Light in the Darkness
Page 68
Something told her the most difficult part was yet to come. She should have thought about the consequences. Of course he would ask questions. She should have thought of that.
“Here’s Drakon Atlantea, by MacCrimmon. My father says it’s the best basic reference he knows. Oh, and this has an account of the survivors of the wreck of the Mhaire Dhu that might be interesting.” Ardhuin laid the volumes down on the coverlet. Dominic picked up one with an effort and opened it. After two days of rest he claimed he was feeling much better. Ardhuin had only noticed slight improvement and great boredom. He was certainly complaining about getting behind with his writing.
Feeling guilty, she had offered him books to read for research. She’d also unearthed an old quilted silk dressing gown that had belonged to her great-uncle and had somehow remained hidden in a clothes press. Since Yves Morlais had been very slender, it did not close in front as completely as it should, something she tried not to notice with indifferent success.
“It’s no use,” he sighed, letting the book fall from his hands. “I can’t read more than a few lines before my eyes start to hurt. What am I going to do?” His fingers moved restlessly over the open pages.
Why was he so impatient? Hadn’t he said he had earned enough to get through the winter? “Wait until you are stronger,” Ardhuin said, already knowing he wouldn’t listen to her. “I’ll leave the book here.” She reached for it, but his hands closed on the cover.
“You could read it to me.”
She could, except that she was trying desperately to stay away as much as possible. She’d already proved her judgment was poor where he was concerned. If she read to him, though, he would probably fall asleep and she could escape without him noticing. She’d always found being read to rather stupefying, herself.
Ardhuin sighed. “Very well.” She adjusted the chair so the curtains hid him from view, claiming she needed the light from the lamp to read and that it would hurt his eyes. Besides, she could make herself comfortable in the armchair—meaning unladylike—without his seeing. She picked up the book on dragons and tucked one leg under herself on the seat.
Ardhuin read two chapters before a dry throat and coughing made her unable to continue.
“I can recommend the brandy,” Dominic said helpfully from the shadows of the bed.
“Good idea,” coughed Ardhuin, and poured a small drop in the glass. It burned all the way down when she swallowed, but it stopped the coughing. Most likely because she couldn’t feel her throat at all anymore.
“Oh my,” she wheezed. “Is it supposed to do that? Make your blood feel molten?”
He chuckled. “The better variety, yes. And that is the best I’ve ever had the pleasure of drinking. What kind is it?”
Ardhuin peered at the dusty, faded label. “It says, ‘Eau de Vie,
1809,' ” she said, and nearly dropped the bottle when he yelled, “What?!”
She scrambled to her feet, looking in at him. He stared back at her with horror.
“Are you quite sure you read that right?” he whispered.
She held up the bottle. “See for yourself. Why? Is it bad?”
He closed his eyes, and she worried anew until she saw he was shaking with laughter. “Ardhuin, Eau de Vie brandy is considered an appropriate gift between royal houses. People like me don’t even get to see the bottle, much less taste the contents. That’s a very old year, too. You could have sold it for an ungodly sum! Where did you get it?”
“I just found it in the cellar,” Ardhuin said numbly. “My great-uncle must have—” she gave him a suspicious look. “How do you know my first name?”
“It was on a letter Michel delivered to you. That,” he said, grinning, “was how I discovered how your clever cupboard in the port-cochère works. Quite useful, unless you happen to be an unsuspecting traveler with luggage.”
It just kept getting worse and worse. How could she stop him from discovering the rest? Anything she could do, he would notice. She’d trained him to notice.
“Ardhuin.” The amusement had left his face. “I was just teasing you.”
She tried to smile. Make it seem unimportant. “I just…you must be careful. If you mention it to anyone, if word got to the authorities….”
“I will say nothing. Not even in jest.” He hesitated. “Does anyone else know you are a magician? Your parents, I assume. I am surprised they do not object to your living here alone, even with your defenses.”
Ardhuin felt her stomach knot, and she wandered to the table to set down the bottle of brandy. “They…ah, don’t know.”
“Don’t know you are a magician?”
The heat was radiating from her now. She must be completely red, hair and face together. “They think I’m still at school,” she mumbled. “At least, I haven’t told them I’m not.”
She had gone so far as to suggest that some of her mother’s letters had gone missing, especially the ones with awkward questions. Her brothers wrote to her here and did not seem to notice the discrepancy, but the school forwarded the rest. She had told the headmistress she still had complex business with her great-uncle’s estate, and so far the excuse had held. Eventually, though, her charade would collapse.
She’d just have to hope her parents wouldn’t return until she’d solved her problem here. And then…and then it would be over. Her mother would make her go home and insist on her going to parties and dancing and she would be miserable again.
“Why haven’t you told them? Are you angry with them for some reason? Do you dislike them?”
She snapped her head up. “No, I love them dearly! It’s just that—” how could she explain? “They won’t let me live like this. I have to be proper, which as far as I can see means never having any fun. I had a lot of fun on the expeditions,” she said wistfully. “When they let me go.”
“You went on expeditions?” Dominic asked, eyes lighting up with interest. “Where?”
Ardhuin gestured at the book on dragons. “Well, that dragonscale you saw came from Yunwiya. My father is a biologist, you see, and my mother does very good watercolor illustrations, so they asked her to come as well.”
“Yunwiya!” Dominic lay and thought about it for a while. “What is it like?”
Ardhuin smiled, remembering. “Green. Trees everywhere, vines, everything growing and green. The people were very friendly, too. We were out in the mountains, of course. I played with the Yunwiyan children my age and had a wonderful time. I wanted to stay forever.”
The children had accepted her without question, flaming hair, lanky legs and all. Maybe they thought all foreigners looked like her. They had taught her to track, and to hunt using a sling. She’d even wrestled with them and helped them steal honey from wild bee nests. None of them had called her ugly.
Then, one day, she had killed a rabbit with her sling. Her very first kill. Yunwiyans considered that an important milestone, to be commemorated with dark marks permanently drawn on the body and other ceremonies. She’d asked her mother if she could get the markings too, and that’s when everything had changed. She was no longer allowed to play with the children. She had to sit with her mother every minute for the rest of their stay.
After their return to Atlantea, she was sent to the school in Rennes. No hunting, no wrestling, no running up mountains.
Dominic sighed. “I want to travel there someday.” She heard him shifting restlessly. “Do you think you can keep your parents from discovering how long you have been here?”
She collapsed back in the chair, feeling her stomach knot with tension. “I have to. If my mother finds out….”
“What of your father?”
Ardhuin shrugged. “He’s much more reasonable, actually. Sometimes I think he forgets I’m not a boy. I have three older brothers, you see, so he became accustomed.”
Dominic chuckled. “He didn’t notice any difference?”
“Not really. Now, if I had been a Three-toed Lesser Granski’s Sloth, he would have been able to write
a monograph on the subject.” It would have been much better for everyone if she had been a boy. Her magic would not be a problem, and her mother would not constantly be trying to make her behave properly. Her brothers certainly didn’t have to put up with what she went through.
“I hope it will not be too much of a shock when I write to him,” Dominic said.
Ardhuin froze. “Write to him?” she said faintly, when she could breathe again. “Why?”
“To let him know we’re getting married.”
She was on her feet and facing him before she realized what she was doing. Anger and humiliation tightened her throat so she could barely speak. She’d thought dancing classes were the worst thing in the world, but no longer. Somehow it was even worse coming from him.
Dominic, seeing her expression, took a deep breath and drew back on the pillows.
“He’ll be angry, of course, but I will encourage him to be angry only with me,” Dominic said rapidly. “He’ll be even more angry if we don’t tell him, Ardhuin. I—I won’t mention we met here. Where is this school of yours?” he asked, starting to look desperate.
“You don’t have to tell him anything,” Ardhuin gritted through her teeth. “We’re not getting married. It is generous of you, but unnecessary,” she muttered. He was being honorable, and it hurt. She just wanted the whole thing to go away, so she could be miserable in peace.
“It is very necessary. What if—”
“No one knows except us,” Ardhuin insisted.
Dominic looked away, and she could see dark color on his face. “You don’t understand,” he said, in a strained, uncomfortable voice. “There could be…consequences. For you. I have little to offer, but at least I can do this much.”
Now it was her turn to go red. “No consequences. I mean, not that.” Seeing him start to speak again, distressed, she plunged ahead. “I know what you mean, and it can’t happen. I won’t have a child. It’s a spell.”
Dominic sighed. “How can you be sure you did it correctly? You might have been slightly distracted at the time.”
“I didn’t do it.”
She could see him take this information, examine it, and follow to the logical conclusion. It fascinated her to see how quickly his mind worked. What she did not expect was his growing expression of anger.
“Your great-uncle, I presume? Did he ask your permission to do this, or condescend to give an explanation?”
Why was he so angry? He should be glad there was no need for his chivalric sacrifice.
“He did ask my permission. I suppose it is shocking, but he never cared for convention. I can remove the spell whenever I wish,” Ardhuin said. Dominic still had a skeptical expression, and she couldn’t tell him why her great-uncle had felt the need. She could not convince her great-uncle that she was never going to marry and thus was not at risk of a poorly timed confinement. He had been worried she might be with child when she was required to fulfill her duties as Mage Guardian. Now, of course, she was glad he had taken the precaution. “No one will know,” she repeated.
“I’ll know,” Dominic snapped. “How can you even think I would abandon you like that?”
How her jaw hurt! His stubbornness was giving her a headache. “You don’t have to marry me. I don’t have to marry anybody. And you can’t write to my parents. Even I don’t know where they are right now! They are traveling on an extended tour of some remote islands. With very irregular mail service,” she added pointedly. She picked up the book from where it had fallen and placed it with a thump on the table beside the bed.
“You need to rest,” she said, and ran away.
More than a week passed before Dominic was able to leave his bed, and longer before he was able to sit up for more than a few hours. It was better now, since she no longer was required to spend so much time with him. Still, Ardhuin felt something pending in the air between them, like a spell of great power that had been invoked but not activated.
They were very cautious with each other, in conversation and in everything else. The subject of marriage was not even obliquely referenced, but she knew he had not accepted her decision. She couldn’t tell what he was thinking, though. And he spent long hours, longer than he should, writing furiously in the library.
She wasn’t sure if she liked that or not. It had been her private reserve for so many months it felt odd to see another person there. He did not disturb her studies, though, and she was not about to give up her comfort and go elsewhere.
Ardhuin glanced up from her book to check the fire. It could benefit from another log or two, but there were none in the woodbox. She got up and went as quietly as she could towards the door.
“That spell you have on the woodshed door—it doesn’t touch the hinges,” Dominic observed without raising his head.
“Magic and iron don’t work well together,” Ardhuin answered, narrowing her eyes at him. “It can be done, but it puts a great strain on the structure. And you had no business going down there again anyway. You shouldn’t be carrying anything up three flights of stairs yet, and if you would simply listen to reason I would not have to use spells to prevent it.”
“I’m much better,” he said, looking up at her and smiling. “So much so I should probably return to my own lodging. This is too comfortable.”
He was absolutely right, of course. Ardhuin struggled with herself, and the almost equal impulses to make him leave and make him stay. She glanced at the fire again.
“It’s getting cold now; you’ll need a fire. Do you have any firewood there? And what about food? You’re starting to eat again. I don’t think you are strong enough yet to walk to Baranton and back. Wait a few more days.”
“I’m really quite recovered,” Dominic murmured.
Rather than continue to loom over him, Ardhuin sat on a corner of the table he was using. “Yes, you are much improved. However, consider for a moment that you have not walked anything near that distance since your illness. I grant you might be able to reach the town, but then you will be tired and carrying a burden when you return. Besides, do you really think you can carry everything you need?”
Dominic sighed and leaned back in his chair, wiping his ink-spattered fingers with his handkerchief. “No, I suppose not. Even with my health perfectly restored. I had thought Michel could deliver—”
“Michel?” He’d mentioned that name before, and she hadn’t paid attention.
“The carter who delivers your orders. He was with the rescue party, too.”
Ardhuin brightened. “An excellent idea. In fact, why not have him take you to Baranton? He’ll be coming here soon anyway to make a delivery. You can leave him a note.”
“And I can arrange beforehand for what I need as well,” Dominic said, nodding with enthusiasm. “Yes, that will work.” He reached for a fresh sheet of paper and started composing his message to Michel.
The note, left in the port-cochère, was returned with a crude “yes” scribbled on it in pencil. On the designated day, it was especially cold, so Ardhuin searched the attic and found a heavy greatcoat, smelling strongly of camphor, and a long muffler.
“I am not going to the polar regions,” Dominic said with an expression of mock horror. He could just get the coat buttoned, and the bottom edge came down almost to his ankles. “But I believe I could, in this.”
She laughed and saw him out the door into the bright, cold day. He had a neat brown paper parcel containing his latest writing and two letters he intended to post, and an eager expression in his eyes. His face was still more gaunt than she liked, but it was starting to fill out again.
Well, it would be hard for anyone to be cooped up for as long as he had been, and he was feeling better. Ardhuin frowned at the suddenly empty house and decided she needed a cup of tea. Now she could sit in the library, prop her feet up, and think. Dominic’s illness had diverted her attention, but the larger problem remained. Someone with powerful magic at their disposal had attempted to destroy the mage Oron, and herself as well.
It was a letter. Her heart raced, terrified it was from her parents and that Dominic might have seen the superscription. Then she saw the stamp, and the strange, heavy lettering she didn’t recognize. For her great-uncle? No, it was addressed to her. And directed to Peran. How strange.
She made her tea and took letter and cup to the library, to puzzle it out in comfort before the fire. She curled up in one of the large leather chairs and studied the envelope. From Preusa? Who did she know in Preusa?
The letter was only a single sheet, but closely written in a clear, angular hand.
My dear Miss Andrews—perhaps you may recall me from our shared time at the Metan Seminary. I am now in Baerlen. The von Kitren family has always had a member serve at court, and I have been given permission to do so in my brother’s stead. I hope you will forgive the imposition, but I believe you may be able to help the government I now serve. I have reason to think you may know something of a powerful mage, a mage using the name Oron. We have need of his help. If you are in contact with him, I beg you tell him this: his Majesty has invoked the compact of the Guardians.
She took a sip of tea numbly, reading the rest of the letter without comprehension. It was signed “Gutrune.” Gutrune von Kitren. There had been a Preusan girl at the school a few years older than Ardhuin, memorable because she was also a foreigner and not actively malicious. By comparison to the others, that made her a friend. They had talked on occasion, but Gutrune had not been outgoing by nature. Now she remembered that Gutrune had mentioned her parents were attached to the Preusan legation at Rennes.
Ardhuin read the letter again, slowly, forcing herself to understand. And then she did. Distantly, she heard something fragile fall and break on the floor. She didn’t care.
I can’t do this. I’m not ready.