"Oh, aye. You've met them," Jaume said. "Two years apart, like stair steps. Tinou after me--he's eighteen--then Vitor and Eri."
"Yes." Doucette tugged on her pack straps, proud that she had regained strength enough to carry it herself. "Eri's only interested in music, but Vitor's sweetheart is Suriette, the blacksmith's daughter, and Tinou's sweetheart is Mireyo, the miller's daughter."
232
A shadow crossed Jaume's face.
"Did I mix them up again?" Doucette asked. She had spent much of the past few days peppering Jaume with questions about his home and family. She wanted to know, and it kept the two of them from arguing about magic.
"Well," he said, after a long pause. "Tinou loves Mireyo, sure enough, but Widow Jonselet doesn't favor her only child marrying a second son." He shifted under his pack and eyed the sky. "Our families' grazing lands adjoin, see. Our parents have talked about bringing them together."
The reserve in his manner alerted her. "You're the oldest; you'll inherit the property," Doucette said, working it out. "The mother wants Mireyo to marry you, doesn't she?"
"Aye. But I never agreed," Jaume said quickly. "Since we were children, Mireyo and Tinou have only had eyes for each other."
The anticipation Doucette had been cultivating soured a little. If Jaume's parents were anything like her own, they wouldn't welcome a stranger meddling in the future they had planned for him.
"They'll love you like I do," Jaume said, as if he could read her thoughts.
Doucette wished her answering smile held more confidence, but she had lost the urge to ask Jaume any more questions about his family. She concentrated instead on keeping up with his easy stride, and they walked on without speaking.
Though they had passed few dwellings, the countryside was hardly empty. Rabbits startled from cover, and birds twittered in the bushes. Doucette listened to the distant cries of hawks wheeling overhead, the closer buzzing of bees that foraged
233
among blue stars of late-blooming gentian. As autumn advanced, each dawn seemed colder and wetter than the one before. But every morning, Doucette warmed up with walking, and at night she slept soundly in the circle of Jaume's arms. During two days of heavy rain, they had taken shelter in a cave and waited for the weather to improve.
The weakness that plagued Doucette after she cast a spell still troubled Jaume greatly. Over and over, Doucette had assured him that it soon left her. Finally, out of respect for her betrothed's sensibilities, Doucette had taken to practicing sorcery in the early evening, when Jaume left their camp to gather firewood. The resulting fatigue was nothing more than he seemed to expect of her after their long days of walking.
Even had she wanted to, Doucette couldn't have kept from using the magic that pulsed inside her, demanding to be expressed. As Tante Mahalt had said, it was delicious. Even small Transformations delighted her. Mostly, Doucette contented herself with turning rocks to twigs, and weeds to pinecones-- nothing that didn't belong in their humble campsites.
Within days, Doucette could summon the magic to her fingertips and loose it with a breath. She disliked deceiving Jaume by casting spells in secret, but she knew she must hold herself ready in case they were surprised.
Her family's pursuit had not been dropped.
She hadn't seen them since Cecilia and Azelais's party met the "old woman" by the pear tree, but the invisible thread that bound Doucette to her home wasn't slackening with distance as she had expected. She tried to cast her thoughts forward, toward her new family and her new life. Yet at times, a noose of
234
worry looped so tightly around her throat that she strained to breathe.
"There!" Jaume stopped and pointed. "The bell tower ahead? That's Saint-Trophime. From the abbey garden you can see the bridge into Donsatrelle. We could cross the Turance tonight."
Doucette nodded and saved her breath for climbing, as the road had taken a steep upward slant. Ahead, tall stone walls loomed over the road.
Apprehension wound its coils around her. By the time they reached the shelter of the abbey walls, she was gasping. Jaume looked at her with concern.
"Thirsty," she said.
Jaume lifted the pack off Doucette's shoulders and sat her down on a stone bench while he went to fill their water skins at the abbey well. He returned with a brown-robed woman, who offered Doucette a hot infusion flavored with herbs and honey.
"Drink, child."
"Thank you, Sister." Doucette sipped it slowly. "Juniper honey?" she asked, and was rewarded with a grave smile. The tea slipped down her throat and warmed her stomach, but she couldn't sit still. Unease prickled her skin, as if eyes watched her from the undergrowth.
"Can you go on?" Jaume asked. "We're a few hours, no more, from the crossing place."
Doucette swallowed. "Where's the bridge?"
"It's visible from the bell tower." The woman pointed to a narrow door in the wall.
235
Jaume and Doucette left their packs by the bench and climbed the stairs. They eased around the large iron bell and peered through the slits in the wall.
The sun hung like a pale gold fruit in the western sky. Below the tower, a tree-covered hillside dropped steeply to the water. Doucette searched for a break in the cliffs that contained the river.
By his indrawn breath, Doucette knew that Jaume saw what she did. The river, a narrow thread. Beyond tall, jagged rocks, the stone arches of the bridge. And before them, a white square, harmless at this distance.
Doucette squinted to make out more detail. It was a travel pavilion, flying the blue and gold flag of Beloc.
"Mother." Doucette knew it with a dread that snapped the noose tight again. She rubbed her throat. "She must have circled around us. She's at the bridge, waiting."
Jaume put his arm around Doucette's waist. "Then we'll out-wait her," he said. "Or cross farther up."
"You don't understand," Doucette said into his chest. "She won't give up. If we delay, the others may join her. The longer we stay on this side of the river, the worse our chances of escaping. We have to cross, soon. And we can't go undisguised."
Jaume rubbed the base of her spine, smoothing the tight muscles. "You want to Transform us again."
"Yes. I know you don't like it." Doucette tipped her head against Jaume's shoulder. In the pit of her stomach, tendrils of fear seethed like a mass of serpents, but excitement pushed them back. He'd learn what her power could do. They all would.
236
"We must change," Doucette insisted. "No pears, I promise."
Jaume kissed her, and Doucette felt herself melting into a soft lump of girl. Or widow, she warned herself, if she let him distract her. Reluctantly, she ended the kiss. "Trust me," she whispered.
"Oh, aye." His answering smile went crooked. "I'll be a pear again if it gets us over the river. But let's walk a little farther. No need to offend the good sisters with sorcery on the abbey grounds."
Silently, they collected their packs and bowed their heads for a blessing. The woman laid soft hands on their shoulders and bent her head. "Walk safe in the light to your journey's end."
Doucette heard both benediction and warning in the words.
Once the road curved and the trees hid them from sight, Doucette turned eagerly to Jaume. "Shall we?"
"I trust you," Jaume said, as if he needed to remind himself. He set down his pack and stood motionless.
Doucette dropped her pack beside his and twined the straps together. "Combine to make a bee skep," she commanded, before resting her hands against Jaume's chest.
And, thou, be old man, sturdy-legged, blue-eyed, gray-haired, gap-toothed.
Wear thy years lightly,
237
until the Turance is crossed and a place of safety gained.
As the magic flowed over him, Jaume's body changed, becoming thicker and more compact. Wrinkles carved deep lines in his face. His brown curls turned light and wispy; his dark eyes faded to a pale blue. Most of his teet
h disappeared, leaving a gummy grin on his old-man face.
The packs at his feet melded into a tall, domed basket with a wooden base. A leather strap looped across the sides of it. Jaume studied his wrinkled hands, then lifted the basket. "Empty," he said. "What's--oh. It's a beehive."
"Yes." Doucette closed her eyes, crossed her arms across her chest, and surrendered to enchantment.
Bees.
I will be
bees, until my love, Jaume, summons me.
The magic washed through her, and she exploded into a swarm of tiny flying bodies. Like drops from a windblown fountain, bees danced in the air.
As in the garden Transformation, Doucette's attention splintered. Through faceted bee eyes, she saw a hundred old-man Jaumes, the concern in his eyes multiplied with every glance. She might have stopped to reassure him, but caught between the
238
delirium of flight and the power that flooded her many selves, she forgot.
Jaume held out the basket. The queen bee flew inside the hive. The rest followed her, a cone of purposefully moving bodies that funneled through the small opening.
Jaume stood calmly as the bees buzzed around him. When they were all inside the hive, he lifted the humming basket against his back. He put the strap over his forehead and settled his burden, then walked down to the river on sturdy, if bowed, legs. A handful of Doucette's bee selves crept through the opening and happily circled his head, then landed on his sleeves and clung there, elegant as gold-and-black buttons, to stand sentinel for the rest.
Wreathed in thin gray clouds, the sun made a crimson disk on the horizon when Jaume reached the approach to the bridge.
"You, old man." An armsman blocked his way. "Halt."
Several bees detached themselves to investigate the nearby campsite. Men dressed in chain mail and leather sat by a cook fire, warming their hands and eyeing the progress of their meal. Om Toumas laid a string of trout on the fire. When a bee alit and danced on his nose, he scolded gently. "You're out late, little sister. Best get along home."
Behind the fire, the white pavilion's canvas sides were closed. The smell of horses not far away and grilled fish, closer, drifted into the chilly air.
"We seek a shepherd without a flock," the armsman said to Jaume. "And a young woman with light hair. Have you seen such a couple?"
"Me, Sieur?" Jaume's toothless gums slurred the words.
239
The tent flap lifted and Lady Sarpine emerged. The comtesse's cloak and riding skirts were creased, her white coif smudged. In her hard, pale face, her blue eyes burned as fiercely as the fire. "Who is it, Renod, travels at the cusp of dark?"
"An oldster. Harmless." The armsman's voice sharpened. "But the lady asked you a question, man. What rogue's business brings you here at this hour?"
Jaume turned so the man could see the straw hive on his back. "Can't travel before the bees are abed."
"Shall he pass, Lady?" Renod asked.
"Bees!" Lady Sarpine drew her cloak close to her and retreated partway into her tent. "Send him along."
Jaume touched his fist to his breast. "Aye, Lady," he quavered. "Be kind to the bees that you find on your way."
The armsman waved him on. A commotion at the fire had attracted his attention. "What's amiss there?"
Jaume walked toward the bridge.
"Om Toumas dropped the biggest trout in the fire!" an aggrieved voice was saying. "Clumsy fool!"
"Your pardon." The servant turned his face from the firelight. "What about my dinner? It's cinders!"
The servant wiped his hands on his leather apron. "I'll cook you another," he said, fumbling as he turned the fish. The whole string fell into the coals, raising a shower of sparks. Men sprang back, swearing.
"Hellfire." One armsman's irritation turned to disgust. "What's the matter with you, Toumas?"
Lady Sarpine paused with her hand on the tent flap. She stared at Om Toumas, then hissed under her breath. "The
240
cousin." Long skirts flapping, Doucette's mother ran after the old man. "Wait, you!" she shouted. "Renod! Fools! To me!" The armsmen ran after the comtesse.
The old man kept walking. Five steps to the bridge. Four. Three.
Lady Sarpine reached Jaume first and spun him around by the elbow. "Steal my daughter, would you, knave? Your wretched life is forfeit," she panted. "She'll be longer a widow than a wife."
A bee lifted from the old man's sleeve and hummed in warning. Jaume was hers. How dare her mother threaten him?
Jaume turned, his toothless mouth turned down in a sorrowful expression. "Doucette's her own woman, not your property to dispose, Lady," he said. "That was ever your mistake."
"Insolence!" As the comtesse's free hand clawed for his face, bees boiled out of the hive and swarmed around her head. She screamed but kept her grip on Jaume's arm.
Insects landed on her eyelids and loosed their stings.
"Help!" Lady Sarpine swatted at her face. "I can't see!"
Doucette wondered whether Jaume could feel the magic crackling in the air around him. As some of her bee selves stung and died, the rest flew more swiftly, thrummed more loudly, attacked more viciously. She felt like a cloud of sparks, or a host of tiny, vengeful lightning bolts. The sensation frightened and exhilarated, both at once.
Jaume had spoken the truth. Doucette's mother could no longer order her daughter to do her bidding. No one commanded a sorceress.
When her mother fell back, tears of pain and rage squeezing out from under her swollen eyelids, Doucette attacked the armsmen.
241
They tried to protect their faces and catch hold of the old beekeeper at the same time, but the bees crawled inside their helmets and stung the exposed skin around eyes and noses. The men had to retreat, shouting and cursing, as their faces swelled grotesquely.
Haloed in bees, Jaume set foot on the bridge. Once he had crossed to the Donsatrelle side, he whispered Doucette's name.
This time, Doucette's dizziness passed quickly. She seized her pack and was on her feet and waving to Om Toumas while Jaume still sat on the ground collecting his wits.
"That will teach them to interfere with a sorceress," Doucette said. Relief and glee bubbled up in equal measure, spilling out of her mouth in giddy laughter. "Did you see their faces? We're safe, Jaume!" She spun in a tight circle. "I can't imagine why I was so worried. If they come after us again, they'll not get off so easy!"
"No?" Jaume said in a low voice. "The armsmen looked bad, and your mother--"
"They deserved it for trying to stop us," Doucette said. Her chastelaine's training surfaced, and she continued in a more reasonable tone. "If Om Toumas packs mud around their stings, the swelling will go down overnight. What do you care?" She tugged Jaume to his feet, tossed him his pack. "Let's go."
He caught it, barely.
She grinned at his expression. "That spell didn't leave me a bit tired, you know. I could walk all night! We could fly!"
He opened his mouth, closed it, and slung the pack over his shoulder. "Rather walk."
242
Doucette charged forward. Why had it taken her so long to claim her freedom? Only a few steps separated Beloc from Donsatrelle, after all.
"Are you sure?" With a wave of her hand, Doucette Transformed herself into a bat and swooped playfully over Jaume. She tugged on his hair, then, swift and silent, landed behind him and reclaimed her girl shape.
He made such a comical sight, standing with his elbows over his head and staring wildly around, that Doucette laughed out loud. "Let's fly to your home, Jaume. We'd get there in no time," she coaxed.
"Doucette. It's not like you to tease me."
"Oh, very well." As she marched down the road, her lips turned down in a Cecilia-like pout. What had happened to his sense of adventure? She loved night flying!
When the river fell away into darkness, Jaume insisted they stop and rest. He dropped his pack in a sheltered spot, under a pine tree. "I am tired, even if
you are not," he said when Doucette complained.
They made camp in silence.
Jaume slept beside her, while Doucette lay awake for a long while, staring at the stars and thinking.
When she arose in the morning, she had reached a decision.
243
Chapter Twenty-seven
***
A fter she and Jaume had broken their fast, Doucette sat on a rock and teased pine needles out of her hair. If she turned her head, she could just see Vent'roux town in the distance, tucked under a giant crag. "You should go first and tell them," she said.
Jaume spooned millet gruel from the little pot. "Why?"
Doucette jerked on the comb. "My hair's sticky, and my clothes are filthy. I want to wash."
"We've a big tub at home. Flower soap, all that."
"It would be more polite to give your family some warning." Jaume licked the spoon. "Why the delay, when we're so close? It's silly."
"Silly or not, you can't make me go." Doucette's voice faltered. Couldn't the man understand that a person might want to be clean on such an occasion?
Abandoning the millet, Jaume squatted next to her. He tugged a lock of her hair and wound it around his finger. "You look beautiful, as always. What's the matter, love?"
"I don't know," Doucette lied. "Go on and tell them. When you return, I'll be ready." One way or another. What had seemed so clear under the distant stars was less so in the morning light.
244
Especially when Jaume studied her like she was a present he couldn't wait to unwrap.
The Swan Maiden Page 18
