The Mirror of Her Dreams

  In her condition, blowing on the coals was as painful as batting her head against the wall. Nevertheless she persevered because she was determined not to let anyone into the suite to help her. She didn’t want an audience while she suffered the consequences of her folly. So she got the fire going despite the sharp pressure in her brain. She took a bath, even washed her hair out of sheer stubbornness. And she dressed herself alone, working her way into one of Myste’s relatively demure gowns, a warm sheath of yellow velvet. Only then did she permit herself to unbolt the door to see if Saddith had left a tray for her.

  In fact, the maid had done so. And, as a mercy, there was no one waiting to talk to her. In peace, she was able to eat a little porridge and drink a great deal of a hot beverage which she thought of as tea – although it tasted more like cinnamon and rose petals – before a knock at the door announced that she had a visitor.

  She didn’t trust her voice, so she moved carefully to the door and opened it.

  Geraden stood outside.

  Oh, terrific. That was just what she needed.

  “I hope I’m not disturbing you,” he began at once. “We didn’t get a chance to talk yesterday. I wanted to tell you—” Then his smile faded. “Are you all right? You look a little sick.”

  Thanks to Master Eremis, the sight of the Apt made anxiety throb in her veins – which in turn threatened to split her head. “It’s the gown.” Her voice came out like a croak. “Yellow isn’t my color.” Doggedly, she gave him a smile that felt like a crack across a porcelain vase, and invited him in.

  Studying her, he said as soon as the door was closed, “I tried to see you yesterday, but the guards told me to leave you alone. I couldn’t help worrying.” Behind his concern, he looked self-conscious. “How did your talk with Master Eremis go?”

  She concentrated on keeping herself from groaning or shutting her eyes. “Artagel told you.”

  He nodded. “He might have anyway. But you looked so bad when you came out of the cell, he felt he didn’t have any choice.”

  “Then he must have told you what happened.” Her sudden bitterness surprised her. When had she begun to believe that she had the right to resent the way she was treated? “I thought I was going to be able to accomplish something – I thought I was going to make a difference. I was going to persuade you to start cooperating with each other.” Instead, I’m supposed to spy on you, even though you’re the only friend I’ve got left, now that Myste is gone. Even though you’re the only one who cares about me enough to do anything. “Instead, all I did was make a fool of myself.”

  No, she wouldn’t do it. She couldn’t. The promise of a few intimate kisses didn’t suffice. Geraden was too important to her. She would watch him, yes. But she wouldn’t tell anyone what she learned. Not unless he did something that forced her to believe Master Eremis was right about him. And she would make the decision for herself. No matter what the Master offered her.

  Unexpectedly, she felt better. In spite of her resolution, she found herself saying, “I had too much to drink yesterday,” so that his feelings wouldn’t be hurt. “I suppose I was trying to drown my sorrows. My head feels like a football.”

  This time there was a quirk of relief in his smile. “I’ve done that a few times,” he admitted, pretending rue. “I still don’t know what made me think it was a good idea. I guess I’d Just had more of my own fumble-footedness than I could stand.

  “Anyway, I’m sorry that happened to you,” he added in a way that suggested it wasn’t his biggest regret. “For your sake, I wish he had listened to you.

  “Terisa, I—”

  He stopped abruptly, and his eyes began to fill with tears. Suddenly, she thought he had come to tell her something terrible. Instinctively defensive, she went back to the door and bolted it. Then she faced his troubled brown gaze.

  “What’s the matter, Geraden?”

  “Nothing,” he said quickly. “Nothing.” Too quickly. “I mean, you survived, didn’t you? It turned out all right.”

  He couldn’t sustain his pretense, however. “I’m sorry.” His voice rasped, but he didn’t turn away to hide what he was feeling. “I’m really sorry. After we were rescued – after they got us out from underneath all that rock – Artagel took me back to my room. I drank quite a bit of wine myself. But when I went to sleep I kept having the same dream over and over again, exactly the same.” His expression twisted. “For a long time, I thought it was a nightmare. It was the worst—”

  He took a breath to steady himself. “But I finally realized it wasn’t a nightmare. I wasn’t dreaming at all. I was just remembering.” He had to grit his teeth to make himself say, “I was remembering that you almost got killed.”

  Oh, is that all? She tried not to show her relief. What he was saying wasn’t terrible after all.

  “That only happened because of me.”

  Now she stared at him.

  “I brought you here,” he explained miserably. “I don’t know how to take you back where you belong. People want you dead. They want to manipulate you. And the champion—

  “You went through that whole ordeal – you were buried alive and came within inches of being crushed to death – because of me.

  “When I saw Castellan Lebbick harassing you, I wanted to club him with a chair. I’m sorry. That’s what I should have done. Just to make him stop. It’s my fault you got hit.

  “If anything happens to you, it’ll break my heart.”

  If she had felt healthier, she might have laughed. Instead, she put her hand on his arm, touched the muscles knotted along his bones. “Geraden,” she protested, “he would have snapped you in half. He wants somebody to defy him, so he can crush them.”

  In response, he looked at her in pain; and she recognized that he needed a better answer than that. No one else had ever declared so much concern for her. It was strange, really – and endearing. He had nightmares because of her?

  She did the best she could. “You kept me sane. You were in as much trouble as I was. Worse. Master Gilbur nearly knocked your head off. But you were still able to hold me together. If you hadn’t helped me, I would have lost my mind hours before we were rescued.”

  She should have gone on – should have said, You and Myste are the only friends I’ve ever had. No one has ever been as good to me as you have. I’m glad I’m here. But that was too much for her self-consciousness, her fragile sense of herself. Awkwardly, she dropped her hand.

  And yet she had to do something for him that would mean as much as a touch. Rather than attempting to match his declaration, she tried to joke with him. “This has got to stop. I’m going to start rationing you. If you apologize to me more than once a day, I’ll kick you.”

  He peered at her dubiously, uncertain how to take her. “Do you mean that? I know I apologize a lot. If you caused as much trouble as I do, you would too. So far, you’re the only thing I haven’t been wrong about. You shouldn’t have to bear the brunt of my disasters.”

  There was no question about it: he deserved better from her. Trying to provide it, she looked straight into his eyes and said, “You don’t get me in trouble. You save me. Orison is full of disasters, but as far as I’m concerned you haven’t caused any of them. You’re one of the few people who wants to do something about them.

  “You don’t have anything to apologize for.”

  He continued to study her warily. When she didn’t drop her gaze, however, he began to relax. His shoulders lifted; the chagrin let go of his face; his eyes brightened as if they had been wiped clean. After a moment, he said softly, “Thank you.”

  Now her heart was eased. She was willing to fight the pain in her head if that enabled her to make him happier. Smiling more successfully, she sat down in one of the chairs near the fire, then gestured toward her tray. “Have you had breakfast? I’ve got more than I can eat.”

  He shook his head. He seemed to be suppressing a burst of exuberance, a desire to shout or sing or hug her. Moving with comic care, so tha
t he wouldn’t trip or lose his balance, he turned a chair to face hers and seated himself. Then he gleamed in humorous triumph, as if to say, And you thought I couldn’t do it.

  What he actually said, however, was, “What did King Joyse want to talk to you about?”

  She hoped without much optimism that her sudden surge of anxiety didn’t show. In the press of more recent events, she had forgotten the question of what to tell him about her discussion with the King. He might be appalled by what she had discovered, deeply grieved to learn that his father’s old friend and his own childhood hero was deliberately embarked on the destruction of Mordant. And Master Quillon had made a point of explaining that Geraden was still in danger from his nameless enemies, still liable to pay a high price for knowing too much. Or had Master Quillon come to Master Eremis’ conclusion that Geraden himself was dangerous, not to be trusted? Were Eremis’ reasons for his distrust that good?

  When she didn’t reply at once, Geraden went on, “Being thrown out of his rooms like that wasn’t exactly the highlight of my life.” He sounded incongruously cheerful, as if he wanted to encourage her. “I didn’t think the Tor would take his side.” He shrugged. “On the other hand, I don’t have any reason to believe I ever know what the Tor is going to do. I just want to understand. I want King Joyse to say something that makes sense.”

  Terisa wasn’t listening. The question in front of her was too complex to be answered casually. She needed more time to think. More time to watch. Unconscious of her own abruptness, she said, “He wanted to talk about checkers some more.” Her headache was getting ahead of her. On impulse, she added, “Elega was here.”

  Geraden waited expectantly. When she didn’t continue, he asked, “The lady Elega? My former betrothed? When was that?”

  She tried to clear her thoughts. Actually, she had a number of things she wanted to talk to Geraden about. Elega might be a safe place to start. If she could get her hangover under control.

  “She was waiting here for me. When I got back from seeing Master Eremis.”

  “What did she want?”

  Terisa hesitated momentarily. Was she sure she wanted to say this to Geraden?

  Yes. She was already carrying too many questions alone.

  With unexpected ire, she articulated distinctly, “The lady Elega wanted to enlist me in a plot against her father.”

  Geraden froze. “What kind of plot?”

  “I don’t have any idea.” As fully as she could, she told him what had been said – and what she surmised. His eyes narrowed at Prince Kragen’s name, but he listened without interrupting. Sourly, she concluded, “That was why I didn’t want any more visitors yesterday. I didn’t want to take the chance I might hear anything else like that for a while.”

  He frowned without speaking for a moment – long enough to make her wonder whether he believed her. She wanted him to believe her. The more secrets she kept, the more lies she told, the greater her need to be believed became, especially when she was being honest. Fortunately, he began to nod.

  “That’s always worried me about her,” he murmured, brooding. “I’ve always had the feeling she was more interested in what kings are than in what they do. More interested in the power than in what the power is for. She might be capable of some pretty unscrupulous decisions.”

  “So you don’t think I’m jumping to conclusions?”

  “No.” His face was tense with thought. “Not after your conversation with Prince Kragen. By that time, they had probably already agreed to approach you.”

  “I wish I knew what they think I can do,” she complained, simply because she felt like complaining. “It’s the same problem I have with everybody. Even you. You all think I can do something.” But her parents had never permitted her to whine, and she found she didn’t care for the sound of it herself. “I haven’t shown much sign of it yet,” she finished.

  Geraden went on musing morosely. “What should we do?” he wondered. “Should we tell King Joyse?”

  Careful not to reveal too much, she countered, “If we could get him to listen, do you think he would pay any attention?”

  He let out a dejected sigh. “Probably not.” Then he asked, “What about Castellan Lebbick?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t like telling him anything. I don’t like the way he treats me.

  “He’ll certainly do something. He may or may not be able to stop her – but whatever he does will give away the fact that we told him. She’ll know she can’t trust me. That’ll be the end of our chances to find out what she’s doing.”

  The Apt shot her a glance and a quick grin. “For someone who can’t do anything, you seem determined to try. What’s your suggestion?”

  She was about to say, I don’t have any idea, when she had what felt like an inspiration. “You could ask Argus and Ribuld to keep an eye on her.”

  He blinked at the unexpected notion. “They didn’t exactly enjoy what happened the last time they did me a favor,” he muttered, thinking aloud. “But this time Artagel is here to back me up. They might be willing – especially if they can think of a way to do it without making Castellan Lebbick suspicious.” He met Terisa’s gaze as he added, “It might be worth it. If we can just learn how she intends to communicate with Prince Kragen, that’ll be an improvement.

  “I’ll ask them.” The decision brought back his sense of humor. With a mischievous glint, he commented, “If you do it, they may try to talk you into making it worth their while. You can guess what that means. The worst they can do to me is say no.”

  Smiling at him was becoming easier. Her headache had begun to recede. And her anxiety had turned to relief again. The sensation that here, at least, was one subject on which she wasn’t alone – and on which Geraden agreed with her – was a positive pleasure. When he smiled back, she felt good enough to broach another of her many areas of incomprehension.

  “That conversation I had with Prince Kragen reminds me. What’s an arch-Imager?”

  Her question made Geraden sit up straighter. “It reminds you—? What connection—?” Almost at once, however, he pushed down his confusion, unwilling to give his questions precedence over hers. “An arch-Imager is someone who has mastered what we consider the apex of translation – the ability to pass safely through flat glass. As far as we know, only one man has ever done it – the arch-Imager Vagel.

  “In theory, the difficulty is that translation changes whatever it touches. When the translation involves a passage between separate worlds – or, if Master Eremis is right” – he grimaced – “between our world and Images which are known not to exist in our world – the changes are appropriate. For instance, they solve the problems of language and breathing. But when you pass through a flat glass, you don’t actually go anywhere. I mean, you move from place to place, but you stay in the same world. So you don’t need to be changed. But you are anyway.” He looked down at his hands. “It made Adept Havelock mad.

  “Theoretically, if you looked into a flat mirror that showed you to yourself – in other words, a mirror that was focused on the exact spot where you were standing, so that you were also in the Image looking out at yourself – you would go into a kind of translation cycle, passing simultaneously back and forth between yourself and your Image, changing literally without going anywhere. Probably nobody who looked at you would be able to see the difference. But your mind would be gone. Not just mad. Taken away.

  “I still don’t know how I survived seeing myself in that room where I found you. I have to believe mirrors are different in your world. Or you’re the most powerful Imager we’ve ever heard of.

  “Anyway, the other important point is that the capacity to be an arch-Imager seems to be just that – a capacity. It isn’t a skill you can learn, it’s a talent you’re born with. If it were a skill, Havelock would have mastered it somehow. ‘The Adept’ isn’t an honorary title. He earned it by being better at translations than anybody else. In particular, he was better at working translations with mirrors he
didn’t make. I can’t even work them with mirrors I did make.

  “Does that answer your question?”

  Terisa nodded. She was trying to make what he told her fit her experience.

  “Then answer mine. What does all this have to do with your conversation with Prince Kragen?”

  “Oh, that. I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to be cryptic. It just seems like this is crucial somehow. I was talking to him right before we were attacked. That’s why it reminded me.”

  Then she got to the point of her question. “When Artagel examined the dead men – the ones who vanished later – he said he found an insignia – a ‘sigil’ – that meant they were Cadwals. They were Apts of the High King’s Monomach. But when they attacked, they seemed to come out of nowhere. And when the rest of them were dead, their leader didn’t have to run away. He just disappeared.

  “He and his men must have come and gone through a flat mirror. But isn’t that impossible? The Perdon and Prince Kragen decided Vagel must be involved, but that doesn’t explain it. If passing through a flat glass safely is a matter of talent rather than training, then all of those men must have been arch-Imagers.”

  And, now that she thought about it, how had Master Gilbur contrived to elude the Castellan? If it was conceivable that the man in black and Master Gilbur were allies, surely it was also conceivable that the Master had disappeared in the same way?

  For a long moment, Geraden regarded her thoughtfully. “You know,” he said with a wry chuckle, “a lifetime ago, when I was still a new Apt, and I believed I was going to accomplish glorious things, I used to lie awake at night stewing about questions like that. And I came up with an idea that might work.