Chapter Text
Jastira Ilizana’s temper doesn’t run as hot as it once did, but it’s known to all on the estate (and some off of it) that her sword has not lost any of its sharpness, nor her feet their quickness. She still practices each morning, just after dawn, duelling her lady’s maid before going to feed her beloved carnivorous plants and attending to breakfast with the rest of the household.
When Mal wakes at dawn the next morning, aware that he won’t be able to fall back asleep for some time (the stress and anxiety of the previous day leaving him horribly awake), he dresses quietly, pulling one of the gowns he stole from El over his head and plaiting his hair back loosely. It’s not the braids that indicate his place on the estate, just a simple three-strand to keep it away from his face, but when he looks in the mirror, he’s satisfied (happy, even) with what he sees. He’s pretty in a way he hadn’t been when he was fully masc, and the thought brings an odd flicker of joy with it – that he gets to be pretty, however temporarily. It’s an unexpected benefit to shifting for the baby.
I look like Mum. The thought is a nice one.
Dressed, he pads down the hallway to her rooms, knocking gently at the door and waiting for her lady’s maid to open it before stepping inside. She nods at him tersely. “Jastira is inside,” she says. “We’re having tea before she goes down to the practice ring.”
Tea means the sitting room. Mal walks that way, finding his way to one of the empty chairs and settling quietly before pouring himself a cup. “Mum.”
“Mal,” she says, distracted. There’s a sheaf of paper in her lap. “Shouldn’t you be in confinement?”
“Already broke it, and you and Khencah don’t count,” he says. “Since you’re both, you know. Ladies.”
“Mm.” She sets the papers aside, picking up her teacup and taking a sip of it before making a face. “Stone cold. Your point is taken, but regardless – you are not to exert yourself.”
“I know.” He takes a deep breath. “Thought – you’re filing the challenge to Winterenvy, aren’t you?”
Mum arches an eyebrow. “I am, yes, unless you would rather I did not.”
“No, you’re welcome to, just.” Mal taps his fingers against his teacup, thinking. “What are we going to do about Matty, Mum?”
“Mathienne?” She looks confused. “Whatever do you mean?”
“She’s the one that made the fake posters about him – saying he was a bed slave, and an escaped one at that.” Mal winces. “In a way, the whole thing is her doing. She spread word of it to Ydar's people, as well as the goddess of wealth's priests, along with the other old Houses. Lady Softwinter, for instance, the Longwinters…”
Mum frowns, recognizing the names of her social equals, and likely recalling Lady Softwinter’s involvement in her Ladies’ Aid Society. “You have proof of this, Mallon?”
“Mal, Mum,” he corrects. “And no – but the woodcut she did, she as good as signed her name. Can’t we…?”
“Without proof, we cannot file a formal challenge against the family,” says Mum calmly. “And I would rather not challenge Mathienne unless we can show your Aunt Darunia that it was a challenge that was made in earnest, with evidence of considerable wrongdoing – and the harm that led to it. The city magistrates would not look kindly upon it, either.”
Mal scowls. “But they’ll look kindly upon you duelling Winterenvy.”
“Leda was a witness, was she not?” Mum sighs. “And Benny will doubtless be able to identify Winterenvy as the one who wronged him. We are well within our rights to challenge him, though of course it won’t be what you want.”
Her way of saying that Invis Jr. won’t end up dead, no matter how much Mal might like to think he will. “Hells.”
“They will be disgraced, and no one in polite society will invite him to anything.” She arches an eyebrow. “I will of course be careful to ensure that Leda’s future is not threatened. I may have news about that soon enough, and if she is to become part of the family after all, Lord Winterenvy will need to be handled carefully.”
“Er.”
“Your sister,” Mum says, when it doesn’t immediately connect for him. “Evidently when you gave her money to jilt you, it was Anarelle she ran to.”
This is an honest surprise to Mal. “What?”
“Indeed.” Mum’s tone is dry. “None were so surprised as I was, but Anarelle has begun making overtures in that direction, and her suit has been – tentatively – accepted. Leda stands to inherit as Lady Winterenvy, and if she is willing to disinherit her brother, after what was done to Benny becomes public…”
“Not the shift in presentation,” says Mal quickly. He doesn’t think Benny will want anyone to know – and it’s none of their business. “The imprisonment, yeah?”
“The kidnapping,” says Mum. “And the subsequent imprisonment, yes, stars – I haven’t the faintest intention of telling anyone what exactly Benny went through, for that’s his story to tell and not ours. If he wishes for others to know, he can make it known himself. For the time being, it remains between those of the House and Healer Kiri.”
Those of the House meaning him, Mum, and El. “Good.”
“The household staff have not been informed, and Kiri is not a gossip,” says Mum. “So. We shall tell everyone that Lord Winterenvy’s son behaved abominably, and that he is being challenged for violating the rules of propriety as well as the law of Winter's Edge. The magistrates are unlikely to move against one of the Lords of the city, but so long as we follow the rules of propriety, and Leda is willing to witness, I can duel him on your behalf. Is that acceptable, Mal?”
“Yes,” he says promptly. It is – Mal’s no slouch with a sword, but Mum was legendary at one point for being the best duellist in Winter's Edge. If there’s any justice, Winterenvy Jr won’t actually show up, but will forfeit, sacrificing his honor and leaving the city of his own free will – though Mal would love to see him lose to Mum, as he knows he will. “Ana and Leda, though?”
“Leda evidently prefers those of a femme presentation,” says Mum. “Something that Lord Winterenvy has attempted to discourage, as he fears that marrying a woman will see a challenge from family to the south. The…rules…there are considerably less flexible regarding heritance than they are in Winter's Edge, and if Leda cannot provide a suitable heir, her worthiness to inherit may be challenged by her brother.”
“May,” says Mal. “If he loses the duel…”
“If he loses the duel or forfeits and sacrifices his honor, Leda’s claim will go uncontested, as there will not be another Winterenvy to make claim to it, no.” The cities to the south, after all, were notorious for their labyrinthian rules regarding who could and could not inherit, and a certain amount of “honor” was required for each and every person that stood to benefit from a death, lest there be suspicion cast upon the circumstances (no matter how benign). Mum smiles as she continues: “Politics being what they are, and Anarelle’s suit being the only one that Leda is likely to receive, given – everything – it is likely that Lord Winterenvy will encourage him to forfeit and lay a tidy enough sum upon him to make the prospect of forfeiting attractive. The Winterenvy estate can afford to spare it, and Anarelle and Leda will not need it. As I have told Lord Winterenvy, we are willing to honor the contract that was originally drafted for the two of you, waiving the bride-price that we would otherwise be owed.”
The brilliance of Mum’s plan slots into place, all at once, and he understands why there are multiple pieces of paper upon her lap. “You’re writing to Lord Winterenvy before you file the challenge, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” says Mum, amused. “It seems likely that the estate will be hosting a wedding at or near the summer solstice – with the lord’s permission, of course.”
Mal laughs. “The lord’s permission is granted. Do I have to sign anything for Ana, or…?”
“You are lord of the estate, and as such she is technically your ward, being an unwed scion of the House,” says Mum. “Yes, you will have to sign the contract when it is brought to you by the solicitor – as soon as we have Lord Winterenvy’s approval. I expect to obtain it within the next month.”
“I’ll sign, ‘course.” Mal swallows. “Right, so, that’s that – can’t do a thing about Matty, more’s the pity…”
“I will see to Mathienne,” says Mum. “Not through a duel, but Darunia will be interested in hearing just what her daughter has been up to in her absence. Word travels quickly, after all, and she so does value her connections in other cities. Vaeril will shame her too, of course, once the two of them are uninvited from all but the most perfunctory family functions. Benny will receive a full, formal public apology, or they will find themselves on the receiving end of a rather inglorious shunning.”
Considering how much Vae values her role in society and the connections she’s made since marrying into the Feywinter family, this threat carries more weight than it has right to. “Suppose that’s got to be good enough,” says Mal, wrinkling his nose. “So.”
“So,” she says. “That leaves only the final piece.”
At the blank look Mal gives her, she raises an eyebrow. “Darling, word of your – delicate condition – has spread throughout Winter's Edge proper. If you do not wish to make a formal announcement, you will be consigning yourself to a lifetime of rumors and speculation. Do you wish to make one?”
“Hells.” Mal shakes his head. “No, not really? But I suppose I have little enough choice, don’t I? Will they assume it’s El’s, at least?”
“I’m afraid not, given that you shouted loud enough for multiple members of the Feywinter household to hear that Benny is the father of your child,” says Mum. “They’ve gone to the papers already. If you wish to take control of what is printed…”
She nods at her lady’s maid, who brings over a stack of newspapers. They’re the cheap penny tabloids that Mal’s familiar with – the sort that print all kinds of lurid stories, usually without basis in truth. The headline on one sticks out at him awfully: “LADY” ILIZANA’S ILLICIT LOVE CHILD? TRITON BED SLAVE KNOCKS UP THE LORD OF THE MANOR. He winces as he reads it.
“None of the legitimate newspapers have published anything.” Mum nods at her lady’s maid again, who takes the stack away. “But they will, darling, as soon as you say something. You’ve time, of course – it’s early days – but when you begin to show, you will need to say something, or else risk everyone believing that you’re ashamed of it.”
“Hells,” he says again, hopeless. He hadn’t thought about this part – hadn’t considered what society would say. He hasn’t been off the estate for more than a few hours in years; hasn’t had it be an option in years, and so he’d never thought about what word might get out, and what it was that he would say if it did. Yet something else to traumatize Benny with. “Suppose I’ll need to talk to Ben – once he’s well – and see what he thinks, yeah?”
“I rather recommend it,” says Mum. The mantel clock chimes, and she looks over at it, making a quiet noise of discontent before looking back to Mal. “A standard announcement in the Chronicle or the Voice would do well, I think – that you are expecting, that it is a wanted child, and naming the father, since he is not your spouse and therefore not the presumptive parent. Owning your choices is the easiest way to bring others to accept them.”
This was rather the mode he’d operated under the day before, when he’d told Matty. Still. Mal sighs. “I hate it when you’re right.”
“Perils of being a mother, darling,” says Mum. “You’ll know well enough in a few months. Now then – you ought to feed poor Elion and see to your lover, hadn’t you?”
Lover implies a degree of familiarity that Mal’s not certain he’s entitled to now, given everything that’s passed between them and the fact that he’s still not sure Benny will want to stay. “Yeah,” he says. “Right. Thanks, Mum.”
“Of course,” she says. “I will send the paperwork along for Anarelle as soon as I have it.”
Thus excused, Mal rises to his feet, giving her a quick hug before she can protest, and walking back to his suite.