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Chapter 45: Hedging Bets
Narcissa wrapped trembling fingers around the pale wand's handle. No, she was not trembling. She was Narcissa Black, daughter of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. Blacks did not tremble.
The wand thrummed in her right hand, faint enough that most would never notice.
Narcissa was not most, which was why she already knew that this was an achievement worthy of her pride. Three times she had mended wands over the previous two months. All had been restored to working order, though each time there were improvements. Any magic flowing through the first one she had fixed waned and wavered, the second was smooth but imprecise, and the third was reliable but inefficient.
This was different. Alden himself had praised the way she could perceive magic, heralding her affinity in that area above his own. When she focused on the flow of magic through the wand, there was no uneven stutter as it moved, no roiling as it sought to run rampant, no excess being syphoned to perform a simple spell.
"Lumos." Soft, white light emitted from the pale wand's tip. "Avis." A humming bird spread its wings and filled the room with trilling song. It was almost impossible to tell the wand had ever not been whole. "Nox." Narcissa's smile lit up the room after the light had been extinguished. This was it! She had disproven Alden's insistences that she had to settle for imperfect work when repairing wands.
She stood and headed for the door. Halfway there her eyes were drawn toward a different wand, longer and darker, with its wood grip fashioned like a spitting serpent's head. If only either of us could prove anything about that. So far she had uncovered nothing, and all Alden had turned up was that snakewood had been used to make the wand, and that its core was an alchemical solution consisting of copper sulphate, Slytherin's own blood, and venom so acidic that the artificer guessed it had come straight out of a basilisk. Months ago Narcissa would have dismissed that notion out of hand, yet now she knew it was not only possible, but likely.
"Enter," Alden called from inside his study after she had knocked. "Ah." The artificer's eyes flicked up from the envelope he had been opening and then found the wand that she was holding. "What is this? Do you have something to show me?"
"Yes." Why was her heart beating with such haste?
"May I?" Alden asked. Narcissa approached his desk and placed the mended wand into his outstretched hand. Doubt drove her heartbeat hard while she watched him turn it over in his hands. Should she have tested it more thoroughly before bringing it to him? The embarrassment she'd feel if he uncovered some imperfection she had overlooked… if that happened, she might actually— "Magnifique."
Warm pride washed away Narcissa's doubts and sent a wide smile sloshing onto her lips. "Merci."
"This work is splendid," Alden murmured, continuing to inspect the wand. "Why, I am unsure I have ever seen such success in restoring a wand to its original condition. To think you were so steadfast in your dismissal of artificing and all that it could do — seldom have I watched anyone improve so swiftly. You should be very proud."
Narcissa dipped her head in thanks. "May I ask a question?"
"You may."
"Who was the last successful apprentice who you mentored? You mention that you've seldom seen such swift improvements, which implies you have before, and you always speak as if it's been a long time since you've worked with anyone."
"Observant, are we?" Alden asked with a wry smile. "Well, let's see — my last apprentice with talent comparable to yours… my, it has been quite some time." The smile slid slowly from his face, and his eyes lost some of their warm light. "I would say the last was a young man named Marcellin, though your aptitudes do not align. Marcellin lacked your innate talent, yet his mind was among the keenest I have come across."
Marcellin… "Should I recognize his name?"
"Should you? Why, that is hardly anything I should be passing judgement on. I would be surprised if you did, given your background."
Narcissa pursed her lips. "What does that mean?"
"Only that I am aware of your interests and those belonging to many of your progenitors, and that I have never known a Black who was especially invested in the areas of study that Marcellin favoured."
Narcissa's mouth relaxed. "I beg pardon, M-Alden."
"You learn well, and you are forgiven." A fleeting smile flickered on his lips as Alden looked up at an antique clock. "You have familial engagements this afternoon, non? Two o'clock, was it?"
"Oui."
"In that case, you ought to be preparing for them. It would hardly be proper for your family to be kept waiting, and I know you Blacks do so love propriety."
Narcissa sighed after exiting the study. Alden could not resist periodic potshots at her family. Although never cutting or mean-spirited, they needled her from time to time. Who was he to pass judgement on something like propriety? If he had observed it more frequently himself, L'Artificier might well be thriving as it had in generations past.
Narcissa stepped outside. Her light robes let through each breath of wind, yet they were not enough. Sunlight soaked into her hair and spilled across the sidewalk. Heat spread across her scalp and steamed up from underneath her feet. There was no escaping it, which was the problem with Paris. Always it felt as though she was trapped and stifled. Just walking down the narrow road felt claustrophobic, between the careless crowd, the men who passed her by far closer than was necessary, and the lines of compact buildings stretching wall to wall into the distance.
The restaurant she stepped inside was elegantly understated. Quiet conversation and soft colours complimented its classic decor and dim ambiance. Brown carpeting covered the floor, save for the tiled walkway between booths, which was simply made and polished to a mirror sheen. A man wearing a blue, collared shirt exited a back room with a cart of wine and made his way toward an old couple who looked well into their sixties.
"Puis-je vous aider, Mademoiselle?" asked a short hostess in a blue gown, with light brown hair trailing down her back in a long braid.
"Je l'espère bien," Narcissa replied smoothly. "Je cherche un maître Urinus, qui devrait m'attendre."
"Ah." The woman's smile emphasized her dimples. "Par ici, Mademoiselle." Between long booths and glass tables she was led, through a doorway and into a short hall lined with doors she guessed led into private rooms. Celui-là, au bout. Vous devriez le trouver là-dedans."
"Merci." Narcissa pushed open the door and stepped across the threshold, then shut it soundlessly behind her. "What on Earth are you doing in Paris?" she asked her grandfather, who was leaning back in a wide armchair with a glass of wine in hand. "Have you so dearly missed me that you've decided to not only leave your manor, but to cross the border?"
Arcturus Black made an amused sound halfway between a sniff and snort. "You always have had a high opinion of yourself."
"Is that a no?" Narcissa feigned offence and dropped into the chair across from him. "Is your youngest granddaughter not worth the trip?"
"I'm here, aren't I?"
"You're stopping through," Narcissa countered.
"Half-right," her grandfather conceded. "I'm in France as a favour to our Lord Governor."
"Our Lord Governor, or Great-aunt Dorea?"
"It was Charlus who asked me."
Narcissa poured herself a glass of wine. "That's unlike him, is it not?"
"These aren't ordinary times, least of all for him."
"Ah." Sympathy throbbed through Narcissa's chest as if it was an open wound. "Your business is related to his son, then?"
"It is."
"How is he?" Narcissa asked. "Great-uncle Charlus, I mean? I know he suffered serious injuries on the spring solstice."
"Alive," Arcturus said. "That's all you can hope for when Fiendfyre is involved."
"What about Riddle?" The question burst from her. "Kalloway said there are no leads on him. Is that true?"
Arcturus drank a sip of wine before responding. "I don't know anything the boy doesn't, if that's what you're asking."
"It's not. You're cleverer and more seasoned than he is, even if you don't know anything he doesn't."
"I'd avoid those assumptions, if I were you," Arcturus suggested. Kalloway knows Riddle better than I do, and right now that's more valuable than any amount of wisdom, wit, or experience I might have."
Narcissa rotated her wine glass and stared into the scarlet liquid. "Does that not strike you as odd? You told me you'd been keeping tabs on Riddle for years; probably for half of Kalloway's life or close to it, and yet he knows more about Riddle than you do?"
Arcturus made a dismissive gesture with his chin. "what of it?"
"Surely you of all people must wonder how? I can't imagine it sits well with you, working with an ally who's obviously hiding things."
"I don't see you turning him away, even when he comes calling at odd hours of the night."
"Oh, please." Narcissa turned up her nose. "Just because the boy's infatuated with me doesn't mean the feeling's mutual."
"That makes no difference." Somehow she suspected that it did. "You know why I work with him, because your reasons are the same."
"Not entirely," Narcissa said. "I just want revenge and freedom, and Kalloway can get them for me — or at least he has a better chance than any scheme I could come up with."
"Did I not promise you the revenge you're so set on?" Arcturus asked. "Is that not my aim as well?"
"I don't doubt that's part of it." Narcissa lifted the fine glass to her lips. The wine went down smoothly and left a sour tingle on her tongue. "There's something else, though. You and Great-aunt Dorea made sure he was in Paris on the night of a riot that was certain to attract attention. You both knew full well Riddle wasn't involved, and yet you risked him anyway. There were far easier assignments you could have given him, I'm sure."
"You're as bad as Dorea, or soon to be," Arcturus groused. "Save the dramatic flourishes for when they might make a difference. Use them to offset adversaries or to shore up your position among uneasy allies. Don't waste your grandfather's time trying to be all sly and clever. Say what you mean, support your stance, and then be done with it."
"So dry in your old age," Narcissa quipped, sipping her wine a second time while selecting her next words. "You've been strategic in the ways that you've positioned Kalloway, and you took a risk with Great-aunt Dorea so vehemently pushing for control of his command. There are also the artifacts. You know me well enough to be certain I would never charge if he couldn't afford the commission — the chance to work on them is payment enough, and it's aiding my own goals — yet you offered to pay the commission anyway. You would only do that if you wanted to foster an alliance. Not to mention—"
"You've made your point, even if it could do with shortening — if you can say something in half a minute, don't spend a full minute spelling it all out." It was his turn to take a sip of wine. "Dark times are coming, and I don't just mean Riddle. These riots aren't the random acts of violence most fools think they are, and they didn't all break out over some schematics. They were always coming, with or without Riddle. It's not as though he's the only one who's been sewing seeds, or even the first."
"And what does Kalloway have to do with that?" Narcissa asked, filing away that others had been chasing chaos and that he obviously knew more than he was telling her.
Arcturus set down his wine glass. "Let's say for now that I think he and I share certain standpoints that might be important soon."
Narcissa's eyes narrowed. "You're hiding something."
"I prefer to think of it as hedging bets and hoping a day will never come when I'll be forced to play my cards."
"Is that why you stopped in?" Narcissa asked dryly. "So you could hedge a bet?"
"I stopped in so I could ask two things of you." Narcissa waited, knowing he'd go on. "The first is that I would like you to continue your acquaintanceship with Kalloway, even after all the artifacts have been dissected and Riddle has been seen to."
"What do you want from him?" Narcissa asked, her face impassive. If her grandfather was unaware she had never harboured any plans of ending her acquaintanceship with Kalloway, he might feel inclined to be more forthcoming.
"Opinions," Arcturus said. "You were right about one thing — I don't like taking chances on men I can't predict, I just happen to care more about what goes on inside their head than what their life's been like."
"Aren't they the same? Men are forged, not conjured. Is that not what you told me?"
"I am confident enough in Kalloway's composition to not concern myself with how he came to be here."
"All right," Narcissa said. "And the second thing you came to ask?"
"I want you to start keeping later hours."
Narcissa pursed her lips. "Why?"
"Because," her grandfather told her, "I'm interested to learn what sort of people your employer meets with in the middle of the night."
"We are all pawns, but some of us deal the cards."
— Alexandre Dumas
A special thank you to my high-tier patron, Cup, for her generous and unwavering support.
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