The Thinking Woman's Guide to Real Magic (9 page)

A piece of down blew lazily in front of Aruendiel, tracing a slow spiral around his horse's head. Aruendiel followed it with his eyes. “Yes,” he said under his breath. “Go.”

The wind carried the feather away, along with his words and the dust raised by the horses' hooves.

“What did you say?” Luklren asked.

“Just a precaution,” Aruendiel said. “It's rare for our friend to come out this far, isn't it? I'll sharpen the protective spell tonight.”

“It was because of that girl. Good that we sent her back.” Luklren paused, as though waiting for Aruendiel to contradict him, but the other man said nothing, so he went on: “Well, let's get going. I want to stop at the sheepfold and the Longcrick watchtower before it gets dark. And I'm famished. Chicken for dinner tonight. We killed a rooster this morning for you.”

Aruendiel gathered up his reins with a dry laugh. “The last time I came, it was a stringy old ram—now a winter chicken. You don't believe in spoiling your guests, Lukl. Or maybe you just don't think my magic merits much in the way of hospitality.”

“It's been a hard winter. We were fattening up a yearling calf for your visit, but the Faitoren stole it.”

“Ah! Too bad,” said Aruendiel, spurring his horse. “Well, I will have to exercise greater vigilance against them in the future.”

W
alking back across the fields beside Vulpin, Nora tried hard to keep her eyes fixed ahead. She wanted to be polite, the way she'd avoid staring at someone with any kind of deformity, but Vulpin's transformation had been so unexpected, so impossible, that she felt an almost physical compulsion to turn and look at him again. Finally she did shift her eyes toward him, intending to look just for a second, but Vulpin immediately met her gaze. He nodded and opened his big, tusked mouth, which was the saddest part of all, as she realized that he was trying to smile.

“Poor Vulpin,” she said. “Are you in pain? Did he hurt you?”

He shook his head without saying anything, and they kept walking.

It was colder than ever. Nora's teeth chattered, and the tips of her fingers were blue by the time they reached the stream that she had crossed so unthinkingly a little while before. Now, she discovered, it was almost frozen over, ice glazing the stones that stood out of the water. Vulpin had to help her across.

Then she was standing on the other side, and it was summer again—blue sky overhead and tall, green grass waving in a warm breeze. Moscelle and the rest of the hunting party were waiting, along with a dozen horsemen, men she knew from Ilissa's parties, now wearing helmets and a close-fitting, metallic garb that reminded her of the feeted pajamas that small children wear. She realized after a second that it was chain mail.

Moscelle and the others crowded around Nora, asking whether she was all right, exclaiming how naughty she had been to wander away, how frightened they had been, how cold her hands were, how lucky she had been to escape from the soldiers and the evil wizard. Nora was more concerned about Vulpin. It occurred to her that no one could recognize him. “I'm fine, really I'm fine,” she said at last, for the fifth time. “But look what they did to poor Vulpin!”

The others, though, seemed reluctant to look at him directly; Nora could hardly blame them. “What happened to you, Vulpin?” Moscelle asked finally, an edge in her voice.

Vulpin shrugged his shoulders. “Lord Aruendiel's little joke,” he said thickly. He switched to the other language, the one that they used when they thought Nora wasn't listening. It sounded harsher and wilder in his changed mouth.

“I see,” Moscelle said finally, with a glance at Nora. “How unpleasant. Well, you'd better ride ahead and ask Ilissa for help. Tell her we'll be there shortly.”

One of the other men led Vulpin's horse over to him. He was too short to climb unassisted into the saddle, so the others had to help him up and shorten his stirrups for him. He dug his small heels into the side of the horse and disappeared at a gallop.

“I'm sorry to cause all this trouble, Moscelle,” Nora said. “I only crossed the stream to pick some flowers, and then the soldiers came.”

“Oh, darling, we're just so thankful you're safe. None of us realized that we were so close to the border, or we would never have let you out of our sight. Was it terrible for you, sweet?”

“Oh, those men were horrible,” Nora said passionately. “They kept looking at me in this awful way. I was afraid they wanted to—well, you know—but they didn't. They were afraid of Ilissa and Raclin, I think.”

“They should be afraid. She's very, very angry,” Moscelle said, with a little shudder. “How many were there?”

“Three soldiers and two men on horses. A man with one eye, and a crippled man they said was a wizard. I didn't believe it, but he did something to me and made me confused, and he did that terrible thing to Vulpin.”

“What did he do to you?” Moscelle said quickly.

“I don't know, exactly,” said Nora, “but I couldn't tell how many legs a horse has.”

“Is it a riddle?”

“No, I just didn't know.”

“Oh, darling, you know how many legs a horse has, don't you?”

“Four,” Nora said carefully. When Moscelle said nothing, she went on with more confidence: “I did know it at first, and then I looked at my dress, and it was as though part of my brain had shut off.”

“What an awful feeling. Are you all right now?”

“I think so.” In fact, Nora reflected, her head felt a bit clearer than it had for a long time. At least, the slippery words that had become so expert at eluding her now seemed easier to grasp. Standing up to the wizard and the soldiers had forced her to gather her wits, it seemed. She felt some pride for not breaking down in front of them. “Moscelle, who were those men? Why did they kidnap me?”

Moscelle had plenty to say on the subject of the one-eyed man and the crippled wizard. The one-eyed man lived nearby and called himself a lord, Moscelle said, but he was only lord over a crumbling pile of stones and some mangy sheep and cows. He was always trying to pick fights with Ilissa—it was very annoying. The other man was a cruel and dangerous wizard—the Black Wizard, Moscelle called him. He'd had been to hell and learned his magic from the devils there, people said.

“You were lucky to get away. He hates us, and there are terrible stories about him.” Moscelle lowered her voice. “He murdered his wife. She was a beautiful young girl, much younger than he was. He stabbed her in a fit of rage. But don't worry. Ilissa is a match for him.”

“Why do these people hate us?” Nora asked, frowning, a little surprised at this talk of wizards.

Moscelle sketched a vague gesture. “There was a war once, and now we have a truce, but we still have to be on our guard. Someday we'll defeat them for good. Ilissa can explain it better.”

“Why didn't anyone tell me this before?”

“Oh, darling, no one wants you to worry about such things. And it's really not that important. You just have to be a little careful so that you don't go too close to the border by accident. I hope Ilissa's not too furious with us. Leptospeer was supposed to keep track of where we were, but all he could think about was lunch, the pig.”

“Well, it was me who wandered off.”

“It's sweet of you to say that, darling. Do you think you could remember to mention that to Ilissa? I know that she could never be angry with you.”

•   •   •

Ilissa was waiting for them on the terrace, looking collected and lovely in a full-skirted white dress embroidered with pearls and gold thread. Nora had seen pictures of Queen Elizabeth I in something similar, although on Ilissa the dress looked less like something you would wear to face off with the Spanish Armada and more like something to go dancing in. Smiling, Ilissa held out her hands to Nora and kissed her on both cheeks.

Only then did Nora notice the change in the rose garden below the terrace. All of the bushes were blackened and leafless, as though they had been scorched with a blast of flame.

“Nora, what a terrible experience for you,” Ilissa said, still clasping Nora's hand. “Are you truly all right? I know how wicked those men are.”

“She's fine,” Moscelle said, before Nora could answer. “They didn't touch her.”

“Thank you, Moscelle,” Ilissa said tightly, still smiling. Moscelle was right, Ilissa was very angry indeed.

“It's true,” said Nora. “They didn't hurt me. They were afraid of you and Raclin. Where is Raclin?” she added, looking around, wondering why he had not ridden out to meet her.

“Oh, Raclin is patrolling the border, making sure that those men don't try to attack us,” said Ilissa. “Don't worry about him,” she added, seeing the apprehension in Nora's face. “He'll be back before you know it, darling. He was very upset to hear what happened. I would have expected Moscelle and Vulpin and the others to have taken better care of you.”

Beside Nora, Moscelle stiffened slightly. Nora noticed Vulpin a few feet away, the grotesque snout and tusks still protruding from his face.

“Can't you help him?” Nora asked. “The wizard did that to him—it's so horrible.”

“Yes, it is, isn't it?” Ilissa said. “Well, we could change him back to our dear, handsome Vulpin right away. But Vulpin and I have been discussing it, and much as it pains me, we've agreed that it might be better to let him stay this way for a bit longer. A little reminder to him and everyone else to be more cautious next time.”

Nora looked over at Vulpin, and he nodded, his changed face unreadable. “But it wasn't his fault I got lost,” she said. “And then he came for me, even though I could tell he felt horrible.”

Ilissa's laugh was like a champagne flute breaking on a marble floor. “I'd expect no less of Vulpin!” she declared. “He did only what he should have. But why, darling, did you get lost? Were you trying to leave us? Are you not happy here?”

As Nora met Ilissa's gaze, so endlessly sympathetic and concerned—so impossible to evade—she again began to feel as though her tongue and brain were numbed, as though words and phrases would refuse to combine into anything but the simplest of meanings. (That didn't matter, though, because Ilissa would understand everything perfectly.) “Happy, I'm very happy,” she began.

Then, unbidden, Nora remembered the cold winter light and the brown fields and how she had faced the tall wizard in black and found the words she needed.

“I just went to pick some flowers,” Nora said, a little sharply. “No one told me there was any danger.”

“Of course, I understand,” Ilissa said. “So you encountered Lord Luklren and Lord Aruendiel. What did you think of them?”

“I didn't like them. The way they talked about me, and you and Raclin, was very, uh—not respectful.”

“They are very coarse, rude men. I use their titles simply as a courtesy. But you have nothing to worry about. Luklren is a nuisance only, and Aruendiel—well, I have defeated him before.” Ilissa's eyes narrowed, and suddenly she did look as though she could face the Spanish Armada.

“Under the circumstances, though, I think we should change our plans slightly,” she continued. “Darling, I hope this won't be a disappointment, because we've been having so much fun planning the wedding—but I think we should go ahead and have it tonight, even though not everything is quite ready. Once you and Raclin are married, they wouldn't dare do anything to hurt you. Darling, what do you think?”

When Nora had heard the word “disappointment,” she'd had the sudden fear that Ilissa was about to say that the wedding was off, the engagement broken. With a surge of relief, Nora said, “That sounds wonderful!”

“Ah, you see, Moscelle!” Ilissa said. “Nothing stands in the way of love.”

•   •   •

There was something odd about Nora's bouquet, a lush cascade of white lilies and peonies bound with a white silk ribbon. But if she happened to glimpse it from the corner of her eye, the bouquet was a bundle of black sticks. This was distracting; Nora kept glancing down to see whether she was holding sticks or flowers.

“I'm sorry, darling,” Moscelle said, noticing her confusion. “I did the best I could.
She
should have realized that we'd need flowers for tonight before she blasted every plant in the garden. It's going to take at least a day to grow them all back.”

“It's all right,” Nora said. “They look beautiful. Is Raclin here yet?”

“Oh, he'll be here soon,” said Moscelle absently, adjusting Nora's gown. “It's getting dark.”

“Do you think anything could have happened to him?”

“Darling, nothing happens to Raclin that he doesn't want to happen to him.”

“That's right,” said Raclin, coming through the door. Moscelle stepped back just in time to let Nora rush into his arms.

“I was so worried!”

Raclin's lips brushed Nora's mouth. “My dear, there was absolutely no danger. Those cowards know better than to tangle with me. My mother's in a panic that they'll launch some sort of attack, but honestly, I don't think we'll have any more trouble.” He looked even more handsome than usual, Nora thought, with his eyes bright and a light flush of color on his perfect cheekbones. “And once the wedding's out of the way, we'll have a marvelous opportunity to launch a counterattack.”

“But I don't want you to go off and fight just when we get married,” Nora protested. “We need some time together.”

Raclin looked down at her curiously. “Did you find your tongue again? That's the longest sentence I've heard you utter for weeks, my dear.”

Nora laughed with a tinge of embarrassment. All this time, fogged with happiness, she hadn't realized how distracted she must have seemed, even to dear Raclin. “Oh, you would have been proud of me, the way I talked to that wizard and those soldiers. They kept trying to scare me, and I wouldn't back down.”

“You didn't, eh?” Raclin said. “Well, that's good, I suppose. My brave girl.”

“Anyway, you shouldn't be thinking about fighting. We're about to get married.”

“Look at her! We're not even married yet, and she's already telling me what to do.”

“You'd better do what I say, or maybe I'll change my mind about marrying you,” Nora said daringly. (
It's not too late to change your mind,
came an echo somewhere deep inside her.) A threat she would never dream of carrying out, of course, but Raclin gave her a sharp look.

In fact, the ceremony went so quickly that Nora would have been hard-pressed to find time to change her mind. A blare of trumpets, and she and Raclin passed through a vast crowd even more splendid than usual. Then they were standing in front of Ilissa, who spoke to them in that strange, sinuous language. Raclin answered in the same language, and Nora chimed in with the response that Moscelle had made her practice a hundred times. (Nora promised herself that she would master this second language of Raclin's, whatever it was, as soon as possible.)

Raclin put a golden ring on her finger. It was tight, almost painful at first—perhaps there had been a mistake, and it was the wrong size—but then it felt fine. She slipped its twin onto Raclin's finger. Ilissa crowned her with a jeweled tiara. Raclin was already wearing a circlet of gold around his head. At the wedding banquet, almost all of the toasts and speeches were in that same mysterious language. Nora smiled through it all, her hand linked with Raclin's. There was dancing, and then Raclin pulled her upstairs to a din of applause and whistles from the guests.