She ran her finger over the bindings and found one of her favorite authors. She selected a likely volume, a novel she had heard of but never read.
“You appreciate Geoffrey Ellington?”
She dropped the book and spun around. Dorian sat on one of the couches in front of the fire, a half full glass of whiskey in his hand.
“What are you doing here?” She put her hand over her heart to slow the pounding.
“King Casper asked me to wait here for a while, to make sure Gregory managed to…that everything went… I assume it did.”
“Yes,” she said. She bent and picked up her book. “I couldn’t sleep, so I came out here for something to read.”
“Try this,” he said. He held out a small black volume. “It’s one of my favorites. Meryl Tressa. Do you know her?”
“Of course, I love her poetry, especially The Beekeeper,” Eleanor said.
Dorian poked the fire with a long stick as he recited.
“The beekeeper’s charges his life and his bane,
a drop of honey and a prick of pain
Never raises his hand to the tripping wing—”
“To have the sweet he must face the sting,” she finished. “I always loved that last stanza.”
“Yes, I thought you might.”
She tried to lighten the mood. “Lately you see too much of me in my nightgown.”
“I have no problem with it.” His mouth turned up at the corners.
“Hush,” she said, and the silence fell hard. An urge to sit beside him overwhelmed her. She took two steps forward and he spoke.
“Maybe you should try harder to sleep. Your long journey starts tomorrow.”
“Will you be here when I return?” she asked.
“Gregory has removed me from active duty and made me an adviser, so I will be in Maliana for the foreseeable future.”
“Good,” she said. He looked up at her. “I mean, it’s good you will be out of the line of fire, and able to help Gregory more often. I know how he values your counsel, and your friendship.”
Dorian rubbed his temples. In Eleanor’s mind she saw herself kneeling in front of him, reaching her own hands up to his face. She shook her head at the image.
“Then I shall see you in a month,” she said. “Thank you for the book.”
“I’ll bank the fire and go. I’ve done as I said I would.”
She turned back once as she walked away, half hoping he would be watching her, but he simply prodded the fire.
CHAPTER 9
Every Rut in the Road
Eleanor and Gregory’s honeymoon, if it could be so called, was really a progress through the countryside. They would leave Maliana for Harveston, travel south to Point-of-Rocks and Solsea, then head northeast toward Harper’s Crossing, and finally cut across the center of the country back to the capital. It would not be the romantic trip she had imagined, but she was excited to see so much of the kingdom since she had never left Maliana in her eighteen years. Besides, after the events of her wedding night, she did not know how much enjoyment she would take from a more traditional honeymoon with her new husband.
She spent the morning following her wedding packing and hashing things over. She had been in an odd frame of mind when Dorian sprang on her last night. Best she not see him for a while, but a pang of disappointment went through her each time the chambermaid announced a visitor and it was not him.
She paused before climbing into the waiting carriage to take in the size of their retinue. Eight white horses pulled their coach, and at least fifty soldiers would march in formation around them. Four other carriages brought up the rear. The first transported three advisory magicians. Eight more magicians rode inside the next open-air carriage, but they were martials, magicians who used their powers to fight and defend. The last two carriages carried provisions and the couple’s clothes and personal belongings, as well as several servants. Two mounted unicorns brought up the rear with Vigor, who walked alone.
Eleanor hugged Anne Iris and Eliza, and kissed Chou Chou on his beak. She scanned the courtyard and the drive a last time, but saw no sign of Dorian. Gregory lifted her into the coach and climbed in after her. He had been gracious all morning, but she could tell he felt the effects of two nights of hard drinking. Eleanor could have asked Rosemary for a tonic to help, but in her opinion he did have it coming.
Her teacher climbed into the carriage with the advisory magicians. The Oracle had asked Eleanor and Gregory to stop at Afar Creek on their way down the Outcountry Road. After Rosemary’s recent hesitation Eleanor immediately accepted the invitation. She sensed the request irritated Gregory, but he seemed willing to placate her. She wondered if he had some idea of last night’s, shall we say, shortcomings.
As soon as they closed the doors Gregory shut his curtain. “I have a bit of a headache, sweetheart. I think I’ll rest if you don’t mind.”
She patted his knee. “Of course not. I’ll wake you when we reach the Abbey.”
The procession made its way slowly out of the palace gate, like a cumbersome, undulating caterpillar.
No wonder it will take a month to see all of Cartheigh. I could run faster, she thought.
As they left the palace grounds the townspeople started milling around the soldiers. They yelled and threw flowers. They were young and old, merchants, workingmen and women, and the poor. She waved through the window.
Gregory opened his eyes. He picked an apple from the basket on the floor and took a bite. “They love you. I’ve heard they think of you as one of them, for what it’s worth.”
I was, and I could easily be one of them still.
There was no need for torchlight inside the Oracle’s cavern. A pool threw mottled blue light against the dank walls, and while it wasn’t cheerful, it was effective. As she had on her first visit on the eve of her father’s death, Eleanor found it difficult to tell the true size of the chamber. The light came from nowhere in particular, perhaps from the walls themselves, which she saw in some spots but faded into darkness in others. The air should have been stale but somehow Eleanor caught a faint smell of fresh lavender. When they reached the pool’s edge Rosemary sat and tucked her long legs beneath her. Eleanor imitated her, although her full skirts turned what should have been a simple plop on the ground into a complex and haphazard maneuver.
Sitting beside the water, propped on countless homespun pillows and wrapped in piles of furry robes, was an impossibly ancient, impossibly tiny, impossibly alive woman. Eleanor saw only her small face through the layers of cushions and blankets, a head covered in wispy hair floating in a bubble of supporting warmth. She was called Hazelbeth, and she was the Oracle of Afar Creek Abbey.
Eleanor knew more of the Oracle from her studies than from their brief meeting eight years ago. She was timeless, permanent, existing without food or water, kept alive by her own magic and strange intellect. No one knew when she had arrived at Afar Creek or where she had come from. Her life stretched back so far she had forgotten her own origins.
At first it seemed the Oracle was ignoring them. The scented air, heavy with magic, moved and stood still at the same time. It rocked Eleanor toward sleep. She blinked and pinched her own arm. Just when the dirt floor started looking like a particularly fine spot for a nap, a surprisingly strong voice floated across the water.
“Eleanor Brice, now Eleanor Desmarais. You have changed since our last meeting.” Hazelbeth’s eyes seemed to float across the water and hover in front of Eleanor’s face. She tried to think pleasant thoughts, just in case the old witch could hear them.
“Greetings, wise one,” said Rosemary. “We trust you are well and comfortable.”
“Comfort is irrelevant,” said Hazelbeth. “I am as I am. The sun goes up and down, the pool is full, and I watch.” She turned to Eleanor. “You may wonder why I asked you here. I have heard young people, recently married, prefer to spend time alone. Where is your husband?”
Eleanor colored, at both the witch’s reference to m
arital intimacy and her embarrassment over Gregory’s absence. “He’s not feeling well. He sends his regrets from the carriage.” She returned to a more comfortable topic. “Of course I’m honored you asked me to visit, but I did wonder why.”
“I would speak to you about your position. In all honesty, even I underestimated the signs about you. These things are never written clearly, you know.”
“Signs?” asked Eleanor.
“Rosemary, explain it to her.”
“I—what shall I tell her?” Rosemary glanced at the pool, at the dirt floor, at her own hands, everywhere but at Eleanor’s face. “Perhaps you should tell her.”
“If you wish it.” Hazelbeth’s voice lacked any emotion. “Shortly before your father died, child, I felt you in the pool, but I could not see you from the other side. What has meaning and consequence became soft and harmless.”
Eleanor’s brow furrowed. “What—”
Hazelbeth continued plowing through each word, without changing tone or cadence. “I asked Rosemary to bring you to me. I found nothing particularly special about you, no magic, just a strong mind and a strong will. Rosemary had fear for your safety even then, with your father still alive. She made a promise to you mother—”
“What promise?” Eleanor asked.
Rosemary shut her eyes. “Do you remember what I told you about your mother? About when she was my student?”
“You said she was smart. A quick learner. Always questioning.”
“She was more than that. She was exceptional. When she turned thirteen your grandfather said it was time she finished her schooling. She cried at our last lesson. I begged your grandfather to allow her to continue her studies, but it was no use. He was just like every other Carthean man. He didn’t care if she was brilliant. He only wanted Leticia to make a good marriage, and he made sure she spent the next few years finding one. She was fortunate in that regard, because she loved your father so.”
Eleanor’s lip trembled, as if she’d not grown up. As if Rosemary were delivering a particularly sad history lesson.
Rosemary continued. “Before she died she—she asked me to look after you if she could not. She made me swear it.”
“Rosemary wanted to bring you here to the Abbey to live,” said Hazelbeth, “but I cannot allow those with no magic asylum in our walls. Besides, I felt you were living the lot you were meant to live, and after your father died I knew I was right.”
“The lot I was meant to live?” Eleanor annoyed herself with her flummoxed repetition.
“Yes. Rosemary came to me again after your father’s death, but I convinced her to leave you where you were. You needed to be there.”
Eleanor turned to Rosemary. “I thought you had to leave me there.”
“I could not bring you here—”
“But you could have sent me somewhere else. Maybe to a farm, in the country.” As child Eleanor had dreamed some long lost relation would appear and take her away from her stepmother’s house. It is the great fantasy of all orphans and street waifs and poorly parented children. “You left me with Imogene on purpose!”
“Eleanor, I have never known the Oracle to be wrong, nor has any other witch at Afar Creek. She knew the right path, and now here you are.”
“Yes, here I am, after eight years of misery and loneliness and—”
Hazelbeth broke in. “And the best education any noblewoman in Cartheigh has ever received. You have known hardship and overcome it, and you would not be the person you are today without those eight years. It is all clear to me now. Finally, we have a Desmarais woman with the brains and the strength to do some good in this land.”
Eleanor heard the Oracle, but she focused on Rosemary. “You swore to look after me, and this is how you kept your promise?”
“I understand you pain, more than you know. I was a child alone myself.”
“You grew up here, at the Abbey,” said Eleanor. “You weren’t alone.”
Rosemary gave an adamant shake of her head. “But I was. I was five years old when the Abbey claimed me. A witch appeared at my family’s farm outside Maliana and took me away. I never saw my parents or my three older brothers again.”
Rosemary had never spoken of her childhood, and Eleanor realized she’d never asked. The idea of Rosemary as a child, or a young woman, was bizarre.
“Young witches and magicians must embrace a new life,” said Hazelbeth. “Holding onto the past is not helpful. Most girls accept our creed in a few days, but Rosemary was one of the unusual ones. For a month we worried for her health, until she found solace in magic and learning.”
“This life has never come easily to me, Eleanor. All these years, teaching girls only to have them ripped from me just as they begin to flower. I begged HighGod to give you magic, so I could bring you to the Abbey. So I could have something I should not want. One child of my own, whose brilliance I could lead in so many directions. I never imagined He would make me cage your body so I could set your mind free.” Rosemary took her hands. “Please know I agonized over this decision. To put you through the fear and loneliness I remember to this day, and for years instead of weeks.” Tears streamed down Rosemary’s cheeks. “I did what I hoped was right, and I pray I kept my promise. Please, do not hate me.”
“That’s why you seemed nervous that night, before I left for the ball. You defied Hazelbeth to help me.”
Rosemary nodded. “Disobedience. For the first time in one hundred years.”
“Were you punished?” Despite her anger Eleanor’s eyes stung at the thought.
“We have our own castigations,” said Hazelbeth. “Now I thank HighGod for Rosemary’s waywardness.”
Eleanor’s own words to Dorian Finley during her Engagement Ball flashed through her mind. I’d be a better dancer, but I’d rather have other talents.
She wiped away her tears, and then embraced her teacher. “I could never hate you, never. For better or worse, you made me, Rosemary.”
Rosemary whispered in her ear. “For better, dearest, better every day.”
Eleanor did not discuss the visit with Gregory. She simply kissed his cheek and gazed out the window.
Do some good in this land.
The mob thickened as the carriage rolled beneath the Abbey gate. The carriage stopped and started as the soldiers forced people back. She watched the faces go by, not one of them powdered or bejeweled. They were calling her name and singing songs. She saw more than one woman crying. Eleanor pressed her face to the glass.
The carriage stopped again. Eleanor slid the handle up, opened the door and stepped into the dusty street. The soldiers were not prepared when the people surged forward. They pressed in on her and shoved gifts into her arms. Snippets of shouted sentiments rang in her ears. She was nearly knocked off her feet but she kept reaching out, clasping hands and collecting piles of flowers. Someone yanked hard on the gray tulle lining of her dress, perhaps in search of a souvenir. She kept smiling and turned to the carriage, but the surging throng of admirers blocked the way. Just as alarm set in the crowd melted away as if blown by a strong wind.
Gregory stood behind her with his sword drawn. “Get back,” he shouted. “Get back, all of you, I command it.”
Everyone fell silent and those closest dropped to their knees.
“The next person that touches my wife, I’ll cut off his hand.” He brandished his sword at a heavy-set woman holding a bunch of wilted daisies. “Or her hand.”
He took Eleanor by the arm.
“Wait,” she whispered. She cleared her throat. “Good people. Thank you for seeing us safely out of Maliana. I will think of home and your fond farewell on the dusty roads. Pray for our safe passage.”
He squeezed her arm again, this time more forcefully.
“Bless you!” came the cries from the crowd. “An angel come to Eclatant!”
Gregory slammed the door behind her. “Are you out of your fucking mind?” he shouted.
“I’m sorry, I don’t know what came over me�
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“You could have been killed!”
“Gregory, they want to wish us well, not harm us. You needn’t be so cruel.”
“HighGod in tears, Eleanor! They’re peasants! They will smother you with their love; trample you to death in their stupidity! My cruelty saved your life!”
“I was one of those peasants until a month ago,” she shot back.
“You were never a peasant.”
“Maybe my name was in Mister Oliver’s book, but I had far more in common with those people out there than with you. Perhaps I still do.”
“Don’t you say that a second time.” His voice was dangerously hard. “You are my wife. You are a Desmarais princess. You are nothing like those people. You’ll do as I say, when I say it, and you won’t ever try something like that again. It’s for your own safety, my love.”
He threw his apple and it split against the carriage wall. Seeds and juice sprayed into his lap. She seethed, her head against the window. They lumbered down the Outcountry Road.
“Another thing,” he said mildly. “It’s not a good idea to second guess me in front of my subjects. It doesn’t look good. I’ll let it pass this time because you’re still learning, but I won’t expect it to happen again. Do you understand?”
She did. Anger and confusion rolled over her with every rut in the road. After a while Gregory slid across to her side of the coach and rested his hand on hers. The sudden warmth raised gooseflesh on her arms.
Eleanor and Gregory were finally alone.
The Cracked Slipper Page 9