A Young Man Without Magic (36 page)

Reva folded her hands in front of her. “Lord Allutar is betrothed to another,” she said.

“Oh, I know that!” Mimmin said, dismissing the matter with a wave. “That backcountry sorceress, Lady Saria. Everyone knows that. They announced it half a season ago. But she's home in Aulix, and I'm here.”

Reva pursed her lips. “You had not mentioned this,” she chided gently.

Mimmin shrugged. “I didn't think it mattered.”

“You hired me to cast a love spell on Lord Allutar that would put him in your power, did you not?”

“Yes, of course!”

“I had assumed that you intended to marry him yourself.”

“Oh, no,” Mimmin said, almost blushing. “No, no. I knew that wasn't
possible. He is a sorcerer, a landgrave, and I am a commoner. Sorcerers marry their own kind, to breed the next generation of magicians, but they take mistresses for love, and
that
was what I sought—what I seek.”

Reva was silent for a moment, considering this.

“I see,” she said at last. “You do know that there is no written law forbidding sorcerers from marrying commoners, don't you?”

“But that's the custom, all the same.”

“Yes, of course, but customs can be broken, and that was what I had understood you to intend.”

“No, no. Let him marry Lady Saria, as long as he otherwise does what I want.”

“You understand that a sorcerer's betrothal is an actual binding? A spell?”

“It is?”

Anrel bit his lip, struggling to stay silent.
Some
betrothals were bindings; most weren't.

“It does make casting my own spell more complicated.”

Anrel held his breath; was Reva preparing to refuse the commission? Was she using this as an excuse to back out gracefully?

“Oh,” Mimmin said. There was a pregnant silence; then she said, “
Sixty
guilders, perhaps? It's all I have. I'll need to sell my mother's rings to find
that
much.”

Reva blinked. This was clearly not the reaction she had expected. It was also clearly not an offer she could resist. “I think sixty would be fair,” she acknowledged.

Anrel suppressed a frown. He was not sure he could spare
sixty
guilders. The idea of bribing Reva was suddenly less appealing.

He could not say anything about it while Mimmin was listening, in any case; he still had time to decide.

“Good, good!” Mimmin said, visibly relieved. “Then we're all set for tomorrow night?”

“One more thing,” Reva said, turning to stare at Anrel. “It would be convenient if you could arrange an invitation for my brother Dyssan, as well.”

Anrel did his best to conceal his surprise, but almost spoke up at that.
He did not want to attend Lord Allutar's reception. There would be people there who knew him, Lord Allutar himself among them.

But he had promised to remain quiet, so he remained quiet.

Mimmin glanced at him, then said, “I'll try. I can't promise. Dyssan Lir?”

“That would be the name, yes,” Reva said.

“I'll try.”

“Thank you. You understand, payment must be made in advance.”

“Of course.”

“Then we'll see you tomorrow?”

“Yes, indeed.”

With that, Mimmin rose. Anrel followed suit, and escorted her to the door. There he paused and glanced back at Reva, wondering whether he should escort her customer down to the front door.

“I can find my own way, Master Lir,” Mimmin said.

“Of course, Mistress li-Dargalleis,” Anrel said with a bow. He held the door for her and watched her until she had rounded the first turn in the corridor. Then he stepped back into the room, closed the door, and turned to face Reva.

He had still not decided what to do about the money. Sixty guilders—he could live on sixty guilders for a season, and he had no prospects of earning more.

But surely, saving the life of Tazia's sister was worth it.

Still, it might not be necessary. She seemed to have some scheme of her own. “What do you want me at Allutar's reception for?” he demanded.

Startled, she said, “I thought you might want to attend, for your cousin's sake.”

“Not particularly, thank you,” Anrel answered. “Not when any of a dozen people might be there who could recognize me and send me to the gallows.”

“It's a shame you don't know more witchcraft,” Reva said with a sigh. “You might be able to cast a glamour on yourself, so that they
wouldn't
recognize you.”

“Can
you
do that? Perhaps
you
could cast a glamour on me.”

Reva shook her head. “No,” she said.

“Your mother, perhaps?”

“I don't
think
so, but maybe.”

Anrel gazed thoughtfully at the witch.

She was quite right that a glamour could change one's appearance, or at least make everyone
think
it had changed—it worked more on people's perceptions than on the subject's own physical self. That could be a very useful spell, and Anrel wondered why he had never heard of criminals using glamours to escape justice.

But then, most magicians were sorcerers, who were automatically members of the nobility; why would they need to commit any crimes? And most of them couldn't cast glamours, in any case; it was, as Anrel understood it, a difficult and specialized skill that most magicians did not bother to learn, since its uses were limited.

If someone
did
use glamours to commit crimes, would anyone else know it?

There were other spells that would also be of great use to criminals—memory-altering spells, for example. If a thief could make his victim forget the stolen goods had ever existed . . .

This was part of
why
sorcerers were made nobles. Put them in charge, and they had no reason to steal, or to go meddling with anyone's thoughts.

Or at any rate,
less
reason.

Witches, on the other hand, were outlaws by definition. Why didn't witches ever tamper with memories, or use glamours to hide from the authorities?

Perhaps they did, and were so successful at it that no one knew it happened. Anrel had been traveling with four witches for almost a season and hadn't seen them do anything of the sort, but maybe other witches were more gifted.

Or maybe he simply didn't
remember
seeing them cast glamours or bind memories. Did he still have the money he thought he did? Perhaps the witches had already taken it, and had altered his memories.

But no, he could feel the weight of it in his coat, and had they taken
it and tampered with his memory, why would they allow him to remember it had ever existed at all?

He shook his head. Such treachery, such complex magic, was far beyond these people. Indeed, it was likely that
no
witch ever managed to learn such advanced magical techniques. If they could perform such feats, why would they bother with false luck spells and fortune-telling?

No, the witches were probably no more than they seemed—but then why did Reva want him to accompany her? “I think it would be unwise for me to attend the reception,” he said.

Reva looked annoyed by this—and something more, Anrel thought. He studied her face, and tried to sense her emotions.

Then suddenly he understood. “You're afraid,” he said.

“No!”

“Yes, you are,” Anrel insisted. “You want me there—why? In case the spell goes wrong? But what do you expect me to do, in such a case? I'm no great hero from the old folktales, to carry you off on a winged horse before the guards can seize you.”

“But you're a witch,” Reva said. “Not a very good one yet, but a witch, and you know Lord Allutar. If something goes wrong, you can . . . I don't know. Hold him back, perhaps, or distract him somehow.”

“I doubt it,” Anrel said dryly. “I'm less a witch than either of your sisters, let alone your mother.”

“Tazia thinks you can do anything,” Reva retorted bitterly.

Anrel grimaced. “Tazia is a wonderful girl, but no great judge of my abilities.”

“What am I supposed to do, then? My father has no magic at all!”

“Your mother is a more talented witch than either of us.”

“Yes, but . . .” Reva hesitated, unable to find the words she wanted.

Anrel thought he understood. “You don't want your mother to see you fail.”

“I don't want to put my mother at risk!”

“But you have no qualms about endangering
me
,” Anrel said.

Reva had no reply to that; she simply stared at him.

Anrel sighed. “I've said all along you shouldn't attempt this spell.”

“But
sixty guilders
!”

“Is that money worth your life?”

She glared angrily at him. “It's worth taking a risk, yes,” she said.

Anrel shook his head again. “I think you're acting like a fool,” he said. His hand rose to his lapel, where he could feel the weight of a golden five-guilder piece. Sixty guilders, along with the other expenses he had incurred since fleeing Naith, would leave him with no more than twenty—he was not sure of the exact amount. Still, he was about to say something, to suggest an alternative to attempting to enchant the landgrave.

“I think you're acting like an arrogant ass!” Reva snapped back before he could continue, and Anrel's hand fell from his coat.

“Then why would you trust me to help you? Why not bring someone you trust—Nivain or Tazia or Perynis? Why me?” Even as he asked, he dreaded the thought that she might drag Tazia along into such dangerous circumstances.

“Because I don't want my mother or my sisters to know how frightened I am!”

For a moment after she said that, the two of them stared silently at each other. The fire in the little stove crackled, but there was no other sound. Reva's gaze was defiant, unwavering—but Anrel could see her underlying terror.

“I may have a way out of this,” Anrel said at last, stroking his coat.

Reva shook her head. “I said I would do it.”

“What if I knew another way you could earn sixty guilders? A far less dangerous way?”

“I
said
I would
do
it,” Reva repeated. “I told Mistress li-Dargalleis I would. I can't back out now.”

“But if it's just for the money . . .”

“It's not,” Reva said. “I said I would do it.”

“You could tell Mistress li-Dargalleis that Lord Allutar's wards are too strong.”

“I will tell her that if they
are
too strong. I won't lie about it.”

“Why
not
?” Anrel demanded. “You lie often enough when you tell fortunes!”

“That's not the same thing!”

“
How
does it differ?”

“My father would know I was lying about the wards. He knows me too well, and
he
wants that fifty guilders!”

“I thought the money was for
you
,” Anrel said.

“It
is
, but . . . you don't understand.”

“No, I don't,” Anrel agreed. “Explain it to me.”

Reva looked around the room as if seeking assistance, then turned back to Anrel. “We owe him a debt,” she said. “My mother and my sisters and I, we all owe him a debt, and I need to pay my share of it before I can go.”

“What sort of debt?” Anrel asked, genuinely puzzled. “How much?”

“I don't . . . I can't say. I can't tell you exactly.”

“Would fifty guilders be enough to pay your share?”

“I'm not sure. I think . . . I'm not sure.”

Anrel stared at her.

Hesitantly, Reva said, “You said . . . you said you might have another way to earn sixty guilders?”

“I might,” Anrel said.

“But then if I did that, as well, I would have more than a hundred! Father would surely release me for
that
much!”

Anrel remembered what Tazia had said, that no matter how much money they earned, their father would never release any of them. If Tazia understood that, why didn't Reva?

He shook his head. “No. You cannot do both.”

“Why not?”

He could not think of any palatable way to present the truth, to admit that he had been hiding money from them all, to say that he wanted to pay her to save her own life, but would not give her the money if she continued with her spell. He was more certain than ever that if he gave her the money, she would still take Mimmin's fee, as well, and attempt the spell.

But a lie occurred to him.

“I have reason to believe,” he said, “that Lady Saria would pay you sixty guilders
not
to enchant her betrothed.”

Reva stared at him, then shook her head. “No,” she said. “I can't do that.”

Astonished, he asked, “Why
not
?”

“Because it's a trap.”

“What?” Anrel blinked. “Why do you think that?”

“I grew up a witch's daughter, Anrel. While it may be
possible
that a sorceress would hire a witch honestly, I know better than to trust one in a situation like this. No, she would pay me the money, then claim I had stolen it and send me to the gallows. Or if she did not, then when I told Mistress li-Dargalleis that I was refusing her request,
she
might summon the watchmen, and neither of them would feel the slightest guilt about sending a criminal to her death. Don't you see? As a witch, I never dare betray a customer. If a spell goes wrong or a fortune fails to come true I can always say the spirits were uncooperative, or another witch interfered, but if I were to betray a trust as you propose—no. I can't do that.”

Anrel stood silently for a moment, absorbing that, and then nodded reluctantly. He thought he understood. As a witch and the daughter of a witch, Reva's life had
always
been in danger, and always would be. Casting a spell on Lord Allutar would increase the danger briefly, yes, but
any
course of action—or inaction—might get her killed. Anything that antagonized a customer could put her head in a noose. She had lived her entire life in the shadow of the gallows.