On the one hand—Eric’s casual brutality had made her feel a little sick. On the other hand…what other choice did he have?
Eric’s duty required that very brutality of him, personally, and often. Maybe cultivating indifference was the only way he could go about his business without feeling sick all the time himself.
She went down to dinner feeling very little appetite for it, but hoping that Sebastian would be there. Right now she very much wanted to have simple conversation with someone who didn’t turn a man’s face into pulp without thinking twice about it. Sebastian was there, and he looked up with an expression on his face that told her he had been hoping she would arrive. “You’re back!” he exclaimed.
“Eric went on to the city,” she told him, before he could ask. She explained what had happened without going into the gruesome details, and her solution for the disposition of the poacher’s catch. He nodded as he listened.
“Thank you for the rabbit solution.” Then he sighed. “Eric almost beat the man to death, didn’t he?” he asked. “Never mind, I can tell from your expression, he did. There’s no point in telling him not to. I’ve tried. He retorts that he doesn’t tell me how to cast a spell, so I shouldn’t tell him how to be a Gamekeeper. Then he gives me very well-argued points about why this has to be done. And I have no refutation for him.”
She nodded slowly. “I thought of most of that myself. I can see it. I know that the constables are even worse, and I have no idea what his own Guild would do to him, but they are not refined men, the butchers, and they already have to work very hard to keep their reputation clean. I mean, that’s why they have a Guild and Guild rules and laws in the first place, so people will know they can trust what they buy. But I don’t like it, and it seems wrong.”
“We think too much,” Sebastian told her ruefully. “That’s what Eric would say. We keep trying to appeal to reason and finding a way to make sure punishments fit the crime. We keeping thinking that there must be a better way, while people like Eric say, ‘Breaking heads has always worked before, so there’s no reason to change.’”
She made a rude noise. “I’d be more inclined to say that everyone else thinks too little. And on that note, I’ve been reading that book about The Tradition you gave me, and it is not a comfort!”
He grimaced, and pushed his glasses up. He was always doing that, but then, they seemed to be perched on his nose with no real way to keep them in place other than the wires that wrapped around his ears. “It isn’t meant to be. Here, have some pie. Pie always makes me feel better.” Instead of waiting for the servant to do so, he reached across the table and put a generous wedge of pigeon pie on her plate.
Since she hadn’t been served anything yet, she took a forkful. It really was awfully good….
“I was wondering—is that why you’re in breeches?” he continued hesitantly. “And being all hearty and…”
“And acting like a boy… Yes,” she said. “I’m working at it very hard, in fact. Since Eric took it into his head that I need to be outside more, I’ve been in his company a lot. I admit, I like being outdoors. And the rest of the work in the stillroom will be making a few specialized things, mostly for you. I don’t embroider, I don’t need to sew, here, the servants take care of the household very nicely and being out makes me feel less like a prisoner. But…I… Eric is very fond of women…and I don’t mean in the sense of friendship.”
Sebastian’s face suddenly darkened. “If he’s offered insult to you, I’ll—”
“No!” she exclaimed. “Since I came here, he’s been quite…reasonable.” We won’t mention what he did before I came here. “No, but I could see The Tradition setting us both up for a star-crossed piece of nonsense, you know, The Lady and the Rogue sort of thing, and this was the easiest way I could see to prevent any such thing. I’m not even sure that I like Eric, and I certainly don’t need The Tradition forcing me to fall in love with him!”
“Ah. I’m glad to— I mean, it’s a good thing I gave you that book, then, so you can make up your own mind about things and not be forced into them by The Tradition. Especially that sort of thing. The Tradition really seems to favor putting people into…ah…romantic situations that are just not very wise.” Sebastian’s expression lightened, then darkened again. “Maybe I had better ask you to do the same with me,” he added sadly. “Push me into treating you like a little brother, or the Wizard’s Apprentice. Isn’t there a girl-in-breeches model for the Wizard’s Apprentice? I mean, there are some rather awful Traditions regarding werewolves. And I—”
“Oh, stop that,” she snapped. He did stop, looking at her owlishly from behind those thick lenses. “Really. The next thing you are going to do is start dressing in black and writing terrible poetry about your tormented soul, and if you do that, I will run off from here without the King’s leave. I scarcely think you are going to leap up from the table and tear my throat out before the cheese is served. There are only three nights in the month that you are a danger to anyone. And besides, I’ve found at least a couple Traditional tales in that book of yours where the werewolf protected the people he cared for.”
He looked up at that, startled. “You did? I never finished that part of the book. The other stories just made me feel so sick inside that I came close to throwing myself out of my window.”
“Yes, I did,” she said firmly. “And you know just as well as I do that since we know about The Tradition, we can make it work for us, instead of against us. As for throwing yourself out a window, you are not allowed to. The only way you go out a window is if you start writing bad poetry. Then I will pitch it out the window, and you to follow.”
She managed to startle a chuckle out of him.
“Obviously there is a Tradition, however small, of helpful were-beasts. So, since I know absolutely nothing about transformative magic and am going to be no help there, I propose that I ask the Godmother to find us all the Traditional tales of protective or guardian were-beasts and I’ll figure out what they all have in common. And as for you…” She eyed him critically. “You need to stop moping alone out here and go back to the society of other people. If you had other people around here, there wouldn’t be any talk of windows and going out them in a terminal fashion.”
His head came up like an alarmed horse. “But I can’t!” he exclaimed. “I’m—”
“A danger three nights a month. Yes, I know,” she retorted. “There are twenty-seven nights a month when you are not. Not to mention all the days. So why don’t you make use of them? You could use some sun! And don’t tell me that you get all the sun you need up there in your workroom. You need to get out. You need to see people. You need intelligent conversation! You need to remind people at Court that you still exist. And you need to do that so that the King can’t one day decide you are an inconvenience and make you vanish. And you know he would, if he thought he had to.”
Before he could answer, she went on. “Now, if you are just using this as an excuse because you really would rather be a hermit, that’s one thing. But otherwise, you are depriving yourself of a great deal of pleasure for no reason at all. And if all I had to depend on for conversation and company was Eric? I think I’d throw myself out of a window. He isn’t stupid, but his interests are so narrow I doubt I could slip a sheet of paper in between them.”
He stared at her in astonishment for a moment, then broke into laughter.
“All right,” he said, finally, wiping his eyes with his napkin. “You win. I’ll consult with the Godmother and the King and see what can be done. Bella, I am horribly sorry that I did this to you, but I can’t tell you how happy I have been since you arrived. You just keep looking at things and seeing answers where I couldn’t. I haven’t heard music in so long—”
“Oh, now that I can remedy!” she exclaimed. “Some of the Spirit Elementals actually are musicians, as you suggested. You can listen to them anytime you like. Just ask them.”
“I— Well.” He shook his head. “Do you have any id
ea of the amount of change you’ve made here for me in just the last month?”
She raised her chin. “Of course I do. I’ve stopped the waste in the kitchen, I’ve organized your stillroom, I’ve replenished many of your herbal supplies, I found out that some of the servants are quite intelligent and can talk, and that some of them are musicians—”
“All of that and more,” he replied, raising his hand to stop the flood of words. “That wasn’t what I meant. I meant, to me.”
She blinked at him. “Well, how can I?” she replied. “I don’t know what things were like before I came here, so I have nothing to compare now to.”
He laughed. “Bring logic into it, will you?”
She rolled her eyes. “Why not? No one else seems to.”
“Oh. Bah. There you go again. All right, let’s go continue your lessons. And as you probably guessed, yes, I have a mirror I can speak to the Godmother with, so we’ll go call her green-faced majordomo and tell him what we have discovered and deduced.” He stood up, and the servants swooped on the table, eager to take everything away. She moved quickly, to avoid being in a collision with a platter or bowl.
“For all we know, he does all her research and can tell us right away what Traditional Paths there are for protective were-beasts,” she said, as she followed him out into the hall.
“True enough.” He paused. “I would like to think I was being your protector instead of your predator…”
She got the oddest feeling when he said that. A sort of quivery feeling in her stomach, and a shiver on the back of her neck. But it wasn’t a bad feeling, as if her instincts were trying to warn her against something. And it wasn’t the feeling of pressure that The Tradition had given her over Eric.
But she shook her head a little, and brushed the feelings aside. There were more important things to deal with right now.
And for all she knew, it was just a draft.
“I told you that when you came here, no quarters I could give you were going to be worthy of you,” he continued. “It wasn’t just being gallant. I already knew you were brave. I didn’t know that you were kind and clever, I didn’t know how considerate you were of others, even those who are literally invisible. Now I know all that, and if I had the King’s suite, it wouldn’t be worthy of you.”
No…no, it wasn’t a draft. Now it wasn’t a shivery feeling, it was a feeling of warmth. She found herself smiling at him. He smiled back. Behind his spectacles, his eyes twinkled.
“I think you’re giving me more credit than I deserve,” she said awkwardly.
“And I think you’re giving yourself too little.” He winked at her. “But let’s not argue. Let’s see what the Godmother has to say.”
16
THE GREEN FACE HAD NO INFORMATION FOR THEM, but as Sebastian had suggested, he was one of the sources for the Godmother’s information. He promised that he himself would contact them when he had gathered as much as he could in the next day or two. Eric did not appear at supper, which did not surprise Sebastian.
“He’ll have stayed in the city. He generally does when he has a reason to go there,” Sebastian explained. “He gets money from our Factor in the city, and uses the Ducal town house—don’t get excited about that, I’ll bet it’s much smaller than your father’s house. I only keep on a Housekeeper there, but he won’t care; he eats at the taverns, anyway, and he visits the—” Sebastian stopped, flushing a bright crimson. “There are women,” he said, after a long pause. “He might be gone a couple of days, maybe longer. It’s been a while since he went to the city. He’s been working really hard since my little…escape. He could stay a week and I think he deserves it, if he needs it.”
“Ah,” she replied, without comment. “Well, would you like to listen to some music tonight? I’m going to—I asked Sapphire to tell the others.”
“Really? Yes, I would!” He brightened considerably. “Very much so! I haven’t—well, I haven’t had any music that wasn’t my own bad singing in years.”
“Have you taken any thought to what I suggested about going back to Court at least in the middle of the month?” she asked, pointedly.
“I’d rather wait and see what the King and the Godmother say,” he demurred, looking uneasily down into his soup.
“Now, is that because you don’t want to go, or—”
He interrupted her. “I want to go. I miss people. I miss music and libraries and talking and dancing. I even miss the ridiculous maneuvering at Court—since I was never a part of it, it was all pretty funny to watch. But…at the same time, it terrifies me. Everyone knows, or will know, that I’m a wizard now. I’m afraid people will be as afraid of a wizard as they would be of the beast.”
She pursed her lips. “Well…what did they think of you before?”
He shrugged. “Not much. I suppose I was sort of an amusing non-entity. Nobody bothered to trouble me because I wasn’t important enough to be a threat. I suppose at some point a desperate mother—or someone like your stepmother, anxious for any sort of title for her girl—would have started throwing a daughter at me, but it hadn’t happened yet. People liked me well enough. I know how to tell an amusing story, and even better, I know when a story isn’t amusing and I don’t tell it. I dance passably. I hunt well, and ride well. I don’t get into quarrels or, God forbid, duels. I play cards, but not for high stakes, and I’m not very lucky or very unlucky. I do—or did—have good discussions with the few folks who have scholarly inclinations, and some of the older people at Court. I’m a good listener.” He spread his hands wide. “There you have me. Such as I am. Quite forgettable.”
“Eat your soup and stop feeling sorry for yourself,” she said, a little sharply, because it did look as if he was about to mope. “You might not have made any fast friends, but it doesn’t sound as if you were trying. And unless someone at Court is responsible for your current condition, you didn’t make any enemies, either.”
He gave her one of his odd, sideways looks. “You really are a most unnatural female.” Strangely, that didn’t sound as if he meant it as an insult, or even a criticism. “I like that.”
“I’m glad someone does, since that is Genevieve’s chief complaint about me,” she replied. “Look, I just don’t see any point in obfuscation when there’s no need for it, and there isn’t, here. You are afraid that people will be afraid of your wizardly power, but that doesn’t necessarily have to happen. Now, weren’t you just telling me that people found you amusing?”
“More or less,” he admitted.
“Then keep being amusing, but add a few tricks,” she told him. “You know, silly little things. Nothing enormous. And when people ask you, just say modestly, ‘Oh, I can do a few things for parties.’ Not every wizard can call down lightning, after all! And yes, I know you can—” she said, stopping him before he could interject that, “—but they don’t have to know!”
He blinked at her. She had come to the conclusion that he blinked while he was thinking hard, not because she had baffled him or said something that made no sense. “I was an amusing fellow to have about because I had no real power and was not a threat. I will still be an amusing fellow to have about, perhaps even more amusing with a few petty tricks in my pocket, because they will think that I still have no power.” He smiled a little. “That all I am, you might say, is anecdotes and fireworks.”
“Can you do fireworks?” she asked, curiously.
He looked offended. “Of course I can. Every wizard can. The kind with charcoal and saltpeter, and the kind with Illusions. It’s rather expected of us. The Tradition demands it.”
She had to laugh at that. “So are you going to be the bumbling wizard?”
He blinked some more. “No…I’d rather not. The absentminded one would suit me better. The one that forgets he has a frog in his pocket.”
“Perhaps not a frog,” she suggested. “Not the best guest at a party.”
“Singing bird, then.” He pondered that. “I had better make friends with some birds.�
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“Cake crumbs,” she told him, out of a wealth of experience of being bored at outdoor galas and feeding a myriad of hungry songbirds with an endless stream of crumbled cakes.
“I’ll take that under advisement.” He finished his soup and looked at the next course curiously. “What in heaven’s name is that? It looks like one of those meat pies you get at taverns, only…elongated.”
“An experiment. We seem to have a superfluity of rabbits, so the cook suggested this might be nice.” The cook had suggested this variation on a beef dish, as something suitable for just two or three people; she trusted his—her—its judgment. Quite simply, it was mushroom-and-shallot paste spread over pastry, the whole then rolled around some boned pieces of rabbit.
“Forgive me if I’m a little worried about a dish that a creature who doesn’t eat has produced as an experiment.” Sebastian poked at it with his fork, dubiously, then cut off an end and tried it. His expression went from dubious to delighted. “It’s good!” he exclaimed.
She grinned, but said nothing.
It was dark by the time they were done, and one of the servants carried a candle ahead of them to light their way—which was just one of those things that reminded her that she wasn’t in an ordinary household anymore. She was usually in her own rooms by dark, and had gotten used to seeing—or not seeing—Sapphire puttering invisibly about. Seeing a floating candlestick…
“Now, how can I possibly invite people here when they’re going to see something like that?” he exclaimed, gesturing at the candle.
Well, well! Now he’s actually thinking about it!
“By making it into something people will want to see,” she pointed out. “Look, who were the folk you invited here in the first place?”
“Erm…mostly a few folk who came for the hunting,” he said. “I mean, the forest has been practically unhunted for years now. I probably have more game out here than any other noble within an easy ride of the city.”
Beauty and the Werewolf Page 25