“I didn’t cheat them! I mended their pots, and they were happy to pay me. It was a fair trade.”
“Nevertheless, it was unseemly for you to charge them, and unseemly to put yourself on public display, to make yourself—and me—the object of village gossip.”
“As if you’re not already, come on,” Nora said, feeling the growing temblors of her own anger. “People in the village gossip about you, they gossip about me, they gossip about each other, they have nothing else to do. And I wouldn’t have had to earn that money in the first place if you had paid your own bills at the cobbler’s. He charged me extra—four silver beads—because he said I was gentry—”
“He was mistaken there.”
“—and because you hadn’t paid him for your last pair of boots.” What happened to his statement that a gentleman doesn’t quibble with shopkeepers, she wondered.
“That is a matter between him and me,” Aruendiel said icily. “If he tried to overcharge you, you should have informed me.”
“You weren’t here.”
“Or Mrs. Toristel.”
“She would have said to wait until you got back, and in the meantime, my old boots were falling apart,” Nora shot back. “You should be pleased that I put the magic that you taught me to good use. So what if I repaired some chamber pots? They’re useful, and I saved the villagers the cost of replacing them.
“What you’re really angry about,” she added, “is that a lot of peasants laughed at you in a tavern. Well, I’m sorry about that. But that doesn’t mean I should give up my boots.”
She made a point of returning Aruendiel’s stare. When finally he spoke, the edge of sarcasm was gone from his voice, replaced by something meaner, blunter. His face was blank with rage. Whenever she had seen Aruendiel angry before, she realized now, there had always been a sense that he was savoring the chance to frame exactly the right insult or give voice to his feelings with precisely the degree of force required. The black irony, the barbs, were a sign that he was in control. All that was gone now. “You do not even understand how you have disgraced yourself,” he said flatly. “Remove your boots and give them to Mrs. Toristel.”
Nora shook her head. “No,” she said, not as loudly as she wanted to.
“Then you will not remain under my roof.”
Her immediate response was relief. There was an escape. She was not going to be transformed into some small, crawling thing or run through with a sword. “All right,” she said.
“Sir!” Mrs. Toristel’s voice had regained some strength. “Nora has certainly behaved badly, and I’m very sorry for it. I would have stopped it at once if I’d known.”
“I know you would have, Mrs. Toristel,” Aruendiel said in clipped tones.
“But is it necessary to turn her out of doors in winter? She has nowhere to go.”
“She cannot live in my household, if she will not obey my wishes.”
“Nora,” said Mrs. Toristel, “you must do as he asks. Come, give me the boots.”
“He’s not asking,” Nora said, “and no.”
“Don’t be silly, girl. You’ve been protected here, fed, clothed. If you leave here—in this weather—a lone woman—what do you think will happen to you?”
“I’d rather go anywhere else than be treated like this.”
“If you leave, Nora, there’s nothing I can do to help you,” Mrs. Toristel said sadly.
“I know,” Nora said, working hard to keep her voice steady. “I’ll be all right. I have a skill now,” she added stubbornly. “I can earn my own living, that’s one thing I’ve learned from this stupid mess. People will pay me to mend pots. I can go from village to village and earn food and shelter and silver. I’ll be fine.”
“You can hardly expect to travel from village to village unmolested,” Aruendiel remarked.
She jerked her head up to look at him. “Well, I expect you to make sure that I can pass safely through your lands. After that, what happens to me is of no concern to you.”
Mrs. Toristel shook her head. “Mending pots, Nora? You’ll make a poor living.”
“I made three silver beads yesterday, and I could make a lot of money in Semr, mending fine porcelain for the nobility. And I’ll pick up other spells, like bringing rain—” Seeing the contemptuous expression on Aruendiel’s face, she faltered for a second. “Or curing warts or whatever. There’s all kinds of useful magic that people will pay for.”
“At least think it over,” Mrs. Toristel said, with a sigh. “Don’t be foolish.”
“She has made her choice,” Aruendiel said shortly, his eyes sliding away from Nora as though he found the sight of her distasteful.
“I’ll leave tomorrow morning,” she said. Shouldering past him, she went out of the kitchen and upstairs, her heart thudding.
The whole dispute was trivial, absurd, she thought, sitting in her small chamber—not hers anymore, after tomorrow—and yet now the conflict seemed inevitable. If Aruendiel was going to play lord of the manor—which of course was exactly what he was—then something, anything would have been bound to set him off eventually. No reasonable person could predict when she might unintentionally break one of their repressive, ridiculous, medieval codes. In her own world, what she and Morinen had done would be admired as plucky, smart, entrepreneurial. Sheer bad luck that the one time she had ever discovered a way to make some money, it had to be in a place where her initiative would only land her in disgrace.
Of course, Mrs. Toristel was right, she reflected more soberly. She, Nora, might be raped, robbed, murdered, frozen to death, reenchanted by Ilissa, as soon as she moved beyond the protective radius of the magician’s power. But then his power was the problem. That was why she couldn’t stay here to be ordered around like a slave. Better to die a free woman. If any woman in this wretched world could be said to be free.
Hirizjahkinis. She had given Nora her token. Nora felt relief flood her. If she got into real trouble, she could call on Hirizjahkinis. Maybe it would work, after all, this plan of going out to make her living by fixing pots. Nora already knew how to set things on fire. Hirizjahkinis could teach her other spells to protect herself.
She recalled, with some chagrin, how easily she’d told Hirizjahkinis she did not fear Aruendiel. Well, it was true then. Hirizjahkinis said he would not hurt her. Maybe Hirizjahkinis had never seen him as he had been today, rage freezing every trace of reason or compassion. He had been irritated with Nora for weeks, and now this. She had no idea what might have first turned him against her. It didn’t matter now.
Mrs. Toristel called her downstairs to the kitchen and tried to get her to eat something. Nora forced down a few mouthfuls of stewed lentils, aware that this might be her last warm dinner for a while, but she felt too anxious to eat much. Seeing Nora’s agitation, Mrs. Toristel began to plead again that she reconsider, apologize, surrender her boots, and stay at the castle. Aruendiel was nowhere to be seen, but Mrs. Toristel spoke in an urgent whisper, as though she were afraid he might overhear. Her eyes were wet. On the verge of tears herself, Nora tore herself away and went back upstairs.
She had little to pack. Her few clothes, Pride and Prejudice, Hirizjahkinis’s lock of hair. When she had made up her bundle, Nora sat on the bed and tried to map out a plan. Her first stop should be Red Gate, she decided. If everyone there was gossiping about her pot-repairing exploits, she might as well take advantage of the free publicity. With luck and a good pace, she could be there by tomorrow night. Probably she could work out some barter arrangement for shelter at the inn. Any establishment for eating or drinking would have plenty of broken dishes.
She thought she would not sleep at all. But she awoke, startled, from fractured dreams. Ilissa had featured in them, in some disturbing cameo. Well, Ilissa had been right about Aruendiel, what a bastard he could be—you had to give her that. Nora dressed herself as warmly as she could. It was still dark, and Mrs. Toristel wasn’t up yet. That made her exit easier. She would have liked to say good-bye, though.
She wrote a note instead, on a leaf torn from the endpapers of Pride and Prejudice: “Thank you. You have been a kind friend to me, and I am sorry to leave.” The words sounded curt and insufficient as she read them over, yet she was afraid that if she wrote something longer and more eloquent, Mrs. Toristel might have trouble reading it.
She wrapped up a loaf of bread and a sausage for the day’s provisions. Mrs. Toristel would not begrudge her a little food, even if the magician might. Then, swinging her cloak over her shoulders with a sudden flourish, as though waving defiance at the world, she stepped outside, crossed the still-shadowy courtyard, and shoved at the castle gate, stuck in the snow, until it let her through.
The sun had risen over a world of clean and seamless white. Two or three inches of fresh snow had fallen during the night, softly blurring the double line of tracks that Posin’s feet and Aruendiel’s horse had left the day before. Thank God, she thought, I have good boots.
Wrapping her cloak tight against the cold, Nora started down the hill to the village, stepping in Posin’s trail. It was slower going than she had expected. Once she wandered off the road and stumbled in the deep snow. Perhaps she could stay with Morinen until a few days’ use cleared the roads. The idea cheered her, until it occurred to her that the magician might take some revenge against Morinen and her family.
She looked up, after some minutes, and saw that she was not alone after all. Someone else was struggling up the road from the village. It was laundry day, when Losi came up to help Mrs. Toristel.
This was early for Losi, though. And the figure was taller and thinner than Losi. Something about the ungainly way it pushed through the snowdrifts was very familiar. Aruendiel.
There was no way to avoid him. If she stepped off the road, she would not be able to make her way through the snow. And it would look as though she were afraid. He did not give any sign that he had seen Nora, although he was heading directly toward her. Nora kept going, part of her mind preoccupied with trying to work out how he had gotten to the village. No other fresh tracks but hers led from the castle. Some magical means of transportation that he had never bothered to tell her about, probably.
Finally, they were close enough that she could see his features clearly, reddened with the cold. Nora halted first, waiting to see what Aruendiel would do. He stopped an arm’s length from her, slightly out of breath.
Nora looked at him coolly. Oddly, she was not afraid of him anymore. Something about his face, mobile, imperfect—it looked alive again, not like the frozen, furious mask that she had seen yesterday.
“I have something for you,” he said without preamble. His gloved hand reached under his cloak and pulled out a small leather pouch. He handed it to her.
Puzzled, Nora slipped her right hand out of its mitten and upended the pouch into her left palm. Two silver beads slid out. “What is this?”
“I am returning what is rightfully yours. The cobbler charged you too much.”
She frowned at the silver beads, then at Aruendiel. “Did you—?”
“I have settled my account with the cobbler. He has agreed to return your money.”
Nora searched for something to say, then settled for the obvious. “Thank you.” She added: “I didn’t expect this.”
“You should not have to pay what was my debt,” Aruendiel said.
“Right,” she said, with a brief nod. “Well, these beads will be useful, I’m sure. Thank you for straightening all this out.” Clumsily, her fingers stiff with cold, she put the beads back into the pouch and then looked pointedly past him. “I’ll be on my way now.”
He did not move out of her way. “You need not leave,” he said abruptly.
“I’m sorry?”
“I said you need not leave.” Aruendiel gave a small sigh of exasperation. “You may keep—that is, I do not ask you to give up the boots that you have gone to some trouble to acquire. And you are free to continue living in my household.”
Nora stared. “You changed your mind?”
“Yes,” he said, after a long moment.
“What about my unseemly behavior and making a public spectacle of myself?”
Aruendiel seemed to be gritting his teeth. After a moment, he said: “It has occurred to me that Clousit might have exaggerated some particulars, in telling his story to a crowded barroom.”
“I’m sure he did. But the basic story was true,” Nora said defiantly.
“Well, you suggested to me once that I reexamine my notions of propriety.”
“And have you?”
“I have,” he said. “On the whole, I am satisfied with them. But as you also observed, I do not always follow other people’s idea of correct behavior myself. So perhaps I should not insist that you follow mine. I think—I hope we are in agreement on some basic standards of propriety,” he said, with a lifted eyebrow. “But there are areas, obviously, where we must disagree.”
Nora nodded slowly, frowning a little. Perhaps it was only because he stood downslope from her, so she did not have to look up at him, but she had the novel sensation that he was addressing her as an equal. She noticed for the first time that in the open air, against a luminous blue sky, his pale eyes took on a surprising blue cast, faint but clear.
“I still have to leave here,” she said.
“Why? I have said you do not have to.”
“Last night you lost your temper and told me to get out. I can’t stay here, knowing that could happen again.”
“I see,” he said, his mouth tightening.
“I was afraid,” Nora said seriously. “I am tired of being afraid.”
He sighed again. “I have a bad temper, and I often govern it poorly.”
“I’ve noticed.”
“But I govern it somewhat better than I once did. You must believe that I would not harm you. I am sorry that I made you fear me.”
He did sound regretful. “Well, thank you for saying that,” Nora said. “But you know, it takes more than words to counteract fear.”
“If it comes to fear—” Aruendiel said, with a grim laugh. “Listen, Mistress Nora, here is the meat of the nut. I do not wish to see a blameless and—and good-hearted young woman, who is also a student of mine who may show some promise if she applies herself, become subject to the dangers of the open road because of my own folly and bad temper. I don’t think you would starve,” he said quickly, as Nora opened her mouth to make an interjection. “You are right—you could probably make a living mending dishes. You did sound work in the village the other day, evidently. But there are many other risks, which you are intelligent enough to be aware of.
“I knew a woman, years ago,” he went on, his face darkening, “who tried to make her way in the world knowing one or two spells. She had a wretched time of it. I recommend—I ask you not to put yourself in that position. If you are determined to leave my household, at least wait until I can teach you enough magic so that you can protect yourself properly, not to mention support yourself by doing something more interesting than mending pots.”
“It wasn’t bad,” she protested. “Maybe a little tedious—after a few hours.”
“You are likely capable of better. It would be a waste to stop your studies now. My advice,” he added, “is to stay here, conquer your fear of me, and learn some serious magic before you try to set yourself up as a magic-worker. That way, you will do more credit to yourself, and to your teacher.”
For the first time that day, Nora laughed. “I see what this is all about. Your reputation! You are afraid of how it would look to have a student of the magician Aruendiel traveling around the countryside fixing pots.”
“I have had students turn out worse.” Aruendiel studied her for a moment. “I do not think that you are as frightened of me as you say you are.”
“Not so much, now,” she admitted.
“Then, would you be so kind as to accompany me back to the castle? It is as cold as a dead man’s—it is viciously cold out here.”
She hesitated, gl
ancing at the buried road before her and then back at his face, broken and alert. He waited. “Yes, it’s cold,” she said. “Let’s go.”
A faint smile moved across his lips; it seemed to Nora for a moment that he looked as relieved as she felt. Neither said anything on the way back to the castle. Once, after Aruendiel had struggled through a snowdrift that reached halfway up his thighs, he gave Nora a quizzical stare, as if to convey that she must have taken leave of her senses to set out in such a snowfall.
Mrs. Toristel turned around quickly when Aruendiel came into the kitchen. Her eyes went immediately to Nora, just behind him.
“Good morning, Mrs. Toristel, I encountered Mistress Nora as she was departing,” Aruendiel said loudly. “We have come to an agreement, she and I. She is to remain here and apply herself with diligence to the study of magic and behave with as much propriety as she sees fit, and in return I will endeavor not to frighten her. Is that your understanding?” he asked Nora.
“And I can keep my boots,” she said.
“That is correct. You need not burn her boots, Mrs. Toristel. I will be at work upstairs this morning, not to be disturbed. Mistress Nora, I will expect you in the library this afternoon. You have missed several lessons of late. There is much work to be done.”
After the kitchen door had shut behind Aruendiel, Mrs. Toristel pursed her mouth. “Well, I’m thankful you’ve seen reason,” she said.
“It wasn’t me who had to see reason, it was him,” Nora said. “And he did. It was—surprising.”
“Oh, yes, taking off on foot in the middle of winter, that’s very sensible. When I saw your note this morning, I thought, Well, I’ll never see that one again.”
“It would have been a better plan in summer,” Nora admitted. “Did you say anything to him? To make him change his mind?”
“Do I look as though I can make him change his mind? Him, in a rage like that? I wouldn’t know where to begin. Oh, you don’t know how lucky you are. You could be out there lying dead in a snowdrift somewhere. I wouldn’t let Toristel go past the village today, not with the roads in the state they’re in.”
The Thinking Woman's Guide to Real Magic Page 45
