“You won’t stay? For the, the—” She could not bring herself to say coronation. It was embarrassingly silly, the mere idea. “Arthur’s plans?” she finished, knowing it was just as silly.
Senrid shook his head. “Lighter speeches about the Blessed Twelve and New Eras and Great Magic and all that I think I can miss. They won’t want to see me snoring in the background. Wouldn’t look good in the forty-eight verse ballads I’m sure the local poets are busy scribbling up for the morale-lifting of the world.”
Liere’s emotions veered between dismay and laughter, and laughter won. “It’s so stupid! Me. Here.”
“No stupider than anyone else.” Senrid backed toward the door.
“Wait. Will you visit? When you’re done?”
He smiled, a real smile. “Sure. If. A big if. If the if comes true, I’ll visit, and we can argue over whatever they tell you about history. And you’ll have to come south for a personal tour of the Evil Marloven Hess.”
There it was, a true invitation. Not for Sartora. For herself.
“I will come,” Liere said. “Soon’s you get all your own things done. Happy New Year, and fare well.”
He left.
o0o
A month later, Liere sat in her reception room with her friends as outside lightning flared and thunder rumbled.
She wasn’t watching the ridiculous word-game that Faline and Sherry Sherwood had invented. She was assessing her life.
She still felt like she was playacting, only not in front of Town Hall in South End, but in a real palace. She had several rooms to herself—and if she wanted could have more. She shared the palace, and the “royalty,” with a boy she’d only met four weeks before, but they got along well.
The very first thing Arthur had shown her was the library. She smiled, thinking back to that day; they were hungry, and tired, and dirty, and he’d been crying so much his nose ran, but he just had to show her the library first.
And he’d been right. Somehow the idea of living in a palace had been a lot less awful once she’d realized how close she’d be to all those books of knowledge, wisdom, wonder—answers to all her questions, at long last. And all right there for her whenever she wanted. Nobody would chase her out to go fold dried sheets, or to do proper girl chores. No one would chase her out for being a kid, and too young to understand.
She had a real royal anteroom, with a carved and gilt ceiling, and fine furnishings in the old carved-and-curved Sartoran style, and its own fireplace. The warm air smelled of the fresh berry buns they’d all just been served.
Arthur was perched on a hassock, listening to the game. One of his ever-present books lay near his hand.
He studied constantly. Despite what he’d said about meaning, he really believed that Bereth Ferian could become a center of magic and learning. Evend and his two predecessors had been collecting histories, and magic books, for many years. Arthur seemed determined to master every single one. And he knew his map at least as well as Senrid.
Senrid. How was he doing? Liere had heard nothing.
The days had been filled with studies, and reports of recovery from all over the world—these latter at first sporadic, then frequent, now rare again. It seemed that, just as Winn had once said, as life returned to normal people focused more on concerns close to home.
Liere smiled, thinking of Winn and Faris now off adventuring somewhere to the south, their marriage-trip being a quest for causes that required their skills.
But where was Siamis?
Liere thought of the silver sword lying in the old treasure room at the other end of the palace. In spite of the celebrations, and the songs, none of the older mages acted like the danger was over. Oalthoreh had pruned her lips when she showed Liere the sword in the treasure room, saying, “He didn’t leave it by accident. He’ll be back for it. But we mean to be ready.”
Liere hoped they were wrong. When she remembered the great alliance, she could believe that Norsunder was truly defeated, and that the great New Era was nigh. Except that Rina had vanished the very day of the defeat, and no more animals came around with messages or anything else.
Quiet, definitely. Peace? She hoped so.
“No! Gnackles are not the same as grackles,” Irene cut in.
Kyale Marlonen put her hands on her hips. “I can call a villain a grackle if I want to. They are stupid-looking birds.”
Faline nodded. “Kitty gets her point.”
Diana snorted. “Then I can use bear, or cat—”
“But those aren’t funny,” Deirdre Weiss said reasonably.
Deirdre was happy after Oalthoreh had accepted her as a magic student. I’ll never get bespelled again, Deirdre had said, after Liere disenchanted her. Then she burst into tears, and no one knew what to say, or to do. Liere sensed how the adult mages all knew how they would feel, to discover that they’d been bespelled to follow a villain around for ages, and nobody had said anything mean to any of the four off-worlders.
Deirdre hugged her knees against her chest. “Grackle is funny!”
“You keep changing the rules.” Irene sighed loud enough to flutter the curtains.
“Of course,” Faline agreed, looking surprised. “It’s more fun that way.”
The girls—except for Dhana—went on arguing happily; they were waiting out the thunderstorm so they could continue an outside game that had been running for days. Dhana was out dancing through the rain, and reveling in it.
Liere felt cozy and wistful. She knew she’d miss them all, Kitty included. Kitty was a lot of fun when she forgot to be Princess Kyale. But Clair Sherwood, who never talked much in groups, seemed to be ready to take her magic slates and the other girls and go home. Her aunt had assured her during the first week by magic message that all was well—so well that Mearsieanne was going to accede at last to the wishes of Troy of Wnelder Vee and help him establish some kind of government.
Liere knew that someone had asked the Mearsieans to stay with her and Arthur, to help them adjust to a new life—but the life was no longer new, and they had their own home.
Leander had gone home to clear away Norsundrian spells and make some wards. Faced with the prospect of him being busy day and night, Kitty had gladly volunteered to stay and take her part in the continuous games.
Liere had given up hoping that Clair would suddenly invite her to come to Mearsies Heili and be one of the girls. Could she ever be one of the girls? Even when she ran and laughed and threw pies, the shadow of Sartora was stuck to her. She saw herself trying to act like the others, just as she’d copied Marga’s friends during her horrible life in South End. Not only their actions, but sometimes she forced the laughter that seemed to come to the others so naturally—forced it so she would look the same and sound the same, and she hoped that by pretending it would become real, but somehow it never quite did.
And she suspected Clair knew it.
She was right.
Clair and CJ had held a brief, private talk the very night of their return, while everyone was either celebrating, talking, or grieving alone. The two girls had sneaked outside to the garden, at first looking at the rows of golden windows behind which happy people moved back and forth, celebrating. They’d wandered out onto the lawn, fragrant with the smells of flowers both familiar and unknown, and then lay down on the soft grass to stare up at the amazing lights shimmering and hissing across the skies. Clair was thinking that they reminded her a little of the Enchanted Lake, and CJ wishing she had some kind of music to match with the dancing lights.
Clair said, “Shall we ask Liere to come back and join the gang?”
“I think she needs us,” CJ said, then grimaced. “I know that sounds snobby. I mean, she just seemed so happy in the Junky.”
“Oh, yes—well, sometimes, then other times, no,” Clair said slowly. “But I’m not so sure these mages and others would let her come. They’re already talking about making her the replacement for Evend.”
CJ’s eyes rounded. “Wow. Talk about unfa
ir to Arthur!”
“Except he wants her to stay. It was his idea, in fact. I overheard him talking to Oalthoreh, just after dinner, when Frederic was telling Winn and the others what he remembered about Siamis. I don’t think Arthur wants to be a king any more than you do.”
CJ grinned at the idea of being a king, then sighed. “Well, I don’t know if having Sartora join the girls would be a good thing.” She struggled with her feelings, and Clair waited until CJ finally said, “It’s not the DY, the mind stuff, so much. I guess we’d get used to that. It’s how we’d, oh, never be the same again.”
“Nothing is the same,” Clair said reasonably.
“I know that! But having a world-famous person join us would mean, oh, it wouldn’t be us anymore, it would be us plus Sartora. She could do pie fights with us—but then some mage or other would zoom in and she’d be off world-saving. No. That isn’t it, either. You do things with us and queen things, and no one minds. I dunno, it just doesn’t feel like she’d ever really be one of the girls, she’d be Sartora staying with us girls.”
Clair sighed. “I agree. In fact, it might be less painful not to force her to make a choice. I know she wants to come. I think she thinks her duty is here. And I’m not so sure how much she’d like how we live every day. Visits are different.”
CJ made a terrible face at the sky. “The whole Sartora thing makes me itch. Oh well. Nobody asked my opinion before they stuck her with that name. ‘Sides, Arthur hasn’t got anybody, and we’ve still got ourselves. Since he seems to want to invite her here, he should get a chance to have a friend who’s not a grownup—they can read magic books all day, and when they’re in the mood for pie fights, well, he’s got plenty of magic and he knows how to transfer to us.” She heaved a loud sigh. “Anyway, it would be nasty and horrible if we had her join the gang, because . . . you know.”
“Yeah,” Clair said quickly.
Neither of them wanted to put that ‘you know’ into words, because they both felt ambivalent about Irene’s private declaration one night, Everybody knows I’m always ready to make new friends. And I like visitors. But if Devon comes to stay, I’m going. If I wanted a governess, I would have stayed home.
Though a few had said nice things about Devon, and everyone agreed that they liked her, no one had said anything about having her stay. And if Liere was invited, they would have to invite Devon, too.
Clair blinked up at the stars. “Then it’s decided. We’ll make it clear they can visit whenever they wish, so no one gets their feelings hurt.”
CJ said, “Good idea.”
o0o
And so the month passed, and the Mearsieans stayed, but did not speak of the future. Gradually everyone recovered, each in his or her own way, and for many, the time had come to think of home.
Gloriel and Peridot had vanished right away with Dtheldevor, more than ready to scoop up Joey and Ellen from Roth Drael and settle in at Dthel Rendm, this time for ever.
But Deirdre and Frederic had needed time to recover from the nasty shock of the enchantment. Not that they talked about it much—except maybe to each other. Deirdre would soon move over to the mages’ wing, and Frederic had asked Winn if he could join the Chargers.
The one who seemed happiest was Devon. Good food, no worries, no arduous traveling, and the company of the Mearsiean girls had almost transformed her. She had received a message from Princess Karia, which she’d showed everyone, as if she had to prove that she was needed. Liere suspected that Princess Karia was interested in Devon now that her name was in all those ballads Senrid had made fun of, but she kept that to herself. Maybe things would work out.
The important thing was, in Devon’s view, the bad days were over, and peace was here to stay. They had worked hard for their happy ending.
I hope we get one, Liere thought, looking out the window at the slanting rain.
A flicker. Lightning? No, transfer magic.
Leander Tlennen-Hess appeared.
Kitty jumped up. “Leander!” She looked apprehensive. “Is everything all right down home?”
“Yup.” He rubbed his eyes, woozy after the long transfer.
“Kits all right?”
The ‘kits,’ Liere had learned, were six feline friends of Kyale—Conrad being the one for whom she’d mistaken Evend’s Helandrias ally the day of Siamis’ defeat; her looking for Conrad had distracted her attention to Liere and the dyr, breaking the enchantment. Kitty didn’t seem to remember being enchanted, which made Liere privately grateful.
Leander said, “Everyone’s all right, and everything’s as safe as I can get it. Want to go home?”
Kitty looked around, obviously not wanting to miss anything. It was she who seemed to enjoy the pomp and formality the most—and who preened when her name came up in those ballads. “Do we have to go now?”
“Not this moment,” Leander laughed. “I can’t do two transfers that fast.”
“Then siddown and play,” Faline offered.
“Or give us news?” Liere asked.
Leander threaded his way through the kids on the floor and sat down cross-legged next to Liere’s chair. “What news do you want? You have to hear more than I do.”
“About general things, I might. Kings and mages and such. But not about other kids. How is Senrid, do you know?”
“Yep—he’s been borrowing my magic books. We get together and compare notes when we can. But he’s busy. Up to his neck in cleanup as well as magic studies.”
“Cleanup? You mean he did have to have a war?”
“Oh, no. When Norsunder pulled their people out, Tdanerend had to go, too. He picked his allies, and now he gets to pay. Lilith the Guardian apparently made a special trip just to train Hibern—uh, she’s a magic worker, our age, down in our area. I expect you’ll meet her before long. Anyway, it took Hibern scarcely a day to clear out Norsunder’s magic traps and wards, after the Guardianh taught her what to do. Like brooming old spider webs, she said. The Guardian I guess wanted Senrid’s country waiting for him when he got back.”
A gift, Liere was sure—the only gift Senrid would want.
“So . . . what’s the cleanup?”
“Administrative stuff.”
“Oh.” Liere couldn’t imagine what that even meant, much less where he’d start.
Leander looked at the kids sitting about on elegant, aged furniture. The Mearsieans and Kitty were busy with the game, watched by Arthur, Deirdre, and Frederic.
“Everyone’s settling down, then,” Leander said, smiling.
Liere shook her head.
“No,” she said, drawing in a deep, slow breath. “Everyone’s just beginning.”
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Fleeing Peace Page 48