June 1817

A clatter and a shout from downstairs caused Segundus to leap from his writing-desk in the library so quickly he almost knocked over the cup of tea he had requested an hour ago and promptly forgotten about. Mrs. Goddard looked equally startled from where she stood nearby, her nose only a few inches away from the surface of the water in which she had unsuccessfully traced and quartered dozens of circles.

"What do you suppose that was?" she asked.

Segundus had not been expecting a commotion when he looked over his itinerary for the day, but in Starecross Hall, commotions often arrived without prior notice. "I'm sure it was nothing. I will go check, if you wish to remain here…"

"No," Mrs. Goddard said hastily, abandoning her bowl of water. "I will come with you."

Segundus nodded and escorted her out of the small library and through the warren-like maze of corridors and staircases to the front hall. The sounds of multiple raised voices grew louder and louder as they approached, though the architecture of Starecross was such that the argument rebounded and echoed enough to be reduced to incomprehensibility. Even so, Segundus thought he could make out at least two or three distinct voices. One was unmistakably Charles, one was most likely Goddard, and the third could only be—

Segundus felt his pulse speed up, and it was a moment before he could speak. "It seems as though Mr. Childermass has returned," he said as evenly as he could. "And already your husband has engaged him in a shouting match."

Lavinia Goddard smiled in an approving sort of way.

"Yes, quite," Segundus said. "Though, for the sake of the household, perhaps you would be so kind as to assist me in restoring order? It is difficult to concentrate on spellwork or study while people are shouting at you."

"Do you know from experience?" asked Mrs. Goddard.

Segundus just grimaced.

They approached the landing above the hall, and Segundus could see that his guesses were correct. Three men made up the points of a triangle absolutely bristling with resentment. The argument had ceased for the moment, though judging by the men's expressions and postures, it had not been resolved. Goddard, his face red beneath his untidy hair, seemed to be at odds with Childermass, who wore an expression of impatience and a very muddy set of boots. Charles stood equidistant from both men, though far enough away to be mostly out of range of any magic that Childermass might see fit to hurl at his opponent. He looked from Goddard to Childermass with an expression of deep exasperation. Segundus was all too familiar with the sentiment. He approached the rail of the landing looking over the scene and cleared his throat.

The men below either did not notice him or did not mind him.

"Gentlemen," he tried again. "Excuse me, sirs." He may as well have been a fly buzzing about.

Mrs. Goddard clapped her hands loudly, and the sharp noise echoed through the hall. Goddard and Charles looked up as a reflex, though Childermass kept his eyes trained on Goddard for a brief moment before lifting them to the landing as well.

"Your audience," Mrs. Goddard muttered to Segundus.

"Yes, thank you," he whispered back. Then, louder: "Gentlemen, what is the reason for this dreadful row?"

"All I wanted was an apology," Goddard said with a nasty look at Childermass.

"You will not be getting one," Childermass shot back. "Apologizing is for men with regrets. I have none."

"Mr. Goddard," Segundus cut in before Goddard could respond. "I wish to offer my apology to you once more. What occurred in Duffield—"

"Begging your pardon, Mr. Segundus, but it's not your apology my husband wants," Mrs. Goddard interrupted from beside him. She spoke loudly enough that her voice carried easily down to the hall below the landing. Segundus looked over at her, but she was staring hard at Childermass. "It's his."

Childermass did not quail under her gaze, but he seemed, impossibly, to wilt or diminish somewhat. "Later," he said. "I have business with the master of the house first."

Mrs. Goddard blinked, clearly wrong-footed, but she regained her composure. "Later," she echoed, and she glided down the stairs to join her husband.

Childermass gave her a bow as she passed that, to Segundus's trained eye, looked to be only partial mockery, and he made to ascend the stairs himself.

Charles, standing by the entryway, cleared his throat. "Your boots, sir," he said in a pained voice.

"I'll clean it up," said Childermass without turning around.

Segundus could do no more than stand, transfixed, as Childermass climbed upward, tread by heavy tread. As he drew closer, Segundus could make out tiny details of his appearance that weren't apparent from farther away. His storm-dark hair was lank and matted, as though it hadn't seen a wash or a comb for over a week, and his eyes were lined with circles as violent as bruises, though he did not meet Segundus's gaze. He looked sore and exhausted, and he gripped the bannister as though it were the only thing keeping him on his feet. He approached Segundus and stopped.

A moment passed.

Childermass stared at a painting on the wall behind Segundus and about two feet to the left. "Do you want to conduct our business out here?" he asked.

Segundus glanced down at the Goddards, watching curiously from the landing below, and Charles, who was frowning at the muddy footprints and muttering to himself. "No," he said.

Another moment passed.

"Your study, then, perhaps?" suggested Childermass.

"The library will do," Segundus made himself say. "Follow me."

Segundus led Childermass through the hallway back to the library. He did not want to admit to Childermass that, although he had set a small, shabby study up for himself, he had not entered it in months, not since he had moved to York. It did nothing but serve as a reminder of his multiple failures to open Starecross as a functioning academy of magic. It was surely covered in dust and cobwebs at this point. No, the library would be sufficient for their purposes, though Segundus was not entirely sure what purposes those might be. Childermass had made his position and priorities quite clear when last they parted. What more could he have to say? Segundus kept his wandering thoughts firmly in check, lest they accidentally awaken some glimmer of hope that would, in short order, be certainly extinguished.

Before them loomed the heavy library door. Segundus pulled it open with a creak. He stepped across the threshold without a backward glance and crossed the expansive center to sit at the small writing desk he had tucked away in a corner. He made to sit, but he abruptly realized that there were no other chairs available in the immediate vicinity. So he stopped, took a breath to steel himself, and turned to face Childermass. Childermass still wasn't looking at him, and for some reason, this filled Segundus with a bad-tempered sort of irritation where previously there had been only numbness. If Childermass was going to barge his way into Segundus's library and scatter what little shreds of peace he had managed to gather up, he might as well have the audacity to look him in the eye while doing it!

"Well?" he demanded, his voice short and clipped to his own ears. "What business could you possibly have with me? You have made your position abundantly clear and can have nothing further to say."

Childermass winced. "I suppose I deserve that." He looked down at his scruffy hat, which he clutched with grimy and wind-chapped hands.

"Quite." Segundus was properly angry now. He did not want this passive, wilted version of Childermass who stood before him. Where was Childermass's defiance, his sharp curiosity, his humor and his crooked smile? That was the man he wanted, Segundus realized, despite all his efforts of convincing himself otherwise.

"I have come to apologize," Childermass said. And he finally, finally lifted his dark eyes to meet Segundus's gaze.

Segundus was so stunned that for a moment he could not speak. "Apologize?" he repeated once he found his voice again. "I thought you had no regrets. You have just said so."

The corner of Childermass's mouth lifted in a shadow of a smile. "I could not explain to company the depths of my regrets regarding you."

"Yes, you have made that very clear," said Segundus as cruelly as he could.

Frustratingly enough, that only served to make Childermass smile more. "I have come to apologize to you," he said, "for how I treated you after we left Duffield. If I speak too plainly, sir, if I do not speak around the issue as much as you would like, it is only because you seem determined to misunderstand me."

Segundus bristled, even more irritated by Childermass's insight. "You have much to apologize for."

Childermass sighed. "Yes, I know. I met Maggie on her way to work. She gave me quite an earful."

"Did she."

"Aye. She was very specific as to the number and severity of my transgressions."

"So you are apologizing because your sister told you off."

"No," said Childermass with an air of patience. "I am apologizing because, as I have said, I regret how I have mistreated you. I suggested that… relations with you compromised me and my ability somehow. That we could not carry on and remain loyal to our separate interests, and so the only way we could continue to pursue those interests is if we parted. I have come to realize this was a short-sighted, self-absorbed, and most importantly, wrong suggestion. I apologize for succumbing to doubt and allowing my fears to rule both my mind and my heart."

Segundus had to take a moment to process Childermass's words. "You are apologizing for being wrong," he said slowly. "Not for ending our… relations, as you say, but for doing so for the wrong reasons?"

A slight furrow appeared between Childermass's brows. "Yes," he said. "I would not be apologizing if I did so rightfully."

"So you do not care for the hurt you have caused me," said Segundus. He hated how thin and reedy his voice sounded, and he took a deep breath to get himself under control. "You care only whether your actions were justified in your own mind."

"I care very much for the hurt I have caused you," Childermass said slowly. "I am sorry for all of it. But I will not apologize for who I am." He took one step closer, then another, until he was barely a few handsbreadths away. "I am a very loyal man," he said. "And once I give my loyalty, it is nigh unshakeable. I have given it to very few in my life— to Maggie, to Norrell, to the Raven King." He held out one weather-worn hand in the scant space between them. "And now I offer my loyalty to you, John Segundus."

Segundus looked from Childermass's face to his proffered hand in a mild state of panic. His pique of moments ago drained away, replaced by confusion and alarm. He had been ready to work himself up into a strop and have a proper quarrel. He had been prepared to send Childermass away, tail between his legs and cutting insults ringing in his ears while Segundus looked on in righteous indignation. What he had not foreseen, however, was such an open and frank offer of— of loyalty. He had expected combat, and he did not know what to do when Childermass held forth an olive branch of such weight and significance. "I am—" he stuttered. "I do not— I think that I—"

"I see," Childermass said. He withdrew his hand and, turning away, made to move toward the library door. "I will go then."

"Do not go," said Segundus desperately. "Please."

Childermass paused but did not turn around. "You want me to stay?"

Segundus dithered. He did not know what more he wanted to say to Childermass. There was at once too much and not enough to say. But he knew that if the other magician left now, they would both regret it. Eventually, he settled on: "I would be a poor host if I turned you out so soon after your arrival."

"Ah." Childermass's voice was toneless and flat. "I would not have you think so ill of your abilities as a host. Please excuse me, sir." With that, he withdrew from the library, leaving Segundus alone among its meager furnishings.

The next week was an exhausting trial for Segundus. He had very little time to ponder Childermass's apology, and even less to consider his own reactions to it. It seemed every moment of every day was taken up by some pressing distraction, and Segundus could hardly catch a moment to himself from the hour he woke up to the hour he fell into bed. Between the ever-growing list of plans, tasks, and correspondences related to the opening of Starecross Academy of Magic, Mrs. Goddard's magic lessons, and the mundane day-to-day upkeep of the household, Segundus could tell he was running himself ragged, and there was not a thing he could do about it.

Vinculus arrived the evening after Childermass, complaining loudly about his aching legs and shooting Segundus uncomfortably knowing looks when nobody was watching. The Ainsworths were in a flurry to make preparations to move into their new tenancy, and they had all manner of questions for Segundus regarding which supplier they ought to see to get themselves started, which livestock breeder had the stoutest animals, which carpenter built the sturdiest structures, and the like, all of which Segundus was quite at a loss to answer. Mrs. Goddard's lessons were progressing well enough, given how his lesson plans were drawn up completely slapdash and he had only a few magical publications and some half-remembered spells to teach her from, but she was an exacting pupil who required him to explain his lessons and his reasoning in detail. Ordinarily, he would relish the challenge of a pupil such as her, but under the circumstances, he often went to bed weary and with a headache. And behind all the day-to-day hubbub that filled Starecross Hall and tried Segundus's nerves loitered Childermass, dark and brooding and quietly omnipresent.

It was not that Childermass's presence was ever obstructive— quite the opposite, in fact. He had an odd habit of happening to be wherever Segundus himself needed to be, then slinking away with a somewhat wounded air as soon as Segundus arrived. He sat as far away as possible from Segundus during meals, so there could be no expectation of conversation between them, and he refused to meet Segundus's eye or, indeed, to even look at him for more than a second at a time. For a man so determined to have as little interaction with Segundus as possible, Childermass's presence at Starecross was undeniable. In fact, he seemed to be going to such lengths to make himself unnoticeable that he had rather the opposite effect. Despite his best efforts, Segundus could never completely put him from his mind.

Segundus was granted a reprieve for a few hours one evening when Maggie seemed to come to some sort of realization as supper was being cleared away. She narrowed her eyes at Segundus, then firmly looped her arm through Childermass's and hauled him away from the table and off to another part of the house. Segundus did not see Childermass for the rest of the evening, though he appeared at breakfast with a somewhat chastised air.

Segundus might have expected that to be the end of Maggie's meddling, but later that evening, she fixed him with a determined look and asked if he wouldn't mind helping her with the supper dishes. He saw no other option than to meekly agree and hope to get through whatever she had planned as quickly as possible. They stood side by side at the kitchen sink, each with a pile of dishes next to them, and scrubbed in concert. When Maggie did not immediately voice whatever was on her mind, Segundus began to relax bit by bit.

His relief was to be short-lived, however. "I believe I told John and yourself," Maggie began with a casual air that Segundus did not believe, "that at our initial meeting, I gave you the names of Hastings and Mr. Ainsworth because I believed they'd put you off."

"That is my recollection as well," Segundus said cautiously.

"And my brother said Hastings rebuffed the two of you, but Mr. Ainsworth made a more persuasive argument as to the validity of our cause."

"Ah. Yes," said Segundus. He wondered where she was going with her line of questioning. It seemed safe enough for him to give a more expansive response. "I confess I do not have much of a revolutionary spirit, but Mr. Ainsworth's explanation was very convincing."

Out of the corner of his eye, Segundus saw Maggie look over at him for a long moment, then go back to scrubbing. "Do you recall his explanation?" she asked.

"He spoke of injustice," Segundus said as he summoned Ainsworth's words to his mind. "And of the importance of fighting even in the face of failure. Futility was the word he used, I believe."

Maggie nodded. "Yes, I have heard him say similar things on a number of occasions." She was silent for a moment. "Did he say why we fight? Why do we carry on as we do, despite the futility of it all?"

Segundus furrowed his brow as he tried to remember Ainsworth's words as specifically as possible. The answer came to him a second later. "Loyalty," he said quietly. "And— and love."

"Aye," said Maggie. "Mr. Ainsworth is a man with a great deal of love in his heart. He loves England, he loves the Raven King, and he loves the people around him— his wife and his friends, mostly, but you'd be remiss if you didn't think he loved every single person in that blasted village. That love drives him to fight. It makes him passionate and dangerous, not only to whatever enemies he might accrue, but to those around him as well." She indicated herself with a soapy hand. "Our presence here is proof of that, I think."

"Indeed," Segundus managed.

"Sometimes those loves— or loyalties, if you prefer— conflict," said Maggie as the rhythmic scrape of bristle on ceramic continued. "The pursuit of one precludes the pursuit of another. I believe it was you yourself who suggested that I cannot be loyal to England if I would see the Raven King on his rightful throne. And you may question whether Mr. Ainsworth can truly be said to love his fellow Englishmen if he would start a civil war that may see them maimed and killed, all for the sake of his own beliefs. But in my case, and in Mr. Ainsworth's case, the two separate loyalties are in fact one and the same." Maggie stopped scrubbing but did not look at Segundus. "I would see the Raven King on the throne of England because my loyalty to the King is my loyalty to England. Mr. Ainsworth would start a war not despite his love, but because of it. So you see, Mr. Segundus, that sometimes our loyalties may conflict, and sometimes they may only appear to, and the question is whether we can tell the difference."

Somehow, Segundus felt as though she were not talking about Ainsworth at all.

"Just something to think on," Maggie said lightly. She looked over at Segundus's pile of dishes. "I can finish up here, Mr. Segundus. You ought to prepare for Lavinia's lessons. She told me she was experimenting with a new spell and was very proud of the results."

Recognizing this for the dismissal it was, Segundus fled.

Something to think on indeed! Segundus hardly knew what to think. Maggie's words were clear enough, but Segundus had no more idea how he might proceed than he had previously. In fact, he might be even more confused as to the correct course of action. A few more days passed, with little change in Childermass's behavior. Maggie seemed disinclined to involve herself further. Segundus supposed that, now that she had dispensed what wisdom she deemed necessary, she was ready to wash her hands of the whole matter.

After a full week of Childermass's conspicuous avoidance, Segundus could stand it no longer. He saw to as much business as he could in the morning, then concluded Mrs. Goddard's afternoon lessons early and announced his intention for a quiet evening alone with a book and a brandy.

Mrs. Goddard seemed to understand his need for a reprieve. "Perhaps I have been too demanding," she said with a wry smile.

"Not at all," Segundus assured her. He paused, meaning to continue with his reassurances, but Mrs. Goddard laughed quietly and patted his hand.

"I ought to help Sarah with her preparations anyway," she said. "She's been in a bit of a flap about the move, hasn't she?"

"I daresay she has the right to be," said Segundus, grateful for the change of topic. "I am glad she and her husband have found a tenancy nearby."

"Yes, I'll miss her," Mrs. Goddard agreed. "But she's near enough to visit, and if Mr. Hastings's girls misbehave, we can always threaten to send them away to the farm for a life of toil." Her dark eyes sparkled with merriment, and Segundus was sure that despite her words, she had ever been the doting aunt-figure in the girls' lives. "Now, I'll leave you in peace, Mr. Segundus. I will help Sarah with her plans until supper. Enjoy your evening of quiet." She bustled out of the library without further ado.

Supper was one of the rare occasions when Childermass was genuinely, rather than conspicuously, absent. Segundus assumed he had secluded himself in a remote corner of the library, no doubt with a pile of books and a freshly-filled pouch of tobacco. As he ate, alone in a small pocket of solitude in the midst of the mealtime chaos, he came to a decision about how to proceed. Well, I have not yet decided precisely how to proceed, he thought to himself. But I really ought to decide something, at least. He excused himself early, urging the others to continue their evening without him, and he slipped away to the kitchens.

Normally, if he were planning an evening alone, Segundus would pour himself one finger of brandy and take it with him to wherever he had decided to ensconce himself. However, he had decided to decide something, so he would not be as alone as previously thought. He swiped the half-full bottle of brandy and two glasses and padded up the stairs to the library.

Much to his surprise, Childermass was not there. Segundus checked every corner as thoroughly as possible and even used the spell to turn himself into a shadow, just to be sure Childermass was not lurking unseen in some gloomy alcove. When his search failed to turn up the raggedy magician, Segundus felt a slight twinge of concern. Surely Childermass cannot have gotten himself into some sort of trouble? He abandoned the brandy and glasses on a side table in the library and went to investigate.

Segundus checked all of Childermass's usual haunts: The sunny drawing room filled with paintings of ships, the window seat at the end of a long hallway on the second floor, even the little alcove beneath the stairs where someone had long ago dragged a chaise lounge for some unknown purpose and no one had bothered to return it to its proper home. He grew increasingly agitated as Childermass was, rather rudely, he thought, not to be found in any of these places. Eventually, Segundus had checked every reasonable place where Childermass might be hidden save for one: The man's own room. Segundus did not very much like to barge in on people while they were in their rooms, believing one's personal chamber to be an intensely private place of refuge, but he could see no other alternative. He was, quite simply, resolved to make a decision, and he would not be able to do so before he had spoken once more with Childermass. So he crept through the house to Childermass's door, steeled himself, and prepared to knock.

Before he could do so, the door was flung open, and there in the doorway stood Childermass, dressed in his overcoat and carrying a valise in each hand.

The two men stared at each other for a long moment, neither blinking, Segundus barely breathing. Childermass gave an embarrassed sort of cough, breaking the silence, but did not say anything to explain himself.

"You are leaving," said Segundus, then immediately cursed himself. It was patently obvious that Childermass was leaving.

Childermass averted his eyes. "I did not want to—"

"Inform me of your plans?" Segundus interrupted. "Say goodbye? Extend me the slightest bit of courtesy by not sneaking away in the night like a thief?"

"—put you to any trouble," Childermass finished rather lamely.

They continued to stare at each other— rather, Segundus stared at Childermass, and Childermass stared at the air to the left of Segundus's shoulder.

"Come have a drink with me," said Segundus.

That at least got a reaction out of Childermass. A brief look of surprise crossed his face, and his eyes darted to Segundus and away again. "I am leaving," he said. "It's quite clear you don't want me here. I'd rather not stay where I'm not wanted."

"Do not be absurd," said Segundus as imperiously as he was able. "I have decided to make a decision."

"Have you."

"Yes. And for that, I need you to have a drink with me."

"Do you."

Segundus crossed his arms and set his jaw, hoping to convey exactly how resolved he was. It must have worked, for Childermass looked him up and down, sighed, and set down his luggage.

"Yes, alright," he said as he stripped off his overcoat. He flung it into his room without a backward glance, slid his luggage inside, and firmly closed the door.

Segundus felt Childermass's presence looming at his back the entire way to the library, though his footfalls were nearly silent on the wooden panelling. Segundus had left the door open; he ushered Childermass through and closed it firmly. He retrieved the brandy and glasses and made his way toward the large south-facing window, through which he could still catch a glimpse of the setting sun. He poured a healthy measure of liquor into each glass and indicated a pair of armchairs that had a pleasant view of Starecross Hall's rather unkempt gardens. "Sit, please," he said.

Childermass sat, and Segundus handed him his brandy.

"Thank you," Childermass said, somewhat awkwardly.

The chairs were slightly angled together, though not so much that their occupants were forced to look at one another— one of the reasons why Segundus had chosen those particular armchairs. He sat and watched the sunset and sipped at his brandy, enjoying the burn that tickled the back of his throat. They sat in silence for a minute, maybe two. After Segundus had taken several mouthfuls of his drink, and Childermass seemed to have relaxed somewhat, he decided he was ready to speak.

"You are not very good at apologies," Segundus said.

Whatever Childermass had been expecting, it was not that. "Ah," he said, his brow furrowed slightly. "No, sir, I confess I am not. Apologizing is a conversational art I have had little practice with." He shifted slightly in his chair. "It was genuine, though."

"I know," said Segundus. "That is why I did not throw you out on your arse a week ago."

Childermass let out a bark of laughter that sounded as though it surprised him as much as it did Segundus. "Maggie has had some influence on you. Take care, or you will become more foul-mouthed than is proper for a schoolmaster."

"I have some time yet to cure my bad habits," Segundus said, the corners of his mouth twitching involuntarily into a smile. "What I do not understand is why."

Childermass blinked. "Why you should not curse in front of your students?"

"Why you decided to apologize."

"Ah." Childermass paused. "Because I was wrong, as I told you. You didn't seem to appreciate my answer, though."

"Why did you change your mind? What made you decide you were wrong?"

"Vinculus informed me I was being rather stupid. And, well…" he trailed off.

Segundus glanced over at Childermass and was surprised to see that he looked almost embarrassed. "Yes?" he prompted.

"I dreamt I spoke with the Raven King. Rather, I spoke with him in a dream. I don't know why he chose to speak to me now, of all times. You know, I believe it may have been the first time I have seen him in the flesh." He paused, frowned, shook his head like a dog shaking off water. "No matter. We spoke a bit about destiny and a bit about free will."

"What did you conclude?" Segundus asked. He longed for and dreaded the answer in equal measure.

Childermass looked at him directly. "The worst of my fears were alleviated. My destiny is for me to determine, as yours is for you. My heart is my own to do with as I will. I may give my loyalty to whomever I please with as much freedom as any man could wish."

"And you would give it to me?" Segundus asked. His voice had the slightest tremble, but for once he did not care.

Childermass leaned in slightly, and his tone was low and quiet, as though he were entrusting to Segundus a most precious secret. "I would."

Segundus matched him in posture and tone. "I accept," he said, and his face broke out into an uncontrollable grin.

Childermass froze for a moment, then blinked once or twice. He set his brandy down on the side table, crossed the space to Segundus in a flash, pulled Segundus up and out of his chair, and kissed him full on the mouth.

Segundus was generally so surprised by this that for a moment or two, he could not formulate a response. When he regained control of his own limbs, there was little else he could do but kiss back. Tiny huffs of laughter escaped him each time their lips parted. He felt lighter than he had in weeks. His blood sang from the brandy and the kisses, and his entire world narrowed down to himself and Childermass, standing together in the library as the sun sank below the horizon.

Childermass released him a few heartbeats later. His cheeks had a pink tint to them, no doubt matching Segundus's own flush, though if it were due to mere exertion or more uncharacteristic embarrassment on Childermass's part, Segundus couldn't say. "You infuriating man," Childermass said. He sounded somewhat breathless. "You could have told me this would be your response. I have been dreading speaking with you for a week now."

"I was not certain," Segundus said honestly. "Not until I spoke with you."

"But you are certain now?" Childermass's eyes were very dark in the shadowy library.

"I am, John." Segundus chose his words with great care. "You value freedom. Even when you were a servant, you did things your own way, did you not?" Childermass acknowledged the truth of the statement with a nod of his head. "You could not bear to have that freedom taken away from you in a manner not of your choosing," Segundus continued. "But if it is as you said, you are free to choose, and if you have chosen me— then yes, I am quite certain of you."

Childermass cradled Segundus's face between his hands, one thumb moving restlessly over his cheek, and leaned their foreheads together. "And I of you," he murmured, "though that was never in question."

Segundus jerked, outraged by the sheer audacity of the statement, and batted Childermass's hands away. "It most undoubtedly was in question!" he exclaimed. "Or have you forgotten how we came to be here in the first place?"

Childermass watched him with some amusement. "No, sir, I have not forgotten, nor am I likely to. You misunderstand me, and not for the last time, I'd wager."

"If you would be so kind as to correct the misunderstanding," Segundus said when Childermass did not immediately continue.

"The depth of my regard for you— my certainty of you— was never in question, John." He reached one hand forward in supplication, and Segundus tentatively placed his own hand in Childermass's open palm. He curled their fingers together and pulled Segundus a step closer. "Only the wisdom of acting on it. I did not think it wise, or practical, or compatible with my own needs that you have so eloquently stated. But now I know it does not matter. What matters is what I choose, and what you choose, and what we choose together." He brought their clasped hands up to his face and pressed a gentle kiss to the inside of Segundus's wrist. He spoke again, and his lips moved against the sensitive skin there, sending shivers across Segundus's body. "And so I am certain of you, as much as I have ever been certain of anything."

There could be only one proper response to that. Segundus flung his free arm around Childermass's shoulders and kissed him until the last glow of the sun faded from the sky, and the stars twinkled merrily above.

If the others noticed an improvement in Segundus's mood over the next few days, no one mentioned it. Once or twice, Segundus thought he saw a small sly smile curl Maggie's mouth as she watched him or Childermass at mealtimes, and he was certain he caught Vinculus smirking at him when he happened to glance over in the middle of a heated debate with Childermass about a possible translation of the King's Letters, but on the whole, his guests were either too polite or too mindful of their own business to bring up his sudden happiness. Which was just as well, as Segundus's hands were quite full enough without having to field potentially awkward questions.

Much like the gorse and the heather of the moor surrounding Starecross, as June passed warmly into July, Segundus's plans for the school began to blossom. He threw himself afresh into planning with joy rather than grim determination. Each new day was a challenge to be met and overcome, not an exhausting slog that left him weary and drained. And for all the letters to write, decisions to make, books to purchase, and connexions to forge, John Childermass was at his side, quick to lend a word of advice or a sardonic smile as necessary. They made a formidable pair, Segundus was glad to note, and if any gentleman magician thought it odd that Norrell's former man of business had so readily taken the side of one of the men whom Norrell had stifled so thoroughly, a heated glare from Childermass was enough to still his tongue before he could voice his concerns.

Segundus was no longer shiftless, restless, travelling from place to place but belonging nowhere. Finally, he felt as though he had a purpose chosen by himself, not merely a dream that danced just out of reach or a duty born from the carcass of his own abandoned hopes. As he planned and quarrelled, strove and dreamed, he could feel the many disparate threads of his life start to come together in his hands as though he wove the tapestry of his own future. He could not say for certain what it would hold, but he was determined to find out.