Clarissa, I don't doubt, was enjoying the whole thing, happy to make the magician-prince look like a fool in front of the court; said court was beginning to buzz delightedly (and carefully, of course, out of Estmere's hearing) about the hostilities between the king's wife and the king's brother. And of course, foremost in their buzzing ranks were Baron Aldingar and his cronies, taking malicious delight in gossiping against me, never quite saying anything libelous, he and I both knowing that if I retaliated without proven cause, I'd look like a tyrant.
And how that would have thrilled Clarissa! Och, how I ached to put that . . . spoiled child in her place!
But losing control certainly wouldn't help matters. Instead, I decided to make one last stab at diplomacy. So I sat down in my tower study and wrote the queen a letter.
It wasn't easy. Even though, thanks to Estmere, I could now write in a reasonably fair hand, the proper flowery language of court etiquette has always eluded me. And what finally went down on the parchment after much agonizing was a blunt and simple:
"To Clarissa, queen and sister:
If life is to run smoothly and peacefully for Estmere and you and me, we two needs must speak honestly.
I pray you, grant me an audience, either alone or with your ladies in attendance.
Your husband's brother, and so, your own,
Aidan ap Nia."
I studied my handiwork with a critical eye. Not a masterpiece of subtlety or charm, but as good as it was likely to get.
Rolling up the parchment and sealing it with a drop of candle wax, I called for a page (no easy thing from my isolated tower; it meant leaning perilously out a window and shouting my request down to a passing guard). The boy I received at last was the one I'd healed of the knife wound: little Arn.
Or rather, not quite so little Arn. I smiled to myself at the bow he made me, a reasonably graceful thing despite his coltish new gawkiness of limb; a boy grows in quick spurts, and the child I had rescued was showing more than a few hints of the tall nobleman he would become.
"Take this message to the queen, lad."
He bowed even more deeply over the sealed parchment, his pride at being trusted with a royal errand spoiled only by the lock of yellow hair that promptly fell into his eyes. I bit back my amusement as the boy surreptitiously brushed back the unruly strand, started to bow again, thought better of it, and vanished with a determined:
"At once, Your Highness!"
But he was back in veiy short order, looking very young and very, very crestfallen. I saw the parchment still in his hand, and frowned. "That never saw the queen."
"No, Your Highness," he admitted in a subdued voice. "I . . ." He shook his head miserably, and I prodded gently:
"Go on. You know I won't hurt you."
Arn swallowed. "I d-did give your message to one of the queen's ladies, and she really did take it to the queen, I saw it. But when Her Majesty learned who had written the letter, she . . ." The boy paused as though desperately hunting a way out of a trap, then continued hopefully, "She said that her head ached so foully she would not even let one of her women read to her."
"Arn hachgen, we both know that's not what she really said."
"N-no . . ." He sounded on the verge of tears, but he continued bravely, "She said she would not touch a parchment written by a sorcerer, nor listen to a word of his—his dark spells— Your Highness, please, those were her words, not mine!"
Dark spells! Curse her, if she wanted dark spells— I spat out certain Words, and the parchment blazed up into flame in my hand.
I had forgotten about Arn. With a gasp of horror, he tore the fiery thing from me and hurled it into the fireplace, then whirled to me, white-faced.
"Are you hurt? Oh, are you hurt, my prince?"
My prince. "No, Arn."
"Oh. I . . ." He blushed. "Of course. It was enchanter's fire, wasn't it? I mean, it wouldn't really have burned you, would it?"
"It might have. You acted rightly, Arn." But he was trying to hide one hand behind his back, and with a sudden sharp pang of remorse I realized, "You're hurt!"
Predictably, the young hero said, "It's nothing."
"Come, let me see."
Fortunately it wasn't much of a burn; Arn had moved too quickly for serious injury. But that didn't stop me from a stab of guilt. Losing one's temper is one thing; losing magical control, another. I hastily took the smart from the reddened skin with a murmured spell, then added an herbal salve, very much aware of the boy's worshipful eyes as I worked.
"Don't look at me like that, Arn. I'm just a man, truly. And it's my fault you were burned."
He shook his head dramatically. "No matter. You are my prince. I owe you my life, and I shall not forget."
"Good. Now, how does that feel?"
He moved his hand experimentally, then gazed at me with new wonder. "It's completely healed, my prince!"
"Not completely. Keep it covered and—hey now, what are you doing?"
The boy had gone down on one knee, and I knew that if he'd been wearing a sword, it would have been sworn to my service then and there.
"Och, Arn, get up. I'm not belittling you or your bravery. But I . . . have other things on my mind."
"The queen," he said, greatly daring, then, with the desperate air of someone who knows he's speaking treason, burst out: "I think Her Majesty treats you shamefully! As though you were a s-servant, not a prince! She doesn't seem to realize what you could do with your powers to—"
"Enough." I stared severely at him, and he winced but bravely didn't look away. "I do not use my magic for harm. Is that understood?"
"I—I didn't mean—"
"And I trust you haven't been talking like this to anyone else?"
"No, my prince! Never!"
Unspoken was, I'd never be such a fool! A true courtier already, I mused, even if he was only . . . "What age are you now? Ten? Eleven?"
He straightened indignantly. "Nearly twelve, Your Highness."
"Ah. Pardon me, Master Arn." I fought not to smile. "I'm not mocking you, lad, really I'm not. And I do thank you for your concern. But now, I would be alone."
"As you will, my prince."
And even the hair falling once more into his eyes didn't spoil the dignity of his bow.
Once the boy was gone, I glanced at the fireplace. The magic-consumed parchment was nothing more than ash by then, but it began to glow a sullen orange as I murmured:
"Enough games, Clarissa. I must speak with you, and by y Duwis glân, I will."
And so it was that I set a summoning spell upon my brother's wife.
CHAPTER XV
BATTLE ROYAL
Now, I had carefully chosen both the time and the place of our meeting. Och, yes! Since castle folk were already gossiping about us, I certainly didn't want anyone thinking I was after the queen's honor or soul!
So it was innocent afternoon when a bemused Clarissa, her pale face softly flushed, her blue eyes dreamy, wandered gently towards me. The room into which she wandered was one of the smaller audience chambers, the same that Estmere often used for meeting with his advisors, private enough for a conversation but near enough to guards so that she wouldn't feel threatened.
I had learned at least some caution at court.
Which didn't reassure Clarissa in the least when I broke the thread of the summoning spell (which had been slight enough, no more than a focusing of will on a piece of fabric torn from one of her gowns), and she blinked and stared and slowly came to realize what had happened.
"Oh . . . oh my God, you've bewitched me!"
"Nothing more than a harmless—"
"How dare you!" The sudden ferocity took me aback. I stared foolishly at the bright spots of color on the pale cheeks, at the brilliant, blazing eyes as she cried, "How dare you try your foul sorcery—"
"Clarissa, please. Listen to me."
"And if I don't? What loathsome spell will you work this time? Well? Tell me!"
"No spell." I paused, searching
for the right words—hastily, before she could open her mouth again. "Look you, I admit I was a bit dramatic. And if I've offended you, pray forgive me. But I just couldn't think of any other way to speak with you. And speak we must."
"I think not! I—"
"Why do you hate me so much?"
That took her by surprise. She glared at me with eyes like bright blue ice. But there was more than a hint of fear beneath the ice, and I sighed and said, "No more enchantments. I promise."
"The word of a sorcerer!"
"The word of your husband's brother. Estmere is my closest kin. I love him. I want to see him happy. And I certainly don't want his wife as my enemy!"
Her eyes narrowed warily. "Oh, no. Such naivete may work on Estmere, not on me."
Naivete. I studied the woman, feeling in her such a turbulent mixture of emotions it fairly staggered me: the anger and confusion and insecurity of a pampered young woman thrown into a situation beyond her training. She fairly seethed with fury and fear and—
"Jealousy!" I said aloud, and Clarissa looked at me as though I'd gone mad. "I should have realized— You don't have to be jealous of me."
"Don't I? When all I hear from Estmere is 'Aidan this' and 'Aidan that'—"
She broke off abruptly, having plainly said more than she had intended, and I murmured, "It's more than simple jealousy, isn't it?"
"Oh most clever sorcerer! What, can't you read minds?"
Why do the magickless always focus on that? "No," I told her wearily. "Only emotions and the like. What would you tell me?"
"Nothing."
"Come, Clarissa, what would you tell me?"
For a stubborn moment more she was silent. Then all at once she burst out with, "Very well, there's this: the good Lord willing, I shall bear Estmere a son some day, a fine, strong son to be king after him. And, the good Lord willing, all our futures shall be bright. But—they can't be bright, not while your dark menace looms over us!"
"Menace!" I echoed, astonished. "Me? That's the most ridiculous—look you, I do have some royal blood in my veins. But—Gallu! The last thing I want is the burden of a crown!"
"I find that very difficult to believe."
"It's the truth. I would no more think of hurting Estmere or you or any child you might bear than I would—"
"Then why come all the way to court?"
I grit my teeth. "I went through all this with Estmere over a year ago. Ask him."
"I did. He evaded me with smooth words! If your motives are so pure, tell me why you came here."
"I came to be my brother's friend."
"A sorcerer? A sorcerer who—"
"Damnio chwi, will you listen to me?" I stopped short. "Forgive me. I didn't mean to say that."
"Didn't you?" Genuine terror blazed up in her eyes, terror of me, of my magic, of everything that didn't fit into her neat, predictable, civilized world, and I watched her cover it as best she could with rage. "Damnio means 'damn' in Anglic, doesn't it? The sound is close enough. You really would like to see me damned, wouldn't you? Damned and dead and out of your way!"
"No! Hush now, chwaer, sister, people will hear—"
"All they'll hear is the truth! You want me dead!"
"Stop that!" I snapped. "You're a queen. Stop acting like a child."
That got to her. With a stifled sob she fell silent. For some time we stood staring at each other. And a fire would have frozen beneath the chill hatred in her eyes. Then suddenly Clarissa gave a long, shuddering sigh.
"All right. No more shouting. Just this, sorcerer: I will not let you interfere with my life. I will not let you interfere with my marriage. Do you understand me? There is no place for you here, sorcerer, king's bastard though you be. I will not have you here!"
"Why, you ignorant, close-minded little—"
No!
Horrified, I felt wildfire blazing up within me and remembered the parchment bursting into flame. The first thing any wielder of Power must learn is that he must never, never lose control over himself, yet I had already hurt Arn, and now I was all aching to strike—
Duwies, no!
Furious and very much afraid of my fury, I turned and fled, leaving Clarissa to think what she would. Taking the first refuge I could find, I dove into the opening of a stairway (servants scuttling out of my way, aghast), and burned out my anger in climbing up and up the spiral till it ended at the small, flat, crenelated top of one of the taller palace towers. No one else was up on this high, windy space, and I let myself pant freely, leaning on the crenelations, a little dizzy from the height and my narrow perch, and by that point as angry with myself as with Clarissa.
You hurtyn! You idiot who call yourself a magician, yet can't even deal with a silly little girl who—
But thoughts of Clarissa were still too dangerous. Not wanting at all to be surprised by some patrolling guard, not while I was in such a foul mood, I set an Avoidance on the tower top, the simplest of things, barely a spell at all, akin to the way a deer misdirects attention from itself by just being part of its surroundings.
At least you're good for that! I snapped at myself, staring broodingly out over the city and the fertile fields beyond.
Was this what my mother had meant when she'd seen a strange and wondrous destiny for me? Was I to end up wasting my magic on spoiled little girls and small-minded courtiers? Was this—this pettiness all I was ever going to achieve?
Och, well, the slow afternoon passed in such bitter nonsense. As the day faded slowly into twilight, the sunset blazed up all around me, so mightily red and golden, so much bigger than anything merely human, that it jarred me back to myself All at once I was thoroughly sick of anger and self-pity both. I would go back down and see it there wasn't some way I could weave things back together with Clarissa. Much as I didn't want it.
But without warning the feel of magic, sharp, fierce, alien magic, was enfolding me: Tairyn! His image was wavering and unsure there in the air before me, but that he could manage any sending at all, with me not in receptive trance and the sun not yet below the horizon, hinted at such incredible Power that a chill little shiver prickled up my spine.
"Not now," I groaned before I could stop myself. "I haven't time for Faerie right now."
"Unfortunate." It could not have been said with more scorn. "Remember your vow."
It took me a startled moment to realize Tairyn had to mean the one I'd sworn to him so long ago. What, exactly, had I said? To come when they have need of me— "No," I said, "och, no. I can't. Tairyn, I'm sorry, but this really isn't a very good time to—"
"A child has died." For the first time since I'd met him, emotion echoed in Tairyn's voice: clear, sharp pain. "One of my subjects has been slain, yet I could do nothing." The slanted green eyes, the clearest part of the image, stared at me with such bitter anguish I couldn't meet their gaze. "Do you think I would come to you, to a human, for aid if I had any choice?"
What would I say? A child slain . . . Sorrow enough for humans, but I knew how fiercely the children of mostly infertile Faerie were loved. The anguish blazing from the Faerie Lord's eyes burned at me.
Vows within vows . . . I thought uneasily, and asked, as politely as I could, "You will return me to this place and time when we are done?"
He dipped his head in the curtest nod. "My word on it."
Bound by my vow to him, I could do nothing else after that but say, "I will come. But how—"
"Call." With that, Tairyn's image flickered and was gone. "Call," one last mind whisper told me.
Call. Call for what? Couldn't Tairyn do anything without mystery? What manner of ride had he arranged for me?
But before I did any riding at all, I detoured hastily down to the kitchen for a flask of water and a rider's carrying bag of food—dried meat, dried fruit, lightweight, nourishing and durable. Tairyn might need me right now, but that didn't mean I could trust him; I was not going to risk being ensorcelled by Faerie food or drink. Just in case, I also stopped in my chambers long eno
ugh to snatch up my Faerie sword and belt it about my waist. But you didn't keep an Otherly being waiting, so I raced down from my tower and back up the winding stairs to the other tower's flat roof, where I stood panting and wondering.
Call, Tairyn had said, and call, once I had the breath, I did, trying not to mind that I had no idea what I might be summoning.
And something came, great-winged and huge against the fading sunset.
"Gallu . . ."
Tairyn had sent me a griffin. Och, yes, most folks think such creatures only fable. But there wasn't any doubt that the beast coming to a nervous, beak-clashing landing was real. I could see it, hear it, smell it as it perched with delicate unease on the tower's narrow crenelation, all four feet together like a cat.
For a time I did nothing sensible at all, staring like any magickless boy in open-mouthed wonder. Childhood memory awoke, reminding me that for all their fantastic appearance, griffins are perfectly real, if exquisitely rare, animals. They're found more often in Faerie than in our mundane realm, but they can cross over easily enough if permitted; being true beasts, they're not bothered by mortal air or sunlight.
Which was presumably why Tairyn had sent this one. Of course, being Tairyn, he'd never deigned to see if the beast was tame; that, I could almost hear his cold voice say, was my problem.
A problem I'd better start solving. The griffin, a young male in the first flush of adult strength, was showing every sign of wanting to be up and away from this place that reeked of humanity.
"Gently, my lovely one," I crooned to him in the Faerie tongue. "I mean you no harm. Come, sniff my hand."
I was prepared to snatch it back to safely if the griffin showed any hunger for human fingers. But the beast must have scented the magic within me, for in the next moment he stepped with elegant care off the crenelation to stand beside me, just barely fitting in that narrow space. Crowded up against me, the warm, furry, not-quite-cat, not-quite-bird smell of him all around me, he let me scratch behind his tufted ears while he kept up a rumbling purr, and I smiled.
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