Children of Enchantment

by Anne Kelleher Bush

  “As you say, Lord Prince.”

  He was amused and somehow touched at that answer. “Who taught you to say that?”

  “Lady Peregrine said that was the proper response to any request you might make of me.”

  “Did she give you those clothes?”

  “No, Lord Prince.”

  “Who did?”

  “The chief cook.”

  “Why the cook?”

  “It is where Lady Peregrine placed me to serve.”

  “Oh, she did? Indeed.” He would speak with Peregrine. “You have been in the kitchens, then, this day?”

  “Yes, Lord Prince.”

  “Doing what?”

  “Peeling potatoes.”

  “Potatoes? Let me see your hands.” She held out two small, white hands, tipped with short, rosy nails. The skin was soft and supple. “You don’t look as if you’ve ever peeled a potato in your life.”

  She met his eyes, and he saw a flicker of humor in her eyes. “I have peeled more potatoes in my life than you have in yours, Lord Prince.”

  “Have you? And what else have you done?”

  “Whatever my mother required of me.”

  “And what was that? Stealing dying children?” He meant to be amusing, but tears came to her eyes and she looked away.

  “It wasn’t like that, Lord Prince. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  He cleared his throat. “I shall speak with Peregrine. I don’t want a prospective bride peeling potatoes.”

  “Prospective bride?”

  “I have not ruled out the possibility of doing what your mother wished. But I must consider the effect such a marriage might have on the entire kingdom.”

  “I understand, Lord Prince.”

  There was a long silence while she looked around the room and he looked at her. “One more thing.

  “You may be in a difficult position. The old legends about the Magic, the Armageddon, are often repeated among the castle servants, and they believe them. It is possible that there are some here who will be afraid of you.” He realized as he said it that he was half afraid of her. “And because of that, try to do you harm. I want you to know—” He cleared his throat, and began again. “You may appeal directly to me if you should have any kind of trouble with the rest of the household.” She smiled at him and he took a deep breath. He had not felt so tongue-tied with a woman since he was fifteen.

  “Thank you, Lord Prince.”

  “Here, take this.” He handed her a silver ring which had been the Queen’s. It had lain in his trunk for as long as he could remember, and it was poorly made and insignificant. The stone was a small white pearl. “This is not a bridegift, or a token of a promise. Do not assume anything by this. But I am often away, and if it should happen that you are in some danger, send this. And I shall come. You may go.”

  For a moment she stared at him, and he was surprised. He had expected her to obey him, unquestioningly, as did everyone else in the household. “Is there something wrong?” he asked at last.

  “You may not wish to marry me, Lord Prince, and that may well be your decision to make. But believe me when I tell you you ignore my mother’s warning at your peril.” She dropped a graceful curtsy, as practiced as any of the ladies of the court. “Thank you, Lord Prince. We shall see what kind of protection this brings.” Clutching the ring, she moved toward the door.

  Shocked, he could only stare. As she opened the door, he managed her name. “Annandale.”

  “Lord Prince?”

  “We shall speak again.”

  “As you say, Lord Prince.” She bowed her head and was gone. He unclenched his fists and forced himself to take a deep breath. He called for Peregrine, and when she came, he was sorting his papers into a pack.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I’m going back to Ahga tomorrow.”

  “Why?”

  “There’s been an earthshake in Ahga, Peregrine. Don’t worry. I’ll be back as soon as I can. I must see about any leftover business from the Convening as well. It is a bit early for us to be here. Have you forgotten?”

  “No, of course not. Are you angry with me, Roderic?”

  He did not answer the question. “And another thing, Peregrine. Get that girl out of the kitchens. She’s no scullery maid.”

  “Well, what is she, then?”

  “Did you ask her?”

  “I asked her what she could do, and she said she was willing to do whatever needed doing. Cook was complaining that one of the maids ran off, and another had a bad burn and couldn’t work, so I put her where I thought we needed her. Have I done wrong?” She looked at him defiantly.

  He softened. Nothing would be accomplished by antagonizing Peregrine. “Can’t you have her with the women who tend to Tavia?”

  She dropped her eyes and swallowed. “I—I could.”

  He turned back to the desk and shook his head. “Have you looked at her?” He stared off into space, seeing again that unearthly face.

  “Of course I’ve looked at her.”

  “And what do you think?” He was looking at the desk and did not see her throw the book. It hit him squarely on the back of the head and fell in a flutter to the floor.

  “Just like a man!” Peregrine had tears in her eyes and her face was red. “You all think with your cocks and balls and never with your brains. Just because she’s beautiful—“

  He drew her into his arms and held her while she sobbed against his chest. “In that case, I think about you a lot.”

  “Don’t try your charm on me!”

  “Peregrine, I know this isn’t easy. But I expect you to treat this girl like a guest. Do you understand?” He hugged her tightly.

  “I’m sorry I hit you with the book.”

  He kissed the top of her head. “Can we talk about Annandale?”

  “If we must.”

  “I want you to watch her closely. Keep her under your personal supervision as much as you can. And you must watch the household as well. Let me know if you see or hear anything.”

  “Like what?”

  “The girl may do us harm. And she may be in some danger herself. There’s always the servants. They may carry tales to the priests. My father had enough trouble with the Bishop of Ahga. And I have concerns about the household, too.”

  “What do you want me to do?”

  “Come to me immediately. I have told the girl to come to me as well. I want it made clear that I will deal harshly with anyone who threatens her unprovoked.”

  “I see.”

  “All right?”

  “Roderic, I knew you would marry someday. It isn’t that I’m jealous—it’s just that she—I thought you would take as your bride the daughter of some great Senador—“

  “Why do you talk as if I had made up my mind? I know nothing about this girl—almost nothing, at any rate. And I don’t like what I do know. This is not a decision I will make quickly, or lightly, or—” and he thrust his hips against hers “—in bed.”

  She pulled away. “I will make the arrangements for you for tomorrow.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Do you—do you want my company tonight?”

  “Bring me a tray for dinner. I want to go to bed early tonight—I leave at dawn.”

  “As you say.” She smiled and he was glad to see her dimples.

  “Peregrine?”

  She paused in the door.

  “Find her something else to wear? Please?”

  She folded her lips in a prim line and made a little face. “As you say, Lord Prince.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Once he had left Minnis, Roderic found it easy to forget Annandale, and he was glad to read in the tone of Peregrine’s letters that even she relaxed as the weeks went by and nothing changed. With Brand’s words ringing in his mind, Roderic threw himself into the task of supervising the repair of the damage done by the earthshake.

  But when the repairs to the walls of Ahga were nearing completion
, when the plans of the defense of the city in the event of an attack were made, when the dispatches were read and answered and he had returned to Minnis, Roderic, although he tried to ignore her, was aware of Annandale. It would have been impossible not to have been aware of her. Glimpses of her hovered just at the corner of his vision: the curve of her profile, the lift of her hand, the flash of her skirt. His body responded involuntarily to her and he felt her absence as keenly as he did her presence.

  He was not the only one affected; wherever she went, everyone—men and women and children—stopped and stared for the pure pleasure of looking at her. But that was little comfort to his distraction.

  As she had promised, Peregrine placed Annandale among the women who cared for Tavia. She was always surrounded by others whenever Roderic saw her, and he made no attempt to see her alone. He knew she spent time with Phineas, and that the old man seemed happy since her coming. And he knew she sometimes sang with the harpers in the long evenings after the last meal. He never stayed to hear her sing: he had a hard enough time keeping her face and form out of his mind. He did not want her voice haunting him as well.

  Annandale kept to herself for the most part, said little, and stayed in the background as much as she could. Peregrine did not mention her name; Roderic chose not to ask.

  So the summer wore on. Roderic paid careful attention to the dispatches from the outposts. He was troubled when all the commanders from the garrisons and toll plazas leading into the west reported nothing of Amanander. Messengers arrived daily from all parts of the realm, but no word came from Vere, and nothing new was learned of Abelard. Roderic’s dreams were sometimes darkened by the specter of soldiers with dead men’s eyes, and one day, he sketched from memory the crest he had seen in Nydia’s flames. He hid the paper in the back of his desk and tried to shut such seemings from his mind.

  As Mid-Year passed, and Gost approached, Roderic brooded more and more upon the impending question of his marriage. Sooner or later the court must return to Ahga. Sooner or later, he would have to decide. He had always thought that this would be a subject for discussion, even lengthy negotiations. Now it seemed that Abelard had never intended that there be any question at all. What did his father owe the witch that his son should pay such a price? Phineas refused to answer any more questions, pleading ignorance.

  One day, as he sat with his scribe, Peregrine asked to be admitted, and asked him to come with her.

  Roderic frowned. He was in the middle of a delicate negotiation of water and mining rights between two equally powerful Senadors in neighboring estates, who each invoked ancient and apparently opposing laws. “Must I now, lady?”

  “It concerns the Lady Annandale.”

  “Oh?”

  “And your sister.”

  “Tavia?” Roderic put the pen down, and followed where she led. “What’s going on?”

  As they climbed the steps of the tower where Tavia lived, Peregrine explained: “She was upset today. I think her kitten scratched her. Anyway, we tried to soothe her and Annandale came in and put her arms around her, and Tavia started to cry.”

  “And you took me away from my work for that?”

  Peregrine stopped on the middle of the staircase. “Don’t you understand? Tavia never cries. She makes some unearthly wailing noise, but she never cries. She never sheds tears. Annandale put her arms around her, and it was like someone broke through a dam. Come on.”

  She held her finger to her lips as she gently pushed the door open. “Listen.”

  Roderic heard a voice, softly singing:

  “Hush, my baby, sleep, my baby,

  Day is dying in the west,

  Gently, gently, night is falling,

  Day is ending, time to rest.

  “In the south the winds are blowing,

  Softly, softly, warm and sweet,

  Hush, my baby, sleep, my baby

  Father watches as you sleep.

  “In the north the winds are blowing,

  Fiercely, fiercely, brisk and chill

  Hush, my baby, sleep my baby,

  Mother warms you, so be still.

  “In the east the winds are blowing,

  Quickly, quickly comes the dawn.

  Hush, my baby, sleep, my baby,

  Soon the moon and stars are gone.

  “In the west, the winds are blowing,

  Night is falling, time to rest,

  Hush, my baby, sleep, my baby,

  Slumber safe on mother’s breast. “

  Roderic closed his eyes and leaned against the wall. The notes were pure and clear and true, as he had known they would be, and he felt one more stone in the wall he had tried to build between himself and Annandale crumble into dust. As the song faded away, he opened his eyes. “Let’s go in.”

  They peered around the door. Annandale sat beside Tavia, who was curled on the bed, eyes closed, tears still seeping down her cheeks. The pillow beneath her face was wet.

  Annandale’s head was bowed, and she held one of Tavia’s hands in both her own.

  “Annandale?”

  She looked up, and Roderic stared in amazement. Her cheeks were streaked with tears, her eyes still brimming over. On her face he saw anguish and mortal fear.

  “Is she sleeping?” Peregrine tiptoed over to the bed.

  “Come with me, lady.” His voice was brusque.

  Immediately, Annandale disentangled her hands and wiped her face with a linen square. She looked up at Peregrine.

  “I’ll stay with her.” Peregrine nodded.

  Roderic stood aside and let her precede him down the steps. “This way.” He led her to his study and gestured an abrupt dismissal to the scribe. When the scribe had gone, clutching his bundle of pens and parchments to his bony chest, Roderic nodded at the chair. “Sit.”

  She obeyed.

  He looked her over suspiciously. She seemed calm, though her face was damp. “What have you done to my sister?”

  “I soothed her to sleep.”

  “Why was she crying?”

  “She has much to cry about.”

  “Such as?”

  Annandale looked at him as if he had suddenly spoken another language. “She has known great grief.”

  “But Peregrine says she never cries.”

  “I cannot speak to that, Lord Prince.”

  Her answer struck him as evasive. He crossed the room and caught her wrist. “If you have harmed my sister—“

  “No! No, Lord Prince, I swear! I cannot harm her. I only tried to comfort her with a song my mother sang to me when I was small. It’s a lullaby.”

  Roderic saw the fear in her eyes, and for no reason he could have articulated, he believed her. He dropped her hand: he had no wish to renew the memory of that first touch. “We shall see.”

  “I promise you, Roderic, she is not harmed.”

  “You used my name.”

  “Forgive me. I know I have not your permission.”

  The silence in the room grew until Roderic thought he heard the beating of their two hearts. She looked so small and vulnerable. She twisted her hands in the fabric of her gown. He noticed then the ugly orange color. Peregrine was still trying to minimize her beauty.

  She looked up, and he swallowed hard. “I swear I did no harm, Lord Prince.”

  He closed his eyes and tried to steady his breathing. The blood in his veins was hot, and he felt himself grow hard. It would be so easy, he thought, to reach out and take her. “Are you a witch?”

  “No.”

  “I want the truth.”

  She shook her head. “I know nothing of the Magic, and I have never harmed a living soul.” She held out her hand. “I don’t know how to make you believe that.”

  “Neither do I.” He moved away from her to lean against the empty hearth. There was another long silence.

  “Are you well treated, lady?”

  “Yes, Lord Prince.”

  “Are there any problems?”

  “No, Lord Prince.”


  “And Peregrine?”

  “The Lady Peregrine is kind.”

  He looked at her gown and smiled. “Indeed. Do you enjoy it here?”

  “It is very different from what I am accustomed to.”

  “What do you do all day?”

  “I sew. I sing. I read.”

  “You read?’”

  “Yes, Lord Prince.”

  “And the rest of the household?”

  She hesitated for the fraction of an instant. “They are kind. I have no complaint.”

  “Truly? All of them? Are you certain?”

  “They talk about me—where I came from, why I’m here.”

  “You expected that, though, didn’t you? I did.”

  “They stare, sometimes.”

  “Sometimes? I don’t wonder.”

  At that she blushed and lowered her eyes. His gaze fell on her hands, which still twisted nervously in her lap. “You wear the ring.”

  “You did not say not to.”

  “No.”

  “Do you want it back?”

  “I told you under what circumstances I wanted it back. Has anyone noticed it?”

  “No.”

  “Are you certain?”

  “Only Phineas. He felt it when he took my hand one day.”

  “Did you tell him I gave it to you?”

  “Yes.”

  “And what did he say?”

  “He seemed well pleased.”

  “Did you know I have a letter from my father? He wrote it the day I—we were born. Did you know we were born on the same day?”

  “Yes, Lord Prince.”

  “Am I to believe we were born for each other?”

  She raised her head and looked at him, and he thought that in the proud set of her chin, in the arch of her brow, she looked as royal as any of Abelard’s get.

  “It is true, lady,” he said, after another silence, “that I am drawn to you for some reason I do not understand. But why should I marry you? You know nothing about the running of a household like Ahga, do you? If I marry you, it means there must be a First Lady. I don’t want to live in a house of quarreling women. I know my father wants me to marry you. But why?”