“Close the door,” Mistress Cooper ordered him. “You’re letting the cold in. Lass, we’ll need two more cups, I think.”
George gripped Alanna’s arm as she moved past him. “So you’re a girl, after all.”
“I thought you knew that,” Alanna snapped. She looked at Jonathan. “You don’t seem surprised.” He grinned. “Oh, I am, a little. I knew you were up to something, though. You’ve been awfully mysterious lately. And remember I caught you two days ago piling your hair on top of your head looking at yourself in the mirror.”
“Some people think they’re pretty observant since they became heroes of the war,” Alanna said, sniffing.
“Maybe I do,” Jonathan replied amiably. “But what is that stone?”
Alanna looked at the ember-stone, fingering it. “I got it from—from a lady I met once.”
Jonathan frowned. “Why would a lady give you a charm? It looks valuable, whatever it is; and it’s magic for certain.”
Alanna shrugged. “If it’s magic, it’s not magic I can use. And she gave it to me—well, it’s a long story, and I really don’t want to tell it right now. I don’t understand it myself.” She sat down, and Mistress Cooper handed her the teapot.
“Pour,” the woman instructed. “You two can take off your hats, at least. Don’t you know when you’re being served by a lady?”
It was not the last time Alanna wore a dress. Wearing a black wig, she went into the city (usually in Mistress Cooper’s company), getting used to her skirts and learning about the things most girls her age took for granted. They had the most fun in the marketplace, where they often shopped for additions to the wardrobe Alanna kept in a locked chest at the foot of her bed.
Snow came in mid-November, falling for days and forming immense drifts. The people watched and prayed for a break in the weather. It finally came, and the snow ceased to fall, leaving in its place bitter cold that refused to break. Huntsmen called it “Wolf Winter,” the time when wolves, finding little else to hunt, turned on men. Alanna, loathing the cold, bundled up and tried her best to ignore it.
In early December the first reports of wolves came from the villages around the Royal Forest. The king sent hunt after hunt to slay the man killers, while other fiefs in the north of Tortall reported the same problem. Coram wrote that he had moved the families of Fief Trebond into the castle to keep them safe. There was certainly room enough, he added in his letter, but it was annoying to have so many children underfoot.
By February most of the killers were slain or in hiding, except one. He was called Demon Grey. He had been wounded at least three times—a huntsman’s arrow had even taken one of his eyes recently—but nothing seemed to stop him for long, for he continued to prey on the villages of the Royal Forest. When at last he entered a woodsman’s hut, taking away a baby girl, the king ordered every man in the palace who could carry a spear out for the hunt. Duke Roger came, splendid in ermine-trimmed green velvet. Duke Gareth was there, his bad leg still a little stiff. Even Myles was present, warm in brown velvet and fur and looking uncomfortable. The king himself led the hunt.
Alanna was even more uncomfortable than Myles. Moonlight had cast a shoe; Alanna couldn’t ride her. Instead she was mounted on a prickly chestnut with a hard mouth, a fidgety, anxious fellow who obviously preferred his nice warm stall. Alanna didn’t blame him. She dressed to survive the weather, with several layers of wool clothing and fleece-lined leather over it all. When she checked herself in the mirror, she was several sizes larger.
“We’re going to hunt, not sleep out all night,” Jonathan said, laughing when he saw her.
Alanna blushed. “I get cold.”
“I don’t think you can move with all those layers on,” he told her as they waited in the courtyard for his father to arrive.
“Oh?” Leaning from the saddle in a swift movement, Alanna scooped up a handful of snow and lobbed it into her prince’s face. “See?” She grinned as she trotted past Jonathan. “I’m warm and mobile.”
She caught up with Gary and Raoul, riding with them for a while. She saw little of her large friends these days; the king always had duties for them. The three laughed and joked until the Huntsman-in-Charge blew the Discovery up ahead. Then the knights rode on while Alanna stayed back, knowing she wouldn’t be needed. She didn’t mind if someone else got the glory in a hunt of this size. Too often she felt sorry for the animal, outnumbered by so many armed and trained knights (not that she could feel sorry for a child-killing wolf).
The discovery was a wolf. The king brought it down himself. But it was not Demon Grey. Alanna watched every movement between the trees, wishing she had brought Faithful. It had seemed silly in the morning to bring a cat on a wolf hunt, but how she missed her companion’s sharp ears and nose.
The hunt moved on, bagging another wolf and a mean old boar. Slowly the hunters spread over the Royal Forest, until occasionally Alanna followed it by sound alone. When it swept around her, she would fall in with the others, then the hunters would ride on. She wasn’t worried. She was never so far away that a blast on the horn hanging at her waist wouldn’t bring someone immediately, and there were usually other horsemen around. Besides, Demon Grey attacked children and old people, not warriors.
A sound—crashing! A wolf’s snarl! Wheeling the chestnut, Alanna yelled for help. After an answering triumphant shout, she spurred into the clearing where the shout seemed to come from and halted. Duke Roger knelt in the snow, his spear fixed in the body of a giant gray wolf. He grinned when he saw Alanna. “A few moments earlier, and you might have had him, Alan.”
Alanna dismounted, ready to give the Duke a hand. “I don’t grudge you the kill, sir. Are you certain that’s Demon Grey?”
Roger shrugged. “How many wolves of this size and description can there be?” he asked.
A low snarl struck Alanna’s ears. Her horse reared and bolted with a whinny of terror, taking her spear with him. Alanna froze, swearing under her breath and peering closely at the surrounding trees. Then she saw it: A larger wolf than the one Roger had killed was slinking toward her, its belly flat on the snow. Its left eye was missing; the other glittered with grim purpose.
The wolf charged. Alanna drew Lightning, hoping to spear the huge animal before it leaped. The crust on the snow beneath her broke. She stumbled, Lightning opening a slash in the wolf’s side before flying out of her hand. Furious at being wounded, the wolf whirled and charged again.
There was no time to retrieve her sword. Alanna gripped her dagger and, aiming for his blind side, threw herself onto the giant animal’s back. Girl and wolf rolled over in the snow, a blur of gray and tan flashing with the white of the wolf’s teeth and the copper of Alanna’s hair.
Roger looked up; the clearing was ringed with hunters. Myles gripped Jonathan’s shoulder, holding the younger man back. The prince’s eyes were terrible with fear for his friend.
Alanna did not see the reinforcements. She saw nothing but the wolf, who was doing his best to fling her off his back. She held on, desperately striking again and again with her knife. Suddenly the wolf shuddered and howled; her blade had entered his side. He fell, his paws twitching. She had stabbed him to the heart.
She let Jonathan pull her free of the wolf’s body. “Are you insane?” he whispered, hugging her tightly for a moment.
“It attacked me.” Alanna pushed Jon away gently, holding the ember-stone for comfort. Suddenly the colors, the sounds, even the smells in the clearing were very sharp. She was startled to see a bright orange glow around Roger. Even more odd was the fact that the same orange fire was fading from the bodies of the two wolves. Alanna looked at them and at Roger, puzzled. What was she seeing? The color of Roger’s magic was orange. What had that to do with the wolves?
A huntsman was examining the wolf she had just killed. “’Tis Demon Grey,” he told the king positively. “I shot out this eye myself three weeks past. That would be his mate,” he added, nodding to the wolf claimed by Roger’s spear.
“Are you all right?” Myles asked Alanna, worried by the strange look on her face.
Alanna released the ember-stone. All traces of orange fire, in Roger or in the wolves, was gone. “Am I?” she asked, not thinking about what she said. “I’m not sure.”
That night Alanna waited until she and Faithful were alone in her room and Jonathan was out at a party before she took the ember-stone from beneath her shirt. The cat watched her, his tail twitching, as she looked around for a suitable object to experiment on. Finally she placed an old shirt in front of the hearth. After putting the stone on a table within reach, she concentrated on the shirt. Reaching toward it, she recited the Spell for Transforming. The spell was a hard one, requiring power and concentration, but she had both in plenty these days. Her weakness of the summer was gone, and the reserves of her Gift were greater than ever. She even wondered if she didn’t enjoy using magic sometimes.
Purple fire flowed from her fingers into the shirt. It twitched and twisted, its outline slowly straightening and turning brown. Sweat rolled down Alanna’s cheeks as she ended the spell. The shirt made a final struggle to stay a shirt before turning into a log of firewood. With a flick of her fingers, Alanna magically threw the log onto the fire. As it crackled and started to burn, she grabbed the ember-stone.
The log, the air between her and the hearth, even her fingertips glowed a brilliant violet. Slowly the color faded, and she put the Goddess’s token down. Faithful walked over and rubbed against her legs, meowing, until she bent and picked him up, petting him absently.
“I don’t think I’ve ever held it when magic was being used before,” she whispered to the cat. “I always kept it hidden in Roger’s class. I was afraid he’d guess something was strange about it. I wonder if it will always show me when there’s sorcery around?”
When did you see magic used before? Faithful asked.
“This afternoon,” she whispered. “The color of Roger’s Gift was on him and the two wolves.” She began to pace, still holding her pet. “And what’s the answer to that? What could he gain from magicking Demon Grey and his mate?”
Faithful hooked his claws into her tunic and climbed up onto her shoulder, perching there. Whom did Demon Grey try to kill?
“Me,” Alanna whispered. “He tried to kill me.”
The spring flew by, and Alanna’s seventeenth birthday arrived. She rose and dressed before dawn that morning, then made her way to the underground levels and the Chapel of the Ordeal. It was deserted, except for the caretakers; priests came here only during the Midwinter Festival when would-be knights undertook the Ordeal. For two hours she sat and stared at the Chamber’s iron door, thinking. Only a year and a half. Just eighteen months between me and what’s in there. It’s not enough time!
Evidently Faithful judged that she had been there long enough. He left her with her thoughts, reappearing with Jonathan on his heels. The prince took one look at Alanna’s white face and dragged her out of the Chapel, closing the door firmly.
“Brooding about it only makes it worse,” he told her kindly. “Why think about it at all? When the time comes, you’ll go in there if you’re ready or not. There’s nothing you can do to prevent it, so come have some breakfast.”
At lunch she received small gifts from Jon, Myles, and George, and her friends drank to her health. It was hard to believe she’d had six birthdays since coming to the palace. It was hard to believe so much had happened to her.
That night she slipped away early. She was too restless to socialize, and too nervous to sleep. The cause could have been the sight of Jonathan dancing with Lady Delia. From all the signs, the prince planned to spend the night with the beautiful, green-eyed woman. Alanna didn’t want to be there when they left together.
Thinking of Delia sent her to the wooden chest she kept at the foot of her bed, locked and magically protected. Opening it, she drew out her pretty clothes—a lace-trimmed chemise, delicate silk stockings, tiny leather slippers, a purple silk dress. She even took out the black wig she normally wore in public: There weren’t enough violet-eyed redheads around to warrant her leaving her rooms without some kind of disguise.
She dressed and admired herself in the mirror. She wasn’t a beauty like Delia, but she wasn’t a hag, either. Defiantly she picked up a cloak and threw it over her shoulders. There was no law that said she had to be a boy on her seventeenth birthday, and Faithful wasn’t there just then to advise caution. Touching the ember-stone and feeling the charm to ward off pregnancy beside it, Alanna grinned. She’d never do anything to get herself pregnant, of that she was certain. Still, she couldn’t help but think of …
Amused that she was silly enough to wonder what sex was like, Alanna peered out her door. The hallway was clear, and she was going for a walk in the gardens! What if Jonathan was with Delia? She was free and independent, and that was the important thing!
She felt bold and wonderful, strolling through the luxurious palace gardens by herself. Finding an isolated bench, she put her cloak aside and sat down. The moon was full, and she relaxed in its soft silver glow, turning her face up to it. A night for lovers, she thought, then bit her lip. She had no lover, and she didn’t want one.
She left her cloak and walked through the rose gardens, inhaling the heavy scent of the blooming flowers. From here she could see the long terrace, where she had left Jonathan and Delia. Glancing at it, she could see a man standing there now; he was watching her. Suddenly he went inside, and she lost her spirit of adventure. She didn’t want one of her gallant friends coming out here to romance her; life was complicated enough!
He was waiting for her beside the bench where she had left her cloak.
“Hullo,” he said casually, holding the garment up. “I think this is yours.”
Alanna slid the wig from her hair. “How did you know it was me, Jonathan?”
He came forward, taking one of her hands in his. “I guessed. And then I saw how you walked and I was sure.”
Alanna made a face. “Mistress Cooper tries to cure me of walking like a boy, but it doesn’t seem to take.”
Jonathan lifted the gold charm off her throat, examining it. “What’s this?” he asked. His voice was soft and warm.
Alanna was thankful for the darkness that kept him from seeing her blush, “It’s a charm to—keep me from having children,” she stammered. “Mistress Cooper gave it to me a—a long time ago.”
Jon chuckled. “Have you ever tried it out?” he asked, putting his free arm around her. Alanna braced herself against his chest, trying to ignore the silly fluttering in her stomach or the heat running through her body.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” she asked gruffly.
“This.” Swiftly he kissed her again and again. Alanna felt giddy and was grateful that his tight hold kept her from falling. She was scared. She suddenly realized she wanted to be the one in his bed tonight.
Jonathan stopped kissing her, only to start unlacing her bodice.
Alanna shoved him away, terrified. “No!” she gasped, grabbing her laces. “I was crazy to think—Jonathan, please!”
The prince realized she was trembling, her hands shaking too badly for her to lace herself. He shook his head and did the work for her.
“You’re fighting what has to be,” he said, “and you know it as well as I do.”
“I—I know no such thing,” she stammered. “I promised myself once that I’d never love a man! Maybe I almost broke that promise just now because of moonlight and silliness—”
“Stop it,” he told her sternly. He made her look up at him. “We belong to each other. Is that silliness? Surely you’ve realized all along this had to happen.” When she did not answer, he sighed. “Go away, before I change my mind.”
Alanna ran. Once inside her room, she bolted the door, undressed, and threw her clothes into a corner. This was what came of wearing a dress! Men got ideas when a person wore skirts! George vowed love to you without ever seeing you in skirts, a reasonable p
art of her mind said, but Alanna kicked that thought away. She paced nervously, snapping her fingers. Where was Faithful? She didn’t want to be alone when Jonathan came back to his room.
Suddenly her knees weakened, and she sat on the bed. Of course Jonathan wouldn’t come back. He’d go to Delia now. He didn’t want Alanna; he just wanted a girl to have fun with. Oh? said that nasty, unreasonable corner of her mind. Then why did he say what he did? Why did he say you belonged with him?
Hadn’t the Goddess told her to learn to love? Did she love Jonathan?
A sound in the other room startled her. He hadn’t gone to Delia! He was preparing for bed in his own room, moving quietly so he wouldn’t disturb her. He hadn’t been looking just for amusement!
Alanna’s lip quivered. She wanted Jonathan’s love. To be honest, she had wanted that love for a long time.
She rapped on the door between their rooms. “Jon?”
He opened the door. His eyes were bright as he looked at her. Alanna swallowed. “I’m scared. Help me, please.”
Jonathan’s voice was rough as he said, “I’m scared, too. At least we can be scared together.”
8
FEARS
ALANNA WAS HAPPY THAT SUMMER. DURING THE day she had lessons and duties—fewer lessons now and more duties, because she was entering her last year as a squire. She had Myles to advise her when Coram wrote with a particularly difficult problem at Trebond. She went to Mistress Cooper to talk and to learn more about a woman’s life. At night, Jonathan taught her about loving. She was sorry to see the leaves begin to change color: Somehow she knew her quiet, happy time was not going to last much longer.
Delia of Eldorne paced in front of Duke Roger’s chair, her green eyes glinting with anger. “I don’t understand it!” she snapped for the tenth time. “I had him here—” She held out a slender white hand, palm up, before clenching it into a fist. “And now I suppose I’m to consider myself privileged if he dances with me once at a party!” She threw herself to her knees in front of Roger’s chair, looking up at him prettily. “Master, forgive me,” she begged. “I did everything you told me to. He just—” She stopped and looked downward, fluttering her heavy lashes.
In the Hand of the Goddess Page 10
