The Thinking Woman's Guide to Real Magic (10 page)

They were finally alone, Nora and Raclin, in a vast new bedchamber that was all gilt-and-whipped-cream rococo, as though the décor had been entrusted to a team of pastry chefs. Raclin swung Nora into his arms as if she were a doll and laid her on the bed, under the billowing canopy embroidered with crowns and cupids and peacocks.

“Well, that's over with, finally,” he said. “How's my brave girl?”

“Darling!” Nora said, sitting up and reaching out for him. She suddenly felt she could not wait another second to feel his naked skin under her fingers. He laughed and began taking off his coat.

•   •   •

When Nora awoke the next morning, adrift like a small boat in the big bed, all she could really remember from the night before was the sense of a fierce, delicious frenzy that lasted seemingly for hours and then became indistinguishable from sleep. A few clear impressions remained: the sleek coolness of Raclin's flesh even when his body moved faster and faster against hers, and the look of what might have been amusement on his face as he watched her writhe and pant beneath him.

Lying among tangled sheets in the morning light, she felt drained, frail, happy, with a pleasant trembly feeling in her legs and arms. Only when she rolled over and saw that Raclin was not lying next to her did she feel a stab of disappointment.

“Darling, he had to go on patrol!” Ilissa said, after Nora, venturing out to look for Raclin, found her new mother-in-law instead. “I know, how awful of him to leave you alone on your honeymoon. But he does this every day, and of course, now that we're on a special alert, it's even more important.”

“Oh, I didn't know,” Nora said, deflated. “Is it really that dangerous? I only saw a few soldiers yesterday.”

“We don't want to take any chances, my dear!” Ilissa said. “Raclin will be back by evening, and in the meantime, we'll have a wonderful day. What do you think, a ramble in the park? A musicale in the garden?”

That was the pattern every day, Nora found. Raclin was always gone when she awoke, even though she tried waking earlier and earlier to catch him before he left. Then there was the long day to get through, hours and hours, before she could see him again. Ilissa always thoughtfully organized some entertainment, but the revelries ran together after a while, an endless round of picnics and hunts and rides. Moscelle was generally brimming over with the latest gossip—who had fallen in or out of love, who had quarreled, who had cheated on whom—yet even those salacious bulletins seemed less diverting than they once had.

There was a brief frisson of excitement when Vulpin reappeared, his height restored, the tusks and snout gone. Nora was hoping to find out more about what had happened to him, but he seemed embarrassed to talk about the experience. “It wore off soon enough,” he said.

“Nora dear, you look a little blue,” Ilissa said one afternoon. They were picnicking at the edge of the forest, she and Nora and a few others, in a grove of saplings that had somehow been teased into a suite of spindly, delicate chairs and tables.

Nora was startled by the comment. Perched on one of the tree-chairs—more comfortable than it looked, fortunately—she had been nibbling a small, pink-frosted cake and contemplating the gold ring on her left hand. “I'm just wondering what Raclin is doing,” she said.

“Darling, that's the sweetest thing I ever heard!” Ilissa said, although she did not offer any thoughts about Raclin's whereabouts. “But you know you'll see him tonight.”

“I wish he were here now.”

“Yes, it would have been marvelous to have him come along today,” Ilissa said regretfully. “He's so busy, poor sweet.”

Her reply set off a faint echo in Nora's mind, a flicker of déjà vu. It was the Black Wizard's voice she remembered, harsh, urgent. The memory flitted just out of reach.

She said to Ilissa: “Perhaps Raclin would come on a picnic if his wife
and
his mother asked him.” Ilissa only smiled. Nora pursued: “Tonight, will you ask him with me?”

The silver thread of laughter that always seemed to run through Ilissa's voice turned suddenly steely: “No, it's not possible.”

“Why not?” Nora asked.

“Darling, you don't want to pester him, do you? You don't want to be a nagging wife!”

“No,” said Nora, the very idea striking fear into her heart.

“Then don't be,” said Ilissa, smiling. She rose, gathering her skirts in her hand, and walked over to speak to Amatol, who straightened noticeably when she saw Ilissa coming.

After a moment, Nora stood up, too, her face warm. She wasn't sure exactly what had just transpired, but she felt as though she had been slapped. What was the harm in asking Raclin—just asking him—to come out with them one day? She paced slowly under the trees, trying to sort it out. Ilissa had not even deigned to answer the simple question: Why was it impossible to ask Raclin to join them in the daytime?

They can't lie to you. That's what that man said, the one who was supposed to be a wizard.
The thought fluttered through her mind like a falling leaf.

I never said Ilissa lied, Nora thought impatiently. She just didn't answer my question.

Exactly.

Nora looked up and saw that she had moved a little farther into the forest than she'd intended. She had a sudden dread of doing anything that might provoke Ilissa's annoyance again. As she turned back toward the picnic grove, a flash of yellow caught her eye.

“Oh!” she said aloud.

There was the iron fence, the slanting gravestones, the abandoned cemetery plot that she had come across in the forest on that day—how long ago now?—when she had first come to Ilissa's. With some curiosity, she walked closer. It looked different. The ground around the tombstones was muddy and uneven, raw orange clay scarred with boot prints and the tracks of some large animal, probably a dog. The startling yellow she had seen was a ribbon of shiny plastic with black letters:
POLICE LINE DO NOT CROSS
.

A crime scene? Nora came up to the fence and craned her neck for a better view. As she brushed against the iron railings, a stab of pain went through her abdomen. Not that she felt any real hurt, exactly, but she felt the proximity of pain, like an electric shock, inside her body. She staggered backward a couple of steps, then sat down heavily.

“Get her away from there!” someone cried out, behind her. It was Ilissa.

The pain was gone, but it had left a sense of inner agitation in Nora's belly. Food poisoning, she thought. When I can throw up, I'll feel better.

Someone was helping her up—Vulpin, coming to her rescue again. Where was Raclin? “I'll be fine in a minute,” Nora said. She hoped that she would not vomit in front of everyone, but then it was too late.

Ilissa, white-faced and furious, swiped at Nora's mouth and chin with a tiny lace handkerchief. “Poor darling,” she said. “We'll have to take very good care of you from now on.”

That was Nora's first indication that she was pregnant.

N
ora stared blankly at the night sky, where her own face and Raclin's exchanged immense and brilliant smiles, framed by a tangle of golden vines and flowers. There was a ragged cheer from the watchers outside the palace. Slowly the images faded to dim lines of smoke. Another rocket boomed and sizzled, and the sky lit up with a fountain of pink fire.

“Is he still talking to her?” Nora asked.

“No, darling, he's moved on,” Moscelle said. She leaned on the balcony railing for a better look at the crowd on the lawn. “He just stopped to say hello to her, that's all.”

“What's he doing now?” Nora tried to keep her eyes anywhere but on her husband, afraid she had not imagined the way Raclin looked at the woman with the auburn curls.

“I can't see. Oh, wait, there he is again. He's standing next to Gaibon. He just said something to Gaibon, and Gaibon is laughing. Idiot.”

“Raclin's probably complaining about his fat wife.” Nora tried to make a joke of it, and almost succeeded.

“Darling, you look perfectly sweet, absolutely adorable.”

Nora sighed and put her hand on her stomach. The baby was not due for a long time yet, as far as she knew, but her waist had already thickened out of recognition. She was wearing something loose and shapeless in purple velvet but she still had the uncomfortable sensation that she was about to burst out of her clothes.

Meanwhile, the other women at the party were in long, clinging gowns with trailing sleeves, yoked tight at the bust and waist. Nora turned away from the fireworks to glance into the ballroom behind her, where dancers galloped across the floor in glittering lines. Long as a mast, lively as a colt. The phrase was a fragment from her previous life, Nora knew, but she couldn't say exactly how she knew it or where it came from. She was used to the blanks in her memory now; they did not seem to matter much, not compared with a baby on the way and a husband who paid her less and less attention every day.

At first, Raclin seemed as happy about the baby as she was. She treasured the slow smile that had spread across his face when she and Ilissa gave him the news, after Nora had almost fainted at the old cemetery. “That's my good girl,” he said, exchanging a look with Ilissa. Nora would have preferred to tell him herself, the two of them alone, but Ilissa was obviously burning with excitement, and she had a sort of authority in the matter: It was she who, laying a long-fingered hand on Nora's abdomen, had declared definitively that Nora was pregnant.

Nora herself had been startled by the discovery. Somehow, during all those nights in Raclin's arms, she had put out of her mind how babies are made, had never once thought about using protection, although she had always been so careful in the past. Of course, she and Raclin were married, but this was so quick to be having a baby; she and Raclin had hardly had any married life together yet.

She almost said something along those lines to Ilissa, but when she met Ilissa's gaze, the words vanished. Ilissa's blue-green eyes were so full of anticipation, even hunger, that Nora felt a shock of concern. Then it came to her how thrilling to be carrying Raclin's baby inside her body, how wonderful it would be to raise his child. That was why she had married him, wasn't it? So that their lives would be intertwined, so that they could take on the intimate, important work of creating a family. She was content—no, blissfully satisfied to be carrying out her appointed function.

But meanwhile, even before Nora started to look pregnant, there was a sudden end to lovemaking in the big, canopied bed. Raclin now went to sleep immediately, or worse, he let Nora retire early—she got sleepy well before midnight now—while he stayed out for most of the night. In the morning, there would only be the imprint of his head in the pillow to show that he had been there at all.

At first Nora pouted, then she dropped hints, and finally one night she told him point-blank that she was lonely, she missed him, and she was sure that sex during pregnancy wouldn't hurt the baby. Raclin took a long swallow of wine, tilting the goblet up so that she couldn't see his expression.

“Darling?” she entreated.

Raclin lowered the goblet and licked his lips. “Such a pretty face,” he said, leaning closer to her. “A pretty, pretty face. I wonder what our baby will look like?”

“Just like you, I hope, darling,” Nora said. “In every way.”

He laughed. “I should warn you, I was not an easy child to raise. A complete hellion.” Nora imagined a small Raclin, face and hands dirty, eyes bright. She laughed, too.

“My mother hopes that it will take after you more than me,” he said. Nora felt a stirring of indignation—how could Ilissa be so critical of her own son?—but Raclin only laughed again. “Good night to you and the baby, whoever it looks like.”

“You're not coming up now?”

“No. There will be other nights, my dear. I promise not to shirk my marital responsibilities, when it's time for me to fulfill them again.”

“What do you mean?” she said. “When will that be?” He was already moving away. He looked back to wink at her, then raised his arm to hail someone across the room.

Slowly her fears crystallized: He was having an affair. She watched him as he mingled with Ilissa's guests, or had Moscelle watch him when she could not stand it anymore. It was true that Raclin didn't seem to single any woman out for special attention, but perhaps that was a subterfuge. Moscelle proved to be an unexpectedly sympathetic ally. Without unduly encouraging Nora's suspicions, she did not dismiss them, either. Infidelity was part of the natural order of things, Moscelle gave Nora to understand, so it was better to face facts and be realistic instead of trying to pretend that one's beloved, no matter how perfect, would never stray. Gaibon, for instance, had been crazy for Moscelle not so long ago, but then he had gotten himself entangled with that little black-haired slut Tinea.

Everything would be fine once the baby arrived, Nora told herself. Raclin would adore the child, and his old passion would return once she got her figure back. And she would have the baby to console her.

Now Raclin was nowhere to be seen, either on the lawn or in the crowded ballroom. Nora shifted her weight on her small gilded chair, trying to find a more comfortable position and spot her husband without being too obvious.

“Darling, I brought you some ice cream. It's strawberry, your favorite!” Moscelle said, handing her a small golden bowl.

I don't even like strawberry.
Nora spooned the ice cream into her mouth and tried to remember what her favorite flavor was. “I don't see Raclin anymore. Did you happen to see where he went?”

“Well.” Moscelle pursed her lips. “I wasn't sure whether to tell you, but since you ask, I just saw him standing on the terrace with Oon.”

Oon—Nora had seen her not so long ago, twirling neatly in the dance, light as a leaf in a green dress that was cut a shade tighter than the other women's.

“They were standing
very
close together,” Moscelle said.

Nora stood up. “You mean—what?”

Moscelle shrugged gracefully. “Men can be so awful.”

“I have to see him,” Nora said, taking a deep breath. “Right now.” She gathered up her skirt and turned to leave the balcony.

“Nora, darling, where are you going?” Ilissa was standing in the door, looking at Nora with a half-smile.

“Oh, Ilissa, I—” Nora floundered. “It's lovely to see you, but I have to go.”

“What's wrong, darling? Your pretty face is all pink. Calm down, sweet. It's not good for the baby for you to be so upset.”

Thinking about the baby made it all the worse. Nora burst into sudden, violent tears. Behind Ilissa, a few dancers looked at her curiously.

“Nora, darling!” Ilissa clamped an arm around Nora's shoulder. “Let's not make a scene.”

Sobbing, Nora felt a mild jolt, like a hiccup, and the ballroom music and the noise of the crowd abruptly ceased. When she looked up, she and Ilissa and Moscelle was standing in the white-and-gold splendor of her bedroom. “How did we get here?” Nora asked, bewildered.

“You need a little time to recover yourself,” Ilissa said firmly. She looked inquiringly at Moscelle.

“Nora's feeling a bit emotional—” Moscelle began.

“I can see that. What set this off?”

Moscelle hesitated, and then said quickly, “I saw Raclin kissing Oon on the terrace, and I thought Nora should know.”

Nora launched into a fresh round of sobs. “Raclin doesn't love me anymore,” she gulped. “He hates me. He never talks to me, he never touches me, and now he's with Oon!”

“Darling, calm yourself.” Ilissa's voice was as soft as cat's fur. “I know you're upset, and Raclin really has been a bit naughty, but there's no sense in getting hysterical over a silly little flirtation. You mustn't take this so seriously.”

“But he's my husband!”

“Exactly!” Ilissa said, patting Nora's cheek. “He's your husband. He's married to you, not to Oon.”

“He shouldn't be kissing her, then.”

“Well, he's certainly not going to kiss you if you're a sopping, hysterical mess, will he, dear? Men get distracted sometimes—and women can never keep away from my Raclin, anyway. But he'll always come back to you in the end. I wouldn't let him do otherwise.”

“I don't want him to be distracted.”

“Darling, I know, but please be reasonable. It's not good for you to be so emotional right now. We all want this baby to be healthy and happy and perfect, don't we?”

“Oh, the baby—” Nora said, choking back a sob. “You just care about the baby! It's like what those men said, the soldier and the wizard, what they said about breeding—”

“What did they say?” Ilissa asked sharply.

“Something about you breeding your cub. I—I don't know.”

Ilissa gave a small, impatient exhalation. “You need to get some rest, Nora.” She went over to the bed, turned down the covers, and patted the sheets in a way that reminded Nora of how one might show a dog where to curl up. “Here. It's time for bed.” Nora didn't move. “I said, it's time for bed,” Ilissa repeated.

Reluctantly, Nora settled herself onto the mattress. She was already wearing her nightgown, she noticed without caring much.

“Get some sleep, darling,” Ilissa said. “You'll feel better in the morning.” The room dimmed abruptly, although no one had made a move toward extinguishing the candles.

“I'll stay with Nora for a while,” Moscelle murmured, edging toward the bed.

“No, you'll come with me,” Ilissa said smoothly. “Moscelle, I'd like to know what you were thinking—?” The door shut behind them.

Lying rigid in bed, her mind still agitated, Nora hardly expected to sleep. Surprisingly, though, almost immediately she slid into deep, velvet unconsciousness.

Only to wake up, some hours later, with the pressing need to urinate. She got up to relieve herself and then went back to bed, but her capacity for sleep had vanished. For a while she kept hopelessly picturing Raclin and Oon in a series of torrid embraces, until she reflected that Ilissa was right, she should try to be calm for the baby's sake.

Then she began to worry about how much her anxiety and panic might already have affected the baby, setting its small heart racing, teaching it too soon that there was such a thing as fear in the world. “It's all right, it's all right,” she said softly, her hand on her belly. Presently, as though the baby had heard her, she was relieved to sense a flutter deep inside; it was only the second time that she had felt the baby move. Nora lay still so as not to miss a flicker of movement.

Less reassuring were the faint, sharp pains, like pinpricks, that came and went so quickly that Nora would have thought she had imagined them, except that they happened over and over again. She would have to ask Ilissa about them. Perhaps she should see a doctor. It occurred to her that she had not seen a doctor since getting pregnant. Something else to worry about. She sighed and burrowed more deeply under the covers.

The bedroom door opened. Raclin's broad-shouldered figure was silhouetted in the doorway. “Raclin!” Nora said, sitting up in bed. In spite of everything, the sight of him sent a grateful thrill through her.

He came into the room, and the candles on the mantelpiece flared into luminescence. His handsome face was smiling exactly the way that it had always smiled at her, but somehow it was not reassuring. “I heard about your little exhibition tonight, darling. Did you have to pitch your hysterics where everyone could see you?”

“How many people saw you and Oon?” Nora said, half-surprised at her own boldness.

“One too many, obviously,” he said, laughing to himself. “Moscelle won't be carrying tales any time soon.”

“Raclin, how could you do this to me? I wanted to die, when Moscelle told me.”

He stopped laughing and came over to sit on the edge of the bed. He stroked her hair, watching her face. “Oon is nothing to me, darling. Just a diversion.”

“Is she the only one?”

“Darling, don't be silly!”

“Answer me!”

“That's too ridiculous to even answer.”

“I know you can't lie to me. Tell me!”

“Where did you hear that?” Raclin's voice lost some of its controlled, affectionate tone. “Very well, I'll tell you the truth—see how you like it. Is Oon the only one I've kissed and undressed and made love to these past few months? No, she's not.”

Nora found it hard to breathe. “I love you so much, and you just ignore me and neglect me. I'm your wife, I'm going to have your baby.”

“Yes, very admirable of you. You've fulfilled everyone's expectations beautifully.”

“What does Oon give you that I can't give you? You think I'm ugly because I'm pregnant?”