The Mirror of Her Dreams

  “For the present, I admit,” Elega hurried on, “I can do little more than hide you. But that I can do very well. My knowledge of Orison’s secrets is extensive. Soon, however, I will be able to protect anyone I choose.

  “I can provide you safety, if you will entrust yourself to me.”

  Though she wanted to think clearly – it was important to think clearly – Terisa’s head whirled. She believed that she understood Elega. On the other hand, she would gain more information if she pretended ignorance. At the same time, however, her cheek hurt, and she was worried about Artagel and Geraden, and she feared that Elega was too cunning for her. And she was still angry.

  With difficulty, she managed to ask, “How?” instead of losing her temper. “I’ve heard you complain about how left out you are. How little you have to do with what’s going on. How are you going to protect me?”

  Elega met Terisa’s gaze steadily. “I can provide you safety,” she repeated, “if you will entrust yourself to me.” Then she added, “Terisa, I have shown you nothing but friendship. I desire only your well-being, and the preservation of Mordant – and an end to evil in the realm. But if you will not trust me I can do nothing.”

  You surely have some idea why Gart is here to kill you.

  It was too much. “You’re going to have power,” retorted Terisa harshly. “Where are you going to get it? I can only think of one place. From your father. But he won’t just give it to you. That isn’t the way he does things. You’re going to betray him. You’re going to cut his throne out from under him somehow. You and Prince Kragen.” She barely stopped herself from saying, And Nyle. You’ve even turned Geraden’s brother against him. But the shock on Elega’s face warned her that she had already gone too far. “I don’t want to have anything to do with that.”

  “And why not?” Ire mounted through the lady’s surprise. “Do you have any alternative? Are you so pure that you can conceive some answer to Mordant’s need that does not require betrayal?”

  “He’s your father. That ought to make a difference.”

  Elega drew back her shoulders, straightened her spine. The violet flash of her eyes made her look regal and certain, like a woman who was within her rights. “I assure you, my lady,” she said austerely, “that it does make a difference. You understand me so well that I am sorry to find you understand me so little.”

  Giving Terisa a bow as correct and defiant as an offer of combat, the lady Elega left the room.

  Terisa watched the door long after it closed. She had made a serious mistake: she had just ruined her only chance to learn how Elega and Prince Kragen intended to take Mordant away from King Joyse. In disgust, she tried to swear at herself. Her heart wasn’t in it, however. After all, what Elega had offered her made no sense.

  To keep her hidden. For how long? Until the end of winter? Until the Alend army arrived? Until Orison fell to siege? Twenty or thirty or forty days?

  It made no sense.

  She didn’t want to think about such things. They were either irrelevant or impossible. She wanted to know what was happening to Artagel and Geraden.

  And she wanted to know what made her so valuable that people were willing to risk their lives over her. What was there about her that made her worth Gart’s hate and Artagel’s blood?

  Outside, the sun shone warmly, as if it were immensely pleased with itself.

  ***

  If she had been required to wait long alone, she might have done something foolish. That is to say, she might have done something; and she felt sure that anything she decided to do would be foolish. Fortunately, while she was still unable to make up her mind, Geraden arrived at her door.

  He had a high spot of color in each cheek and a slightly glazed look in his eyes; he was frowning deeply, as if he were in pain; his fingers made small twitching movements, though his hands were held pressed to his sides. Nevertheless he had come to her.

  Because she had grown up in a household where she was seldom offered comfort – and was never asked for it – she didn’t put her arms around him, either for his sake or for her own. She invited him in quickly, however, and closed the door and swallowed the congestion in her throat to ask, “How is he?”

  He made an effort to look at her, to pull himself out of his distress and look at her. Gently, he reached out a hand and touched her cut cheek with his fingertips. Somehow, he managed to twist his mouth into a smile. “Does it hurt? It doesn’t look too bad. I’m glad you’re all right.”

  “Geraden. How is he?”

  A spasm cracked his control. His smile broke, and his eyes brimmed with tears. “The physician is doing everything he can. He doesn’t know what’s going to happen. Artagel’s lost a lot of blood. He might die.”

  Slowly, he hunched forward, and his arms rose to his chest as if he were crumpling inwardly, collapsing in on himself.

  For just an instant, Terisa remained still. Then, as if she were turning her back on everything she had ever been taught about people and pain, she went to him and caught him in a hug as hard as she could.

  They stood that way together for a long time.

  When she finally let him go, he didn’t look at her at first. Rubbing his face, he murmured, “I don’t think I ever told you. My mother died when I was just a kid. A fever of some kind – we never knew what it was, but it dragged on for a long time. I thought it was a long time, anyway. I was only five – and I was her baby, so she wanted me with her – and watching her die I thought I was being torn apart. I swore—” Slowly, he raised his head, letting Terisa see his grief. “I was only five, but I swore I was never going to let anybody I loved die ever again.”

  Then he sighed, and by degrees his expression cleared. “I hope Artagel doesn’t hold me to it, because there’s nothing I can do to save him.”

  “I’m sorry.” She didn’t know what else to say. “This is all my fault somehow. I’m the one Gart wants to kill. I just don’t understand why.”

  He sniffed to clear his nose. “Don’t be silly. It’s Gart’s fault, not yours.” His frown came back as he tried to reassure her. “Or you could say it’s my fault, since I failed to stop him. Or, if you want to look at it that way, it’s High King Festten’s fault. After all, Gart is the High King’s Monomach. He’s just following orders.” His features This time, Terisa couldclenched. “You could even say it’s King Joyse’s fault. If he weren’t being so detached, the High King wouldn’t dare send Gart here.

  “In fact” – he tried unsuccessfully to smile for her – “if you look at it right, you’re the only one whose fault it isn’t.”

  He misunderstood her. What she felt about Artagel’s wound wasn’t blame, but rather a regret as piercing as iron. The distinction was unimportant at the moment, however. Instead of trying to explain it, she said as if she were still on the same subject, “I’m not so sure. I think I’ve done something pretty stupid.”

  His incomprehension seemed to warn him to listen to her closely. “Wait a minute. You mean you think Gart attacked you because you’ve done something stupid?”

  She shook her head. “Elega brought me back here. She offered to protect me.”

  He scowled at her; his jaws knotted. Unexpectedly, she became aware that it might be possible to be afraid of him: the intensity he focused on her was daunting. As if he were holding back an eruption, he said, “Maybe you’d better tell me the whole story.”

  As simply as she could, she described her conversation with Elega and watched his anger mount. Then she concluded, “As soon as I mentioned Prince Kragen, I ruined the chance that she would ever tell me what she’s doing. She’s never going to trust me.”

  Geraden turned away to hide his face. “Glass and splinters!” he muttered fiercely. “Now she’s been warned. She’ll be more careful. Before long, she’s bound to notice Argus and Ribuld. As soon as that happens, they won’t be able to follow her anymore. We’ve lost before we even got started.”

  This time, Terisa could have said, I’m sorry, wit
hout being misinterpreted. But the apology she owed him now was nothing compared to the one he would deserve soon. For a moment, she quailed. Why not keep this a secret as well? At least until his unfamiliar rage declined. Who would be hurt?

  Nevertheless she knew the answer. She had learned it in this place of secrets. Whenever he discovered the truth, he would be hurt. And the fact that she had kept the truth from him would cripple their friendship.

  Taking a deep breath for courage, she said, “Maybe we haven’t lost yet.”

  He swung around to confront her.

  He looked so extreme and vulnerable that she could hardly speak. “She left me alone with her seamster. I was finished before she got back, so I left his shop.” Remembering what had happened, a momentary faintness passed over her. “I saw Nyle.”

  Without transition, Geraden’s anger disappeared.

  “I followed him – I don’t know why. I guess I wanted to know why he snubbed you.” A feeling of despair rose in her. Geraden would hate her for this. “He met someone behind that tent. He didn’t see me, but I saw him. I saw who it was.”

  She faltered. Geraden looked nauseous with anticipation.

  “It was that mountebank. The one we talked about. This time I recognized him. I know who he is. I’m sure of it.” Rapidly, so that she wouldn’t break down, she said, “He’s Prince Kragen. He met Nyle behind that tent.”

  For a second, Geraden looked as surprised and wounded as she had feared. His love for his family was one of his sovereign passions – and she had just accused his brother of plotting treason. The stark and intimate dismay on his face was more than she could bear.

  After that first second, however, his entire posture shifted. The bones in his spine and shoulders straightened themselves, making him taller. His expression became at once bleaker and stronger, as if all the weaker or more awkward lines of his cheeks and jaw were being honed away. His eyes gave hints of authority.

  “That explains it,” he said flatly. “No wonder he wants to stay away from Artagel and me.”

  Then he added, “Elega got him into this.”

  She knew on some level that his crisis wasn’t over – that perhaps it was just beginning – but his immediate reaction relieved her so much that she almost kissed him. “So we haven’t necessarily lost,” she breathed. “You can tell Argus and Ribuld to forget Elega. They can follow Nyle.”

  Geraden didn’t appear to be listening: he looked like he was concentrating hotly on his own thoughts. But he replied in a murmur, “If they can find him. That’s going to be the hard part. If they can find him, maybe we can stop him before he does something even King Joyse will have to punish.”

  Abruptly, he swung into motion. “Come on. We’ve got to tell somebody about this.”

  He was already at the door. Starting after him, Terisa blurted, “Tell who? Why?”

  “Not King Joyse,” he answered as if she were thinking fast enough to keep up with him. “He probably wouldn’t listen anyway. And Castellan Lebbick would probably overreact. He might have Nyle cut down on sight. The Tor would be better.” The way he held the door for her was like a command for haste. “It’s the only thing we can do right now to protect Nyle. If we aren’t able to stop him – and he gets caught – he’ll be less likely to be executed if what he’s doing doesn’t come as a surprise.”

  He said this with such conviction that she believed him. In spite of her mud-streaked clothes and blood-marked skin, she kept pace with him.

  He hurried all the way to the King’s apartment without tripping once.

  They were admitted to the suite readily because King Joyse wasn’t there. “Off somewhere with his Imager, I suppose,” the Tor muttered in explanation. “His courtesy never fails, but he tells me as little as he can to keep me from howling.”

  His voice was a subterranean gurgle, as though it emerged from somewhere deep in his great fat, and the passages that let it out were filling up with wine. Days of use were marked on his green robe by wine and food stains. His unshaven jowls and oily hair showed that he had been neglecting his toilet.

  “I am a patient man, young Geraden,” he confided past his flagon. “I have spent no small number of years in the world, and I have learned that fat is more enduring than stone. But the truth is that my presence here has not accomplished quite what I intended.” He flapped one hand in a gesture that made Terisa notice the absence of the King’s hop-board table. “He has simply moved his games elsewhere.”

  He sighed lugubriously, and his eyes misted. “It is a sad thing to be neglected at my age.”

  Listening to the Tor, Terisa began to lose confidence. Nevertheless Geraden was wound too tightly to be deflected.

  “You appointed yourself chancellor, my lord,” he reminded the Tor. “You said you would take action in the King’s name. That ought to be easy, if he isn’t here to contradict you.”

  The Tor gave Geraden a sour look. “You are too young to understand. If I wish mutton rather than duckling for my next meal, I have only to speak. If I decide to appoint a holiday and make every lady in Orison do without her maid, I can do so without raising my voice. Who here has any desire to oppose the will of the King’s old friend?” One fist beat out the words as his anger rose. “If I take it upon myself to declare war tomorrow, I have no doubt that I will be obeyed.

  “But the King, young Geraden!” He raised his bulk to emphasize his point. “Where is the King? Where is the man who ought to be shamed by every command I issue in his name? Off playing hop-board with Adept Havelock while his realm crumbles.”

  Slowly, the Tor subsided. “As for Castellan Lebbick,” he sighed, “he now holds what little effective power is left in Orison. But even he finds it difficult to ignore me. And he does not want to submit his decisions for my opinion, so he avoids me. I suspect he secretly passes judgment on all my orders before they are carried out.

  “It appears I have chosen a foolish way to grieve for my son.”

  Terisa tried to catch Geraden’s eye; she wanted to send him a mental message, urging him not to tell the Tor about Nyle and Elega. The old lord was starting to remind her of Reverend Thatcher.

  Geraden refused to receive her signal, however. He was fixed on the Tor, and his expression had softened, although his manner remained grim. “I’m sorry, my lord,” he said roughly. “I don’t have time for your grief.”

  Under his fat, the muscles of the Tor’s face tightened dangerously, but Geraden went ahead without pausing. “I need to talk to King Joyse. Since he isn’t here, I’ll have to talk to you. I can’t take this to the Castellan. I’m not going to tell it to anybody who isn’t a friend of my father’s.”

  He had caught the Tor’s attention. “I consider the Domne a friend,” the lord rumbled slowly. “And your past courtesy outweighs your present rudeness.” He had blinked the blur of wine from his eyes: his gaze was hard. “I am interested in what you need to tell the King.”

  Terisa was suddenly ashamed of herself. Rather than distrusting the Tor’s despondency, Geraden was trying to help.

  The perception made her squirm. She had never done anything to help Reverend Thatcher. She had listened to him for hours, but she had never tried to help.

  “You’ve probably heard the rumor that King Joyse thinks the lady Elega has turned against him.” Geraden didn’t need to feign harshness; the bleak strength that had brought him here rasped in his voice. “Well, he’s right.”

  As gently as the bite of a crosscut saw, Geraden told the Tor what he knew about Elega and Prince Kragen and Nyle. When he had recited the basic facts, he added, “Two of my friends – two guards – are following her around. But she knows we’re suspicious of her now. She’ll be more careful. I’m going to tell my friends to forget her and concentrate on Nyle.” He said his brother’s name in a tone of forced impersonality. “Maybe he’ll lead us to the answers.”

  The Tor’s gaze held: his eyes looked like bits of glass embedded in pastry dough. “I hear quite a number of rumor
s,” he commented when Geraden was done. “Duty outside this door is dull, and many of the guards liven it with conversation. I have heard a rumor that your brother Artagel, who is reputed to be the best swordsman in Mordant, faced the High King’s Monomach and fell.” His tone didn’t become clear until he asked, “Is he seriously injured?”

  Geraden swallowed convulsively. “Yes.”

  Unblinking, the Tor studied Geraden for a moment. Then he said, “I have lost a son. I will not have it said to the Domne that I sat drunk on my hams while one of his sons was killed by the High King’s Monomach and another sold himself to the Alend Monarch. What do you wish me to do?”

  At once, Geraden replied, “Don’t let Castellan Lebbick interfere. Make him leave Nyle alone.” He was plainly relieved to get away from the subject of Artagel. “And tell him to assign Argus and Ribuld to me. Tell him I’m doing you some kind of favor and I need their help.” He sounded clear, almost authoritative, as if he had been involved in situations like this all his life. “The last time they tried to help me, he roasted them for it. They’ll do a better job if they don’t have to dodge him the whole time.”

  He sounded so sure of what he was doing that Terisa wanted to give him a round of applause.

  Nevertheless he was sweating by the time he was done.

  The Tor regarded him gravely for a little while longer. Then he turned his head and let out a cheerful yell that made Terisa jump and brought the guards promptly into the room.

  “Yes, my lord Tor?” one of them inquired. He was on good terms with the self-appointed chancellor. “You bellowed?”

  “Mongrel!” snorted the Tor. “That was not a bellow. That was a polite request for attention.” His chuckle sounded like belching. “If you ever have the misfortune to hear me bellow, you will not speak of it so calmly.

  “But now that you are here—” He rolled his eyes at the ceiling as though he were contemplating an entire litany of desires. “I want cranberry sauce with that duckling which the cook is already so late in providing. I want more wine. I want peace or war with our enemies, whichever will cause them the most consternation.” He rubbed a fat hand over his jowls. “I believe I want a barber. But most of all” – suddenly, his voice seemed to have a knife hidden in it somewhere – “I want the Castellan.”