see what Sylvia Izzo Hunter does next.”

  —Marie Brennan, author of the Memoirs of Lady Trent

  “A stunning story of magic, scholarship, and true love. Sylvia Izzo Hunter brings both rural Brittany and an alternative Regency England to vivid life.”

  —Juliet Marillier, national bestselling author

  “Sylvia Izzo Hunter has crafted an impressive debut novel.”

  —SFFWorld.com

  “Transported me back to those days when I discovered Anne McCaffrey, Robin McKinley, and . . . Tamora Pierce.”

  —The Book Pushers

  “Great for readers of historical and fantasy lovers alike.”

  —Book Briefs

  “Enchanting and riveting . . . An absolute page-turner . . . The Midnight Queen is a fresh new story unlike anything else in its genre.”

  —Black Dog Speaks

  “A breath of fresh air, recalling books as they used to be.”

  —Nyx Book Reviews

  “[Hunter’s] magical version of Britain is both innovative and intriguing. The plot is creative and suspenseful—and never predictable.”

  —RT Book Reviews

  “An interesting and exciting story, full of magical spells and skills, which easily kept me intrigued.”

  —Bitten by Books

  Ace Books by Sylvia Izzo Hunter

  THE MIDNIGHT QUEEN

  LADY OF MAGICK

  A SEASON OF SPELLS

  ACE

  Published by Berkley

  An imprint of Penguin Random House LLC

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014

  Copyright © 2016 by Sylvia Izzo Hunter

  Penguin Random House supports copyright. Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices, promotes free speech, and creates a vibrant culture. Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without permission. You are supporting writers and allowing Penguin Random House to continue to publish books for every reader.

  ACE is a registered trademark and the A colophon is a trademark of Penguin Random House LLC.

  Ebook ISBN: 9780698144675

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Names: Hunter, Sylvia Izzo, author.

  Title: A season of spells / Sylvia Izzo Hunter.

  Description: First edition. | New York : Ace, 2016. | Series: A noctis magicae novel ; 3

  Identifiers: LCCN 2016040884 | ISBN 9780425272473 (softcover)

  Subjects: LCSH: Nobility—England—Fiction. | Magic—Fiction. | BISAC: FICTION / Fantasy / Historical. | FICTION / Romance / Fantasy. | FICTION / Alternative History. | GSAFD: Alternative histories (Fiction) | Fantasy fiction.

  Classification: LCC PR9199.4.H8684 S43 2016 | DDC 813/.6—dc23 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2016040884

  First Edition: December 2016

  Cover art: Owl © JuliGin/iStock/Thinkstock; Feathers © d1sk/iStock/Thinkstock

  Cover design by Diana Kolsky

  Maps by Cortney Skinner

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Version_1

  CONTENTS

  Praise for Sylvia Izzo Hunter

  Ace Books by Sylvia Izzo Hunter

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Maps

  Part One: Din Edin to London Chapter I: In Which Sophie and Gray Depart on a Journey, and Gwendolen Loses a Wager

  Chapter II: In Which Mrs. Edmond Marshall Is Inexplicable, and Sophie Conceives an Idea

  Chapter III: In Which Lucia Meets Her Match

  Chapter IV: In Which Sophie Attempts a Reconciliation

  Chapter V: In Which Amelia Is Inscrutable, and Lucia Hears a Tale

  Part Two: London Chapter VI: In Which Lucia and Roland Make a Discovery

  Chapter VII: In Which the Crown Prince Effects a Rescue

  Chapter VIII: In Which Lucia Faces the Consequences

  Chapter IX: In Which Sophie Seeks Reinforcements

  Chapter X: In Which Lord Kergabet Receives a Letter

  Chapter XI: In Which Joanna Takes Steps

  Chapter XII: In Which Sieur Germain Calls a Council of War

  Chapter XIII: In Which Sophie and Gray Endeavour to Be Helpful

  Chapter XIV: In Which Joanna and Gwendolen Disobey Orders

  Chapter XV: In Which Sophie and Joanna Conduct an Uncomfortable Interview

  Chapter XVI: In Which Gray Receives a Commission

  Chapter XVII: In Which Sophie Loses an Argument

  Part Three: Oxford and Ivry Chapter XVIII: In Which Gray Occasions Some Surprise

  Chapter XIX: In Which the Princess Royal Mounts an Expedition

  Chapter XX: In Which Gray Reconsiders Long-Held Prejudices

  Chapter XXI: In Which Sophie Dispatches a Message, Joanna Commits an Error in Judgement, and Lucia Makes a Discovery

  Chapter XXII: In Which Gray Receives a Message and Makes a Decision

  Chapter XXIII: In Which Roland Makes Himself Surprisingly Useful

  Chapter XXIV: In Which Gwendolen Makes a Discovery

  Chapter XXV: In Which Sophie Reads a Letter

  Part Four: Orléans Chapter XXVI: In Which Gray Makes a New Acquaintance

  Chapter XXVII: In Which Sophie Receives a Deputation

  Chapter XXVIII: In Which Lucia Attends a Concert, and Lives to Tell the Tale

  Chapter XXIX: In Which Joanna Draws Conclusions, and Gray Is Taken by Surprise

  Chapter XXX: In Which Further Complications Arise

  Chapter XXXI: In Which Sophie Attends to Her Geography, and Roland to His Books

  Chapter XXXII: In Which Joanna Counsels Prudence, and Sophie Receives a Gift

  Chapter XXXIII: In Which Sophie Breaks Her Word

  Chapter XXXIV: In Which Edward the Dishonourable Disappoints, and Gray Reflects upon the Recent Past

  Chapter XXXV: In Which Gray Seizes His Opportunity

  Chapter XXXVI: In Which Joanna Rises to a Challenge

  Chapter XXXVII: In Which the Fellows of Merlin Change Their Mind

  Chapter XXXVIII: Thereafter

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  PART ONE

  Din Edin to London

  CHAPTER I

  In Which Sophie and Gray Depart on a Journ
ey, and Gwendolen Loses a Wager

  “Well, Magistra?” said Gray.

  The small flock of new graduates broke apart, smiling and laughing, and Sophie Marshall emerged from it to look up at her husband. He was beaming all over his kind, honest face, and when she stepped towards him, holding out her hand for him to shake by way of congratulation—for they had not met since before the day’s long ceremonials—he laughed aloud and swept her into a fierce, albeit chaste, embrace.

  Sophie’s friends hooted and applauded.

  “Where next?” Gray said, when Sophie had her feet under her once more. “Have you some grand festivity to attend, Magistra, to which I may escort you?”

  Sophie tilted her head, laughing up at him, and—trusting to the confusion of motion and noise that surrounded them—said, “I had hoped that a handsome Doctor of Practical Magick might give me his arm as far as Quarry Close. And after that . . .”

  Astonishing, she thought, with an inward grin, that being nearly six years married, she still could make him blush.

  “Sophie!” cried a voice behind her. “Gray!”

  Sophie turned on her heel to find her friends (and Gray’s colleagues) Mór MacRury, Rory MacCrimmon, and Sorcha MacAngus, together with Lucia MacNeill—it was she who had been calling them—elbowing their way through the crowd.

  A new round of back-slapping and embracing ensued, after which Mór said brightly, “We shall see you both at the bonfire this evening, I hope?”

  Sophie and Gray exchanged a lingering glance; Sophie, for her part, was calculating the hours remaining until dusk, and finding the number sufficient.

  “Of course,” she said, turning a general smile upon her friends. “We should not dream of missing it.”

  Then she caught Gray’s right hand in her left, and they began making their farewells.

  * * *

  The succeeding fortnight was lost to a mad welter of preparations for departure. In May, Lucia MacNeill—heiress to the chieftain’s seat of Alba, and, if all unfolded as planned, soon to be Sophie’s sister-in-law—was to journey to London to meet her future husband and the rest of Britain’s royal family. Gray and Sophie, in her capacity as Princess Royal, were to travel south as part of Lucia’s retinue, and there remain until after her marriage to Prince Roland, so that Sophie might serve her friend as guide and interpreter of London society.

  It was not, in truth, a prospect which Sophie greatly relished; not only was she, in her own estimation, very ill equipped to be anyone’s guide to that circle of society in which Lucia MacNeill must be expected to move, but the task must bring her into prolonged and frequent contact with her stepmother, Queen Edwina, a circumstance unlikely to occasion joy to either. Lucia was her friend, however, and might very well have need of a sympathetic ear in the course of her sojourn in Britain. And of course she wished very much to see her sister Joanna, and Gray’s sister Jenny, and Jenny’s growing family.

  The Marshalls’ immediate plans, in any case, had thus been determined for them; but it remained to decide—or, perhaps, to discover—what they were to do with themselves thereafter. Were they to return to Din Edin and their work at the University, or even a permanent home in Alba? To Oxford, in hopes that a second sojourn there might be more successful than the first? To London, or to the house in Breizh which had belonged to Sophie’s stepfather, Appius Callender, and now was Gray’s? All these possibilities had been the subject of six months’ intermittent and inconclusive debate.

  The packing-up of their small house in Quarry Close, therefore—their home, and a very happy one but for the dramatic disruptions of their first spring in Din Edin, for the past three years—had something of the character of a magistrate’s court, each object in it being interrogated as to its possible fate, should any of a variety of futures come to pass.

  “Gray,” said Sophie one morning, for example, “I have found that three-volume work on botanical magicks by Niall MacNeill, which you spoke of returning to Lachlan Ruadh MacDougall. Shall I set them aside for him?”

  Gray, on hands and knees with his head and shoulders inside a cupboard, sat back on his heels, thrust one dusty hand through his equally dusty hair, and said, “Yes—no—I must just read once more through the chapter on Niall MacNeill’s experiments with wild celery; he claims to have used it to prevent a rival of his from executing a shape-shift, and Rory and I have been meaning to put his method to the test—”

  “Absolutely not!” Sophie exclaimed, hugging the books to her chest and taking a step backwards. “Of all the absurdly dangerous—”

  She closed her eyes briefly—counted ten in Latin, then in Gaelic—invented a compromise which might put off the real decision to another day. “If I copy out the chapter for you, in my very best hand,” she said, “so that you may have the necessary information to hand when next you and Rory find yourselves at leisure to conduct hazardous experiments, may I then return the books to Lachlan MacDougall?”

  Gray sneezed; Sophie extracted her handkerchief from her sleeve and handed it to him.

  “Very well,” he said, when he had finished with the handkerchief. “I thank you, cariad.”

  “You may thank me,” said Sophie firmly, “by finishing with that cupboard, and making a start upon the one under the stairs; and by remembering that we shall be living out of our trunks and valises for the foreseeable future, and must consider their contents accordingly.”

  She reflected a little guiltily on the contents of her own trunks, and went upstairs to agonise once more over the ratio of commonplace-books to gowns and bonnets.

  Their methods, in other words, were not conducive to either speed or efficiency, and Donella MacHutcheon, the daily woman who had had the care and feeding of Sophie and Gray since their arrival in Din Edin, exclaimed in despair at their manner of going on. When the day of departure arrived, however, it found the Marshalls’ affairs sufficiently in order that they might oversee the strapping-up of their trunks and ascend into Lucia MacNeill’s carriage with a reasonably clear conscience—though still with no clear notion of what, beyond the journey itself, their future might hold.

  * * *

  Lucia MacNeill studied her friends as they settled themselves, side by side, on the opposite banc of the carriage. Sophie was rather pink in the face, and Gray patting the pockets of his coat as though searching for something, or (perhaps more likely) reassuring himself that he had not left some item of importance behind. They looked, in fact, nearly as unsettled and anxious as Lucia felt—not at all a reassuring beginning.

  Lucia clasped her gloved hands tightly together and looked out of the window at the narrow row-houses of Quarry Close, crowded together like herring in a barrel. She tried to imagine the Sophie who lived here—who so matter-of-factly presided over her creaky dining-table and cramped kitchen, who existed in a perpetual semi-disorder of half-read books and half-finished essays and ongoing academic debates—as the Princess Edith Augusta Sophia, only daughter of Henry of Britain; and, as usual, failed.

  The carriage quickly left Quarry Close behind, and soon enough was joined by its companions: the equipage carrying Lucia’s cousin Sìleas Barra MacNeill and her husband, Oscar MacConnachie, envoy to the British Court; and Lucia’s personal squadron of her father’s household guard, mounted and travelling as outriders, together with Sophie’s guardsmen. Not all of Lucia’s guardsmen were, in fact, men; she expected some degree of trouble on that score, but had determined that she must begin as she meant to go on, which was not by compromising either her troops’ esprit de corps (a pretty phrase en français which she had learnt from Gray Marshall) or her own safety for the sake of her betrothed husband’s sensibilities. Compromises there must be, of course, but if he was to be her consort, he must take some things in stride.

  Despite the crowds assembled to see Lucia off, which impeded the progress of their convoy to a quite extraordinary degree, they had nearly left Din Edin behind by
the time Sophie said, in an uncharacteristically hesitant tone, “You shall not be away so very long, after all.”

  Lucia turned from the window. “I beg your pardon?”

  Sophie’s brow was crumpled in concern. “You have been looking out at Din Edin as though you half expected never to see it again,” she said. “But if all goes well, you shall be coming back in a few months’ time, with Roland; and if it does not . . .”

  If it does not, I shall be coming back very soon indeed, with my tail between my legs like a dog who has lost her sheep.

  But there was no need to give voice to such a melancholic thought.

  “Yes,” said Lucia instead, attempting cheerfulness. “Very true. Now, I shall be your guide to the country round about, so long as we are in Alba; but once we are over the Wall, you must return the favour, and tell me all about everything we see, so that I shall not be entirely ignorant when we reach London.”

  * * *

  “Not that necklace,” said Joanna.

  “Why not?” said Gwendolen. Though her tone demanded justifications, her fingers were already reaching for the clasp.

  “Why not?” echoed Joanna’s niece Agatha, watching them dress for Lady Lisle’s ball from her perch on the end of Joanna’s bed.

  “It spoils the line of the décolleté, just there,” said Joanna, pointing. She turned back to her dressing-table and rummaged in her jewel-case, finally laying hands on what she wanted: a twisted string of round beads, smooth amethyst and faceted violet glass, and the matching set of ear-drops, a gift from Jenny for her fifteenth birthday.

  “Sit down,” she said, turning again. “You are entirely too tall.”

  Gwendolen smirked and folded herself gracefully into Joanna’s abandoned chair.

  In this way, Joanna’s face appeared directly above hers in the dressing-glass as Joanna fastened the amethysts about her slim throat and adjusted their set on her collar-bones, and side by side when Joanna bent, out of Agatha’s line of sight, to kiss the curve of Gwendolen’s left ear.