Magic by Daylight

by Cynthia Bailey Pratt

  “Very well. I have promised to tell you what I know and I will. But first...”

  Dominic stepped closer to her, his eyes so intent she thought she saw the fire that made them smoke-colored. Moving slowly, as though to keep from frightening some wild creature, he slid his hand over her cheek and into the depths of her hair. She reached up, wrapping her fingers around his wrist but not with the intention of pulling his hand away.

  “Forgive me,” he said, “I may never have the chance again.”

  Clarice hesitated at that, but he did not. His mouth covered hers, moving with exquisite hunger that invoked her own desire. His arm closed around her waist, pulling her against his hard body. She gasped at the impact, her lips opening.

  At the same instant, Dominic made an effort to taste more of her yet. The touch of his tongue in her mouth should have filled her with disgust, but it did not. Clarice was flooded with the knowledge that the power of the Wilder World was nothing compared with the passion of two people linked so closely.

  Bent slightly backward, yet supported completely by his strength, Clarice slipped her hands up his arms to caress the back of his neck. She imitated the thrust of his tongue, wanting to know if Dominic felt something of the heat that threatened to burn away all the control she’d spent years building up.

  Dominic broke the kiss but not the embrace, holding her against his shoulder, his cheek on her hair. “You’ll never forgive me, Clarice. But I beg you to try. I couldn’t resist the temptation to kiss you as myself, just this once.”

  “I knew you were playing a part before. You couldn’t have been as cruel and boastful as you seemed, not after you’d been so very kind.”

  “I have never been kind to you.”

  His voice was harsh. Clarice shook back her hair to look up at him, confusion making her voice soft. “What is it, Dominic? Please, tell me.”

  He held her for one more moment, savoring until the last the warmth of her nearness, the orange-blossom fragrance of her hair, the sweetness of her breath. The memory of this moment would have to last him, he feared, for an horribly long time.

  Dominic would have rather felt the lash of the wyvern’s whip a thousand times than to force Clarice away from him. The whip would have pained him less. Gently, he grasped her shoulders—how well they fit into his hands!—and pushed her back.

  She stared at him in hurt wonder. It would have been so easy to kiss her again, to delay the inevitable moment when she learned the truth, to sink into the sweet sensuality of love and let duty go by. He was tempted beyond anything he’d ever known to do just that.

  Yet he knew he could not live with himself if he shirked this burden. Better she should learn the truth from the man who loved her, than from one of the Fay.

  “Clarice, I am your enemy.”

  “My ... ?”

  “I was not sent by Forgall to protect you; I was sent to keep you as a hostage.”

  Now he felt the lash sting his soul. It was there in her eyes as she took a step away from him. “My enemy? A hostage? I don’t understand. This has something to do with my mother, I take it. Everyone hints about her but no one says anything. What dreadful thing can she have done?”

  “She has destroyed the peace of the Living Lands. Even now, she sits in her fortress plotting the overthrow of King Forgall and all that we have built here. This has been a place of peace and a refuge of the People for centuries. She has destroyed that in less than ten of your years.”

  Clarice passed her hand over her brow. “Perhaps you should start at the beginning, Dominic. My mother came into the Living Lands ten years ago, though we put it about that she had died. What happened then?”

  “She wanted to be turned into one of the People. Everyone said Forgall was besotted for he granted that wish. Such a thing hadn’t happened in centuries, and then only when a human wished to joy a Fay lover. Usually a human will demand riches or power, not the chance to give up their souls.”

  “I am not certain that my mother’s soul was ever her chief concern,”

  He reached out to take her hand for comfort, but realized that she would surely recoil from his touch. He clenched his fist instead, hoping the bite of his nails would cover the agony in his heart. “You told me about your father, but you hardly mentioned your mother.”

  “That’s not important now. Go on. Did she say why she wanted to change?”

  “At first Matilda spun a tale of wanting to be free of earthly cares and pains, but it was not long before everyone saw the truth. She wanted ‘faery gold’ and gems. She bedecked herself in them and spent all her time creating them.”

  “ ‘Creating them’? That must have made her happy. My mother was ever fond of jewelry. She could never have too many rings. Her fingers were always covered with them.”

  “Greed like hers can never be satisfied. Soon we found she had developed some remarkably strong powers, strong as one of the oldest among the People. Almost as strong as Forgall. No one knows how she did that, but there have been whispers that she has allied herself with some dark power out of the Long Ago Before.”

  “The days of legend . ..” she said, half to herself.

  “Yes. How did you know?”

  She blinked. “I’m sorry. Please go on. What did my mother do next?”

  Her tone was hard, almost flippant, but Dominic was not fooled. There was hurt at the back of her words, and he felt it as though it were his own. He could do nothing, though he longed to take her in his arms once more.

  “Matilda took over an abandoned fortress called La’al. Long ago, a mighty sorcerer lived there on the cusp between the Wilder World and your own. Slowly, she has drawn to her the discontented among the People. . . .”

  “I would not have thought that there could be discontentment here.”

  “You like what you have seen of Mag Mell?”

  Clarice said softly, “It’s beautiful, even more beautiful than Hamdry Manor, but it could never be my home. If I had been born here, however, I could think of nothing better than to dwell here for eternity.”

  ‘That is, I daresay, how most of the People feel about Mag Mell. But there are always those who are disgruntled. In this instance, there are those among the People who want Boadach to return from Homashyl and take up his duties again. No one has ever returned from being a Sleeper. Your mother claims she has found a way to force his return. Though Forgall succeeded to the kingship in accordance with the Ancient Laws, not everyone was pleased. Boadach was our first king. He was harder than Forgall and he hated your kind.”

  “Our kind. Sometimes you speak as though you were one of them.”

  “Mag Mell is the only home I remember, Clarice. Long ago, they found me, a boy of no more than six, wandering on a dunghill, lost, hungry, and filthy. My parents died in some plague or other and there was no one in all the world to care for me. If it were not for the Fay needing warriors, I should have died long ago.”

  “King Morgain said... he said they have kept you alive all this time to fight for them.”

  Dominic inclined his head proudly. “It would be a waste of time indeed to train a warrior as I have been trained, only to see him die of old age before he can be useful. So they have given me the gift of long life and of honorable service. At least, I believed it to have been honorable. . . .”

  “How old are you?”

  “I cannot say for certain. I believe that I am about four hundred years old as time is measured in the human way. Time is different here.”

  “Four hundred years old?” She closed her eyes and swayed.

  Dominic guided her to the seat. She did not avoid his touch, though she stiffened and shrank away when he tried to put his arm about her. “Please don’t...”

  “As you wish.”

  He sat beside her, watching her with careful solicitude. Her eyes were closed yet he could see their dark centers move beneath the translucent lids. A pulse beat in her white throat, a tiny rhythm of time unaffected by the magic of the Lands of Fragrance
.

  She leaned her head upon her hand, her eyes still shut. “You said something of my being a hostage. I assume that you were sent to Hamdry for that reason.”

  “Forgall thought that if your mother knew we held you, she would sue for peace.”

  “Has she done so?”

  “No. Her answer was to send the Rider to find you. If you had been captured by him, you would at this moment be speaking with your mother.”

  “I see. Now I understand. Thank you for explaining everything.” She stood up, her gown displaying her magnificent figure to perfection. But it was not her beauty that made Dominic love her.

  His love had been born as she had struggled so hard against the wyvern’s whip about her wrist. She had fought it every step, though it was a weapon completely alien to her world and her ways. No one could have blamed her for panicking, or screaming, or indeed for any reaction born of her fear.

  But Clarice had dug in her heels, resisting valiantly as she’d been dragged, inch by inch, into the unknown. She had not surrendered.

  Dominic knew little of women, yet he had no doubt that not one in a hundred would have fought so hard for her freedom. He had been trained all his life to follow the orders of the Fay king, yet every human instinct he possessed had cheered for her. He’d never felt more human, or more ashamed when he defeated the Rider, knowing that he was keeping her from what she must wish for most, a reunion with her mother.

  Now, he realized that such a meeting might be bittersweet for Clarice. Nonetheless, he still felt that she should see Matilda if she wished. It was wrong for the king to keep her as a hostage for her mother’s good behavior.

  Clarice turned to him. “What becomes of me now, Dominic? My mother will undoubtedly try again to capture me. I have become, it seems, a valuable pawn in a game I did not even know was being played. What comes to me now?”

  “Believe me, if it were my decision, you would go free.”

  “Then I wish that it were your decision. As it is not...”

  “No, it is not. We are both pawns, Clarice. I cannot move except as my king commands.”

  “What does he command you do with me now? Or am I not to know.”

  “He wants me to take you home to Hamdry Manor.”

  Clarice walked a few steps with him. Then she said bitterly, “Only it isn’t the Manor, is it? It’s a clever copy, and my servants aren’t really Camber, Rose, and the rest but Fays made up to look like them. What has become of my servants?”

  “I will show you.” He cupped his hands about his mouth and shouted to the sky, “My king?”

  As though a curtain parted, the sky split in two. Forgall walked through the gap, seeming to bundle the sky and the meadow up in his arms. Where the sky had stretched to infinity in an intense swath of blue and where the meadow had seemed to flow away toward the horizon, there was now only fabric being pleated smaller and smaller. Just before he’d folded up the last corner, he gave the sky a shake and out rolled a silvery globe. Then the meadow and sky disappeared, perhaps up For-gall’s sleeve, perhaps into thin air.

  Clarice and Dominic stood again outside the dreamlike buildings of Mag Mell, their roofs merry with bird feathers. Forgall passed them, headed for the white tent. As he went by, he tossed something to Dominic, saying, “Take care, my son. I am not so hard as Boadach, but I have my limits.”

  Dominic bowed from the waist. A trifle late and very haughty, Clarice swished her skirts in the smallest of curtsies. Forgall only laughed at her insolence and went inside his tent.

  “Come and look, Clarice,” Dominic said.

  He held in his hands a clouded crystal ball. At first glance, it looked like a small model of the moon. Though still broad day, Clarice could tell by looking at his hands that the globe was giving off light, as pale and celestial as moonlight.

  Dominic said, “This is a scrying stone. It is unheard of for anyone but the king to look into it. You are honored.”

  He held it out for her closer inspection. It must have been surprisingly heavy for its size, for Dominic’s arms shook with the strain of holding it and she knew that he was exceptionally strong. Clarice looked into the stone and saw swirling vapors that glittered with a silver light.

  “You wanted to see your servants...”

  “Yes ...”

  She did see them. Camber sat with his elbows on the table, his cravat hanging. Lela sat like a coquette on the table beside him, flirting as hard as she could. Cook, her face disapproving enough to have curdled milk, beat something vigorously in a big copper bowl. They did not look worried or troubled in the least.

  “Have you put someone in my place?” she asked. The silvery mists swirled again and she saw Rose, busily brushing her mistress’s favorite riding habit. Because the stone gave very sharp, if tiny, images, Clarice could see quite clearly that the habit did not require cleaning.

  “They don’t know you are gone. They do the same tasks as always, serve dinner, take it away, lay out your night rail, bring up your water—everything. They do not notice that you are not there. They do the same for Morgain Half-Fay.”

  “But surely someone must call on me ... ?”

  “Your servants deny you to everyone. They say you are indisposed. Doctor Danby is away, as he told you. No one else doubts your servants. Would you?” The scrying stone’s inner clouds returned, covering over the tiny picture of Rose. “What else do you want to see?” Dominic asked.

  “Nothing more.”

  “Not even . .. Blaic?”

  “He cannot help me. No one can.”

  “You are right. No one can help you.”

  “You can’t keep me forever!” she said, her frustration mounting.

  “We don’t have to. Your mother has failed to capture you. I doubt she’ll try again. Now she must certainly sue for peace.” He tried to think of something to say that would comfort her. “Don’t be frightened. The king will not harm Matilda. That is not his way.”

  Clarice took a last look about her. Mag Mell was as beautiful as an opium-eater’s dream of paradise. Everything bore a luminous shine, rainbows seeming to flicker along every edge. The air was filled with the fragrances of a thousand flowers and everyone was beautiful and blithe.

  Turning to Dominic, she begged, “Take me back to Hamdry, or at least that Hamdry you have made for me. Please.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Clarice found herself outside her own front door. Though the fog had not lifted, it had moved farther off, so that Hamdry Manor stood in a circle of clear air. She could see all of the round drive before the house and a good piece of the lawn beyond it. She was entirely alone, wearing her own clothes, which had miraculously dried. Even her shawl was back about her shoulders.

  Taking a few steps away from the house, she leaned backward to look up at the roof. There were fantastic creatures sitting on the chimney pots, just as always. Unicorns, basilisks, chimeras, and more, decorated the edge according to the fancy of an ancestor. Once, one had led her to a treasure that had restored her family wealth when her mother’s lover had stolen everything. That had been the beginning of this odyssey into realms of legend.

  She’d always loved the creatures on the roof and it warmed her now to see them still, though they were no more than copies. Or were they? Suddenly, she became convinced that those beasts were not carved of stone anymore, but were entirely real. Real, and watching her.

  Opening the door, Clarice went inside quickly. Now that she knew the truth, she marveled at the perfection of detail. The Fay overlooked nothing.

  Catching sight of herself in a mirror, she noticed that she was frowning. Perhaps this was her real home. Perhaps they’d sent her back to her own place, hoping that she’d believe them and not try to leave to find help. That would be like them, cunning to the end.

  She crossed the entry hall, looking for some flaw to tell her the truth. Hurrying down the corridor, she entered the library. The warm smell of the leather bindings took her back to the days when her father wa
s still alive. How often had they pored over some intriguing volume with the aid of his magnifying glass, for his eyes had been nearly as poor as hers when it came to reading.

  Clarice pulled open the center drawer of his desk, which stuck just as always, and sought for the brass-handled glass. The drawer was nearly empty. A few loose and dusty pastilles, a crumpled page or two was all that met her questing fingers. The drawer stuck so tightly that she did not use it, though this was now her desk.

  Just as she was trying to force the drawer closed, a glint as of glass caught her eye. Reaching in again, she found the lens, but not the handle. Yet she was prepared to swear that the lens had not been there in any condition one moment before.

  Still fighting against the truth, Clarice told herself that she might have overlooked it. As for the metal handle and rim having gone missing, any one of the servants might have dropped the magnifier and rather than own up to the deed, had taken away the battered brass.

  Even as she came up with this notion, she dismissed it. Her servants knew they’d not be turned off for such a trivial mishap. No, if the brass handle and rim were missing it had to be because the Fay could not summon up metal.

  To test her theory, she rapped one of the bronze jars that stood on the mantelpiece. It gave out a dull thud. Using the lens, Clarice saw that the “bronze” was carefully painted wood. She heaved a great sigh. Morgain had been right. She would tell him so at once.

  As she turned to go, a book fell off the shelf on the far side of the room. Clarice considered ignoring it. If she had to remain here at this imitation manor, she could only retain her sanity by disregarding anything that could not have happened in her own realm. That was when the book began to thump itself repeatedly and insistently on the floor.

  Clarice left the library but she could still hear the thumping. Perhaps it would continue interminably. Tightening her lips, she returned and went over to where the book lay. It stopped making noise as she came in, opening of itself and riffling through its own pages.