“Take into account whatever reasons Geraden may have given for his belief that the Congery conceals a traitor, and add to them what we have learned since. Along with his initial questions, Lebbick did not fail to mention that Master Gilbur has disappeared. Does it not seem likely, my lady, that he himself is the traitor?”
Yes, she thought, held by his arms and knees and his intent gaze. No. How could he foresee that I would go to your meeting? How could he know where I would be after the meeting, so he could translate those men to attack me? (Don’t translations with flat mirrors drive people crazy?) But those arguments no longer seemed to make sense. Gilbur was the one who had vanished.
“I confess,” Master Eremis went on softly, “I did not foresee his treachery. Foolishly, I trusted him simply because he has cause to feel gratitude toward me. But when Geraden went into his glass, purportedly seeking our champion, and brought you to us instead, my eyes were opened.
“My lady, do you never try to understand why I do what I do? Did you never ask yourself why I involved Master Gilbur in my meeting with the lords of the Cares, when it was plain to all the Congery that he and I stood on opposite sides of every issue? I was trying to expose him, to give him means and opportunity to betray himself. And I succeeded—
“At a greater cost than I had anticipated,” he commented. “Orison’s wall breached. The champion gone. Myself arrested. And stripped of my chasuble by that officious lout Barsonage to prove the Congery’s good faith to the Castellan.”
He snarled in disgust, then resumed his reasoning. “Did you never wonder why I have placed so much value on Geraden’s life? I wanted him alive so that I might try to gain his friendship, insinuate myself into his counsels, study his strange abilities.
“Did you never ask yourself why I attempted to have him admitted to the Congery as a Master? Surely that must have seemed gratuitous, even to someone who knew so little of Orison and its conflicts. In that I did not succeed. Oh, I gained a part of what I wanted – I learned how our good King had reacted to his first encounter with you. That information might have aided me, if I had possessed the key to understand it.” His voice grew sharper as he spoke, more urgent and demanding. “But I did not accomplish my chief end, which was to tighten a snare around Geraden to place him where he would be watched, even by fools who did not fear him, where his secrets might be forced into the open, and where the achievement of his lifelong dream might help blind him to his true talents.”
“No.” Terisa’s protest was too strong to be kept still. “That doesn’t make sense.” The Master’s assertion hurt everything in her chest. “What talents?” As though she were rising up inside herself, she demanded, “What makes you think that he and Master Gilbur have anything to do with each other?”
“Use your mind!” Eremis replied between his teeth. “It was Gilbur who shaped the mirror that first showed the champion. It was he who taught Geraden to copy that glass, he who watched and verified every step of the process, from the refining of the finest tinct to the sifting of the precise sand to the polishing of the exact mold. He must have seen what went wrong, what was changed, to produce the mirror which translated you here.
“Think. While he shaped his glass, Geraden showed abilities which have never been seen before, abilities which allowed him to twist all the laws of Imagery to his own purposes – abilities as great in their way as the arch-Imager’s ability to pass through flat glass and remain sane.
“Gilbur must have known this. He must have witnessed it. Yet he said nothing. Something fundamental occurred under his nose, and he made no mention of it.
“What conclusion do you draw, my lady? What conclusion can you draw? Are you able to insist that I am wrong?”
No. She shook her head leadenly, and her heart reeled. This time she couldn’t contradict him. In his logic, as in his physical magnetism, he was too much for her. If she accepted the proposition of Master Gilbur’s treachery, then all the rest followed impeccably. It was he who taught Geraden— Why hadn’t she thought of that for herself?
It was still possible, she argued dimly, like a woman who was about to faint, it was still possible that Geraden was her friend. That he meant her well. If he was as ignorant and accident-prone as everyone believed—
Clutching at straws, she breathed, “Maybe. Maybe you are. You saw what happened when he tried to stop Master Gilbur from translating the champion. Maybe he’s being used and doesn’t know it.” Her temples were beginning to ache. “Maybe he was misled while he was making his mirror – maybe he thought it was an exact copy. How would he know if Master Gilbur lied to him? Maybe these ‘abilities’ are Master Gilbur’s, not Geraden’s.”
Master Eremis shook his head. “That is conceivable.” His face seemed to be growing darker. “Why do you imagine that I have relied on subterfuge rather than direct action? I have not wanted to risk harm to anyone who might be innocent. But remember two things, my lady.
“The first is a fact. It is Geraden who figures so prominently in the augury, not Gilbur. That cannot be meaningless.
“The second is a possibility. As it is conceivable that Geraden is being manipulated, so it is also conceivable that he and Gilbur feigned their conflict in order to disguise their relationship, thereby freeing Geraden to continue his work when Gilbur was forced to flee.”
At once, Terisa retorted, “That’s crazy!” so strongly that she surprised herself. She and Geraden had been buried alive together. “Master Gilbur almost got him killed!”
“Paugh!” Abruptly, the Master was angry again. “Gilbur could not have foreseen that – or caused it. He was busy with his translation.” The pressure of his knees increased. “Do not insult my intelligence.”
As quickly as it had come, her resistance evaporated. “I’m sorry,” she said like a wince. Don’t hurt me. His face had gone completely dark: she could see nothing but the outlines of his form against the wall. “I’m not used to thinking like this.”
Unfortunately, that wasn’t what he wished to hear. His grip felt like rock, bruising her flesh. In rising panic, she asked, “What do you want me to do?”
He didn’t ease the clench of his knees or release his embrace, yet the vehemence of his posture softened. “Under other circumstances,” he murmured harshly, “I would not ask such flesh to serve any purpose but its own. But I must have your help.
“This is what I want you to do.” He undid the last buttons and jerked her shirt open. “I want you to pretend friendship for young Geraden.” Her breasts were exposed to the cold air and his moist breath. “I want you to watch him for me, study him for any sign of betrayal or talent, scrutinize him for any word or deed or implication which may reveal his secrets to me.
“And tell him nothing. Do not tell him that you have spoken to me. Swear Artagel to silence if you must. Give no hint to anyone that we are allies.”
Moving his head from side to side, he stroked his wet tongue across her nipples, bringing them to hardness, making them demand him. Then he put his mouth to work, sucking and kissing her breasts.
She couldn’t resist him. She felt herself giving up balance, leaning into him, so that his hand and his lips would caress her more strongly. He made it imaginable that she could clinch her arms around his neck and hug herself to him.
And yet he asked her to pretend – to watch— The bare conception knotted her stomach. He was asking her to betray Geraden, Geraden! She had already doubted him once today, and he had proved his faithfulness almost immediately. He had kept her sane and actual under the rubble of the meeting hall. Simply to admit the intellectual possibility that he might be dishonest felt like an essential injustice. He was more loyal than this. Didn’t he deserve more loyalty?
How could she betray him?
How could she ignore Master Eremis’ reasons for what he did, his commitment to Mordant’s survival, his ardor?
Both he and Geraden were trying to tell her who she was.
Without raising his head – without ceasing
his kisses and caresses, which seemed to draw her heart to the surface of her skin and inspire it with every touch – he whispered surely, “You are mine. I have claimed you. Whenever you think of another man – whenever you are tempted to doubt me – you will remember my lips upon your breasts, and you will cleave to me. You will do what I ask with Geraden.”
“Yes.” She was helpless to say anything else. What stubbornness she had left was already committed, holding her arms back from his neck, holding herself passive in his embrace. It would have been easier to give him her inexperienced passion and let him do what he desired with it. But she was too deeply sickened for that submission.
“You will do what I ask,” he repeated as if in litany.
“I will do what you ask.”
“When I am freed from this cell – for I will be freed. Do not ever doubt that I will be freed. If Lebbick does not recognize my innocence, I will free myself in spite of him. And when I am free, I will come to you. Then we will consummate these kisses, and I will take possession of your fine beauty utterly. There will be no part of your womanhood which I have not claimed – and no portion of my manhood which you have not accepted.”
“Yes,” she said again. For a moment, she wanted what he wanted, despite her nausea. “Yes.” As if she knew what her acquiescence meant.
“In that case” – he leaned back without warning, dropped his arms, released his knees – “you must leave me. You will be of no help at all if Lebbick finds you here. If he does not stretch his authority so far as to imprison you, he will certainly do his best to make sure that we cannot meet and talk again. Button your shirt and call Artagel.”
His change of mood and manner was so abrupt that she flushed with shame. “Yes.” Why did she keep repeating herself, offering him her assent over and over again like an idiot child? “Yes.” Her father’s moods had been sharply and inexplicably changeable, flashing from tolerance to anger for reasons she could never understand. Because of the ache in her stomach and the heat in her face, she didn’t look at Master Eremis again. She turned away; her hands shook as she hurried to do up her shirt and tuck it back into her pants.
For a moment, her throat refused to work. Then she whispered, “Artagel.”
“Speak louder, my lady,” Master Eremis suggested with cold mirth. “I doubt that he can hear you.”
Louder.
“Artagel. I’m done.” A croak in the back of her throat.
He wants me to betray Geraden.
Like a flowing shadow, Artagel appeared past the edge of the cell and reached the door. Then the door was open. “My lady,” he murmured, offering her his hand, his arm.
With the Master’s silence behind her like a wall, she moved to accept Artagel’s support.
He drew her out of the cell, paused almost negligibly to relock the door, then took her down the passage, out of sight of Master Eremis’ imprisonment.
“My lady,” he growled as soon as they were beyond hearing, “are you all right? What did he say to you?”
The concern in his voice was so quick and true – so much like his brother – that her knees grew weak, and she stumbled.
Sickness and shame. Desire and dismay. Master Eremis was right: she could never forget the touch of his lips and tongue; she was his; he could do anything he wanted with her. But what he wanted—! To spy on the person she most needed to trust, the man whose smile lifted her heart. To betray—
Artagel held her. “Terisa.” His eyes were bright and extreme. “What did that bastard say to you?”
It hurt. She should have cried out in simple protest. But that would ruin everything. He was Geraden’s brother. Despite his concern, the light in his eyes and the murderous half-smile on his lips, she couldn’t tell him what was wrong. If she did, he would tell Geraden. She understood that clearly. He might be willing to keep one or two things secret from Castellan Lebbick for her sake, but he wouldn’t keep secrets from Geraden.
To speak to him now would be the coward’s way to betray Master Eremis, to withdraw her allegiance and aid, her new passion, without having the courage to face Geraden and admit that she had chosen his side by default, that she preferred his friendship to Eremis’ love for no better reason than because she wasn’t brave enough to do otherwise.
With an effort, she found her balance and took her weight on her legs, easing the urgency of Artagel’s grasp. “I’m sorry.” When he let go of her arms, she pushed her hands through her hair. “I guess I really haven’t recovered from yesterday.”
“Are you sure that’s it?” Artagel’s concern made his voice rough. “You were better before you went in there. You look like Eremis just tried to rape you.”
He was so far from the truth that she let out a giggle.
That didn’t reassure him, however. Her giggle sounded ominously hysterical. And she had trouble making it stop.
She would have to give him a more cogent explanation if she wanted to deflect his alarm. “I’m sorry,” she repeated. Still giggling – and fighting it. “I don’t know what’s come over me. I’ve just had a lesson in humility.
“I told you I wanted to see if I could make people start talking to each other.” Abruptly, the artificial mirth ran out of her, and she found herself close to tears. “That’s going to be a lot harder than I thought.”
For a moment, he studied her sharply. Then he took her hand, drew it through his arm to comfort her, and moved her again in the direction of the guardroom. “Don’t worry about it, my lady. It was worth trying. It’s still worth trying. Master Eremis just” – his smile was perhaps a shade too fierce to offer much consolation – “isn’t very promising material to work with.”
In an effort to distract him, she asked, “Is it true that you and he used to be friends? Before Geraden turned you against him?”
He shrugged. “Sort of. Not really. I was never actually able to like him, but I didn’t have any reason for the way I felt, so I kept it to myself.” He glanced at her. “Geraden understands these things better than I do. And he knows Eremis a lot better. You ought to talk to him about it.”
She didn’t meet his gaze. “You trust Geraden completely, don’t you.”
Without hesitation, he replied, “He’s my brother.”
“Is that the only reason?”
Her question made him chuckle. “No, my lady, that’s not the only reason. It’s at least two reasons – experience and blood. We have five other brothers, you know. I’ve watched him with all of them.” Then his face darkened, and he turned her so that she had to look at him. “My lady, does Eremis think you shouldn’t trust Geraden?”
Kicking herself, she countered, “That isn’t what I meant. I don’t know if you realize what a strange position you’re in. As far as I can tell, you’re the only person in Orison everybody trusts. Even Master Eremis wants you on his side.” Her unexpected facility for lies – for using parts of the truth to disguise other parts – amazed and frightened her. “I want to know why you trust Geraden because I’m trying to understand you.”
Apparently, he believed her explanation; but he still didn’t know how to respond. After an awkward moment, he said in a tone of deliberate foolishness, as if her question embarrassed him, “It’s clean living, my lady. Nobody trusts anybody who overindulges in clean living. I’m more dissolute than practically everybody else, so I’m easier to trust.”
His reply was clearly intended as a joke, but she accepted it simply because she was relieved to get away from his seriousness.
“I never thought about it that way,” she murmured as she let him guide her down the corridor to the guardroom.
***
From the guardroom, they returned to the ballroom and the main halls of Orison. Now she wanted him to leave her; she couldn’t go on talking to him and still keep her emotions hidden. With frustrating gallantry, however, he insisted on escorting her most of the way toward her rooms. She was unable to detach herself from his attendance until they reached the tower that held her r
ooms. After thanking him abruptly, she hurried up the stairs as if she were fleeing from him.
But of course what she really fled from was the danger he represented – the danger that she would betray the choice she had to make before she was sure of it. She had said yes to Master Eremis, and yes again; but the illness in her stomach was getting worse. Artagel bore just enough resemblance to Geraden – and she had been just dishonest enough with him – to make what the Imager wanted of her vivid and appalling.
Pretend friendship.
Watch him.
Tell him nothing.
She feared she would throw up before she reached safety.
When she approached her door, however, one of the guards stepped forward, gave her a stiff bow, and said with gruff courtesy, “My lady, you have a visitor.”
For a second, she thought her knees were going to fail again. A visitor. Now? Oh, please. But she was tired of being so weak. Her emotional nausea itself acted like a kind of strength, enabling her to keep her legs under her, her head up, her voice quiet. “Who is it?”
The guard seemed discomfited. “We couldn’t refuse to let her in, my lady. You’ve never asked us to keep visitors out of your rooms.”
His self-defense made no sense, but Terisa didn’t try to understand it. “Who is it?” she repeated.
“The lady Elega.” At once, the guard added, “We couldn’t refuse her, could we? She’s the King’s daughter.”
From a distance, Terisa heard herself say, “Of course not. You did the right thing.” But she wasn’t paying much attention. The lady Elega – Myste’s impatient and discontented sister. Terisa hadn’t spoken to her since their awkward, disappointing lunch. On that occasion, Elega had protested, We are women like yourself, not self-serving men hungry for power. We can be trusted. This pretense is not needed with us. When Terisa had refused to give up her pretense of ordinariness, the lady Elega had looked the way Terisa herself felt now.
The Mirror of Her Dreams Page 47