The Mirror of Her Dreams

by Stephen R. Donaldson

  “Oh, yes.” Terisa recognized the name. Because she had never met a king’s daughter before and had no idea what kind of salutation was expected, she said what she had so often heard her mother say: “How nice to meet you.” Then she winced internally because her voice sounded just like her mother’s.

  Fortunately, the lady Elega hadn’t known Terisa’s mother. “Myste and I,” she continued, “have wished to meet you since we first heard of your – shall I call it your ‘arrival’? The present circumstances are not of the best. Matters which you have overheard leave me somewhat distracted, I fear.” Despite her words, the way she regarded Terisa implied that she had found something to compensate her for her father’s distressing treatment of the Perdon. “But I would be pleased” – she smiled – “and Myste would be delighted, I think, if you would visit us in our rooms. You may be unaware of the interest you have aroused in Orison. My sister and I are always eager for new friendships. And I tell you frankly, my lady” – she lowered her voice as if she were imparting a public secret – “Mordant is a man’s world. We women are not often given enough to occupy our talents. So your acquaintance would have a special value to us.

  “My lady, will you come?”

  Terisa was momentarily frozen. Then she shook herself in disgust. Why did she feel threatened when she was asked for the simplest statements and decisions? It was her mother in her. Her mother would have said, What a nice idea. When would you like us to come? I’m sure that would be lovely. My husband is so busy these days. Shall I call you next week? For that reason, Terisa gazed at Elega as straight as she could and said, “I’m not doing anything right now.”

  A second later, she realized how that would sound to Geraden, and a sting of chagrin turned her face crimson. He wasn’t looking at her: his expression had gone flat, like non-reflective glass. Only the slight, stretched widening of his eyes betrayed that he had heard her.

  Now she remembered why it was natural to fear even simple statements and decisions. They caused trouble.

  Apparently, however, the lady Elega considered the assertion a natural one to make in Geraden’s company, even though Terisa might be presumed to have come here with him for some reason or another. Her smile seemed as unconstrained as her earlier dismay allowed. “Thank you, my lady. Have you eaten? We can have a quiet lunch together. I am certain that we have an enormous amount to talk about.”

  Yet she stiffened when she turned to Geraden. In a tone of dutiful politeness, she asked, “Will you join us, Apt?”

  The corners of his jaw bunched. He shot a glance at Terisa and murmured, “No, thanks.” His voice was studiously neutral. “I think the lady Terisa has had enough of my company for one day. Give the lady Myste my greetings.”

  Abruptly, he sketched a bow toward her and headed out of the waiting room.

  As he passed through the entryway, he bumped into a door-post with his shoulder and stumbled until he caught his balance. Several of the guards chuckled at his departing back.

  The lady Elega put a hand to her mouth to hide a smile. “Poor Geraden.” Then she shook her head, dismissing him. “We must go upward, my lady.” She gestured toward the stairs and started Terisa in that direction. “My sister and I share rooms a level above the King’s. We are told that we must live there so that we will be at least as safe as our father. But I believe,” she said cynically, “the true reason is so that anything of importance will reach him before it reaches us – and stop.” Trying to blunt the edge of her words, she added more humorously, “As I said, Mordant is a man’s world.”

  In a small voice, Terisa said, “You should call me Terisa.” But the suggestion was abstract; her heart wasn’t in it. Part of her remained with Geraden. It pained her that she had hurt him. He was the only one she knew here who made sense to her. And part of her was still nauseated. Had the Perdon told King Joyse about those fatal black spots? Of course he had. He must have. And still the King refused to act? If he had only seen –

  “Terisa. I will,” the lady Elega said with satisfaction. “And you must call me Elega. I hope we will be great friends.”

  “Have you known him long?” asked Terisa. That was better than the memory of jaws and blood.

  “Apt Geraden?” Elega laughed, but her mirth sounded brittle. “You will hardly believe it, but he and I were once betrothed.”

  “Betrothed?”

  “Yes. Astonishing, is it not? But his father, the Domne, although no fighter – unlike the Perdon – is one of my father’s oldest and most trusted friends. Because of “– a hitch in Elega’s voice unexpectedly made Terisa think that the King’s daughters might also have been warned against revealing too much – “of his wars, my father wed late. Though I am his eldest, I was born only a year before Geraden, who is the Domne’s seventh son. Later, during a difficult period of those wars, my father sent all his family to the Care of Domne for safety. I spent several seasons in the Domne’s home in Houseldon, and Geraden and I were natural playmates.” The memory didn’t amuse her. “For that reason, thinking us well suited, our parents arranged a match.”

  One flight of stairs took them to the level of the King’s suite. Elega passed his high, carved door and took another stairway upward. “I would have been better pleased with one of his brothers,” she continued. “All women seem to favor Artagel, and to see Wester is to love him. But both lack ambition. Nyle is more to my taste. Sadly, women are often given little say in these matters.”

  “What happened to your betrothal?”

  “Oh, I flatly declined to marry him. He is quite impossible, Terisa.” Elega made no effort now to conceal her scorn. “It is bad enough that he cannot be trusted to walk out of a room safely. But in addition he is such a failure. He has already been serving the Imagers for three years longer than any other Apt since the Congery was founded, and he is no nearer a Master’s chasuble than he was when he began.

  “His determination must be respected – and his desire to better himself. But I am the daughter of Mordant’s King, and I do not mean to spend my life cleaning sheds in the Care of Domne, or sweeping broken glass after Geraden’s disasters.

  “Do you know?” She giggled suddenly. “The first time he was to be formally presented to my father – we had all ridden out to visit the Domne, some twelve or fourteen years ago now – he was so eager that he had no better sense than to attempt a shortcut across a log which spanned a pig wallow. When he reached us, he was carrying more filth on his person than he left in the wallow.”

  Terisa nearly laughed. She could imagine him as clearly as if she had been a witness: mud caked to his hair, his face, his clothes; water and fruit rinds dripping off him. He was exactly the sort of person to whom something like that would happen.

  A second later, however, her emotions turned until she was close to tears. Poor guy, she murmured to herself. He deserves better.

  “No, Terisa,” Elega concluded. “Apt Geraden will make an honest husband for some dull woman with her mind in her belly, a strong passion for motherhood, and much tolerance for accidents. But I will not have him.”

  In silence, Terisa replied, That’s your loss. She never said such things aloud.

  From the top of this flight of stairs, they approached another door as high as the King’s, which may have been directly below it. But this one wasn’t guarded: there was apparently no other way up to this level of the tower, and so whatever protected the King would also ward his family.

  Then Terisa remembered the secret passages. Maybe no place in Orison was safe from anyone who knew them well enough.

  Smiling, Elega went to the door and swung it open to admit her guest. “You are welcome here, my lady Terisa of Morgan,” she announced formally. Then she turned and ushered Terisa into the suite of rooms where she and her sister lived.

  In a small way, Terisa was surprised to see that these rooms weren’t as richly furnished as the ones King Joyse used. The thick, woolen rugs looked more like the work of villagers than the creations of arti
sts – rugs for use rather than display. The divans, chairs, and settees had sturdy frames that emphasized their expanse of cushion rather than their maker’s craftsmanship. Some of the end tables in the first room had the look of having been built for children to stand on; the dining room table which she glimpsed through another doorway had seen better days.

  Her own background being what it was, she couldn’t help wondering why King Joyse kept his daughters in this less luxurious style. But Elega was already explaining that detail. “Formerly, these rooms were those used by our family, while the ones below were reserved for the private business of the kingdom – receptions, small audiences, discreet parties, and the like. The Queen, my mother, had no taste for personal ostentation, but she recognized the importance of visible wealth in the craft of governance. For that reason, the public rooms were designed for show rather than comfort.” This arrangement clearly suited her, as far as it went. The way she wore her jewelry revealed that her interest in her father’s affairs had nothing to do with wealth or luxury.

  Terisa started to ask why the King had moved downstairs – or why, for that matter, the Queen (had Saddith said her name was Madin?) no longer lived in Orison. But asking personal questions wasn’t one of her strengths; and before she was ready to take the risk, a woman wearing a flowing gown of yellow silk came out of the back rooms.

  “Ah, Myste.” The look Elega gave her sister was at once fond and a bit condescending, as if she loved Myste but didn’t hold her in very high esteem. “I have brought a treat for us. This is Terisa – the lady Terisa of Morgan. She looks well in your gown, does she not? We will have lunch together. Terisa, may I introduce my sister, the lady Myste? She is perhaps the only person in Orison more avid” – she stressed the word humorously – “to make your acquaintance than I am.”

  This made Myste blush. She was, as both King Joyse and Saddith had observed, very nearly the same size as Terisa, although slimmer in certain dimensions. In much the same way, she very nearly resembled her sister, although she lacked the contrast between Elega’s vivid eyes and her pale skin and hair. Standing together, they were outdoor and indoor versions of each other. The deeper blond of Myste’s hair might not have looked like fine gold by candlelight, but it would have a burnished richness in sunshine. The tone of her skin promised that it would tan well. At the same time, the less dramatic color of her eyes seemed suited to peering across distances under bright light rather than to penetrating the secrets hidden in corners and conversations.

  The faraway quality of Myste’s gaze was apparent when she entered the room: her thoughts might have been in another world. But it was strangely emphasized when Elega introduced her to Terisa. All at once, she did look avid, so poised for wonder that she was almost trembling – and yet her eagerness seemed to pass through Terisa in order to fix itself on something behind her, some set of possibilities that she cast like a shadow. This impression was so strong that she instinctively looked around, half expecting to find someone at her back.

  “My lady.” Myste bowed to the floor in a pile of yellow silk as if both to honor Terisa and to hide her blush.

  Terisa almost panicked. Helpless and alarmed, she cast a mute appeal toward Elega.

  In response, Elega put a hand on her sister’s shoulder. “That is well done, Myste,” she said somewhat dryly. “Nevertheless it appears that so much homage makes Terisa a little uncomfortable. I call her Terisa by her own request. Surely she will want you to do the same.”

  “Please,” Terisa begged immediately. This time, she was acutely sincere.

  The lady Myste rose. Apparently her blush was a sign of excitement rather than embarrassment: she didn’t show any shame or self-consciousness. Her gaze, however, now seemed to be better focused on Terisa. “You are very welcome here, my lady,” she said in a kind voice. “I am sure I will be able to call you Terisa in a moment – when I have calmed the beating of my heart.” She laughed in a way that immediately reminded Terisa of King Joyse’s smile. “Forgive me if I have discomfited you. Perhaps you do not realize the honor you do us. I have so much that I wish to ask you. “

  “It is an honor,” Elega put in before Terisa could protest. “By the standards of Mordant, we are merely two women living with our father because he has found us unmarriageable. The lords and personages who pass through Orison do not feel obliged to call upon us or keep us informed. It was only by chance that I happened to be with the King when—”

  More urgently, she went on, “Myste, you will not believe it. Father has outdone himself.” In a few scathing sentences, she told her sister about the Perdon’s audience with King Joyse. Then she concluded, “Fifteen thousand men, Myste. The Perdon has but three thousand. And yet Father will not reinforce him.

  “He has gone too far. This must stop.”

  “Elega, he is our father,” Myste demurred. “Of course we do not understand his intent. How can we, when we know so little of what he knows and fears?” Unlike Elega, she didn’t complain of her ignorance: she was simply stating a fact. “But we must not be quick to judge him. High matters are abroad in Mordant. It appears that war is near. A chaos of Imagery threatens us. And the lady – “She glanced at Terisa, blushed again momentarily, and forced herself to say, “Terisa.” Then she gave Terisa a sweet grin. “Terisa has come to us out of a mirror. It is rumored that she comes in answer to augury. We must not be quick to judge.”

  “Myste, you are incurable.” A small frown pinched Elega’s forehead. “If the High King’s Monomach broke in upon us, butchered me before your eyes, and raised your skirts with his sword, you would say that we must not be quick to judge him.”

  “I trust,” the lady Myste said gravely, but without irritation, “that the High King’s Monomach has more honor.”

  “Oh, you are a fool!” cried Elega softly. Her violet eyes flashed in her pale face. But at once she put her arms around her sister and hugged her until her own vexation faded. When she stepped back, her social graces were restored. “Yet even a fool and a great lady from another world” – she smiled to show that she was playing – “must have lunch. I will summon it.”

  She went to a nearby bellpull and gave it a tug. Then she retreated to another room.

  A short time later, Terisa heard her speaking softly to someone, probably a domestic. And not long after that a maid laden down with trays appeared in the dining room and began to set the table.

  In the meantime, however, Terisa was alone with Myste.

  The particular quality of Myste’s gaze – and attention – made her nervous. She found that she liked Myste readily, but she didn’t want the lady to look at her. The way Myste seemed to see things that existed through or behind or beyond Terisa gave her the impression that she was starting to fade again. Involuntarily, she remembered that the mirror which had brought her here was false.

  “There’s so much about all this I don’t understand. Why is the King – your father – why is he being so passive? What reason could there be for not supporting the Perdon?”

  “Ah, my la— Terisa. There you touch on a question which has sundered this family to its heart, and still we have no answer.” The lady gestured toward a divan. “Will you sit?”

  They sank deep into the comfortable cushions, and Myste went on, “You have not been among us long. And it appears to be our policy that we must not reveal too much of ourselves to you.” Her frown expressed her disapproval as effectively as her admission itself did. “You may be unaware that our father has three daughters. Our middle sister, Torrent – accompanying our mother, Queen Madin – no longer lives with us. They make their home in Romish - or in a manor just outside Romish, I believe, for I have not been there – with Mother’s family among the Fayle.

  “Two years ago, that was not true. We were together then. And I was glad of it, though I cannot say that we were happy.”

  Terisa remained still, said nothing. She sensed what kind of story was coming. The mission had taught her how to listen to stories like that.<
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  “I think you would like our mother, my – Terisa. She is a woman who knows her own mind – a fact which upon occasion gave our father no little exasperation.” Myste smiled at the memory. “If you listen to Elega, she will lead you to believe that there are not five such women in all Mordant. But it is my opinion that she misjudges. It is my opinion that women simply lack the courage to follow their dreams.” As she said this, her gaze seemed to be aimed through the opposite wall, as if the stone were translucent. “Nevertheless none would deny that Queen Madin is one of the few who know themselves enough – or are brave enough – to insist upon their own wishes.

  “This accounts, I think,” she commented as a digression, “for the fact that she permitted Elega to break her match with Geraden of Domne though the King himself had made it. Our mother was glad to have a daughter who knew her own mind.

  “Now Madin,” the lady resumed, “loved Joyse from girlhood – long before he became King of Mordant – and he loved her. In fact, it is said only a little in jest that he began the campaigns which led to his kingship in order to rid himself of the obstacles that thwarted his passion for her. Therefore when he had established the Demesne under his rule, and had brought the Care of Fayle to freedom in his service, he threw himself at her feet and begged that she would enter his possession, as her father the Fayle had done.

  “To his astonishment” – Myste smiled again – “she refused him. She did not deny that she loved him utterly, but she would not have him for husband or for lover. He had set his hand to war as a farmer to a plow, and he must not release it until his fields were furrowed and planted. But while his grasp was upon that handle, his time and his life belonged to bloodshed. She was prepared to share him with many things, she said, but not with a mistress as avaricious as warfare, where every spear and arrow and blade of his enemies hungered for the riches of his heart. If his will did not change – and if he were still alive – let him only send word to her when his wars were done, and she would come to him anywhere in all the world.