Not Magic Enough (8 page)

She’d been heartbroken but even so somehow she’d managed.

Kort had returned months later, as charming as always, warm and loving, with profuse apologies, excuses, promises and gifts.

Warily, Delae had accepted them.

A week later he was gone, and with him most of their coin.

Delae never knew what possessed her to secrete some away but she had.

So he hadn’t left them completely destitute.

Once she’d actually gone after him, following him through the taverns of Riverford to the wine sinks of Doncerric, the High King’s city on the cliffs by the sea, and then to the opium dens of the desert city of Marakis.

She’d found him finally, dicing his money away - drunk and with a comely wench at his hip. His face had reflected his dissolute ways, his dissatisfaction, the dice his first pleasure, the doxy his second.

He hadn’t seen Delae but she’d seen him. And she’d noted he was winning for a change.

Both he and the doxy had been asleep when Delae walked into the room they shared. To her surprise, she’d felt no anger at seeing them, it was simple confirmation of what she’d already guessed. All she felt was weariness, a deep and abiding tiredness. She’d taken half his winnings and left, unobserved.

For a brief time she’d considered not returning to the homestead, to the duties that weighed on her so heavily, but she wouldn’t be foresworn on this. It wasn’t her vow to Kort that kept her but her promise as wife of the landowner. It was Dan and Morlis, poor damaged Tad, Petra and Hallis and so many of the others who had held her to this place through the years.

They needed her; it was that simple. It was her duty. She couldn’t desert them, not with honor. She’d made her oaths and promises. Kort had broken his but she couldn’t break hers, not and abandon these folk who needed her as he’d abandoned them. He could but so long as she was here, she wouldn’t, nor would she allow him to be named so, dragging his once good name into the mud.

If she were to leave, though…

Dan was a good enough smith but he had no head for figures. Morlis couldn’t read and could barely sum. Some of the smallholders were worse, although now that Delae tutored the children through the good weather there was a chance they would.

There was no one else.

In the winter she and Dan would make a circuit of those who didn’t come into the landholding to be sure they were all right, that no one had been injured or become ill. On bad days she worked at her tapestries from wool and linen made and dyed here on the holding and offered it for sale in Riverford in spring and summer.  That money gave them what they needed to tide them over through the winter.

The truth was though, that she loved this land. She loved the bitter, stark beauty of it in winter, the promise of it in spring, the sight of the lambs bouncing gaily on the green hills. The lush beauty of it in summer, the apple-laden limbs of the trees amid the brilliant leaves of fall, the immense wonder of the great Gorge hidden deep in the forest and the sweeping roll of the hills she could see from her window.

She already missed Dorovan and the pain in her heart was scalding in her chest.

Walking back to the great room, knowing it to be empty, she held her precious memories to her heart and closed the door behind her.

Resolutely, she walked to the bar that held the door to the west wing closed and lifted it. She set it in place. For a time she would have some privacy. Cana and Kolan rarely had cause to visit but Petra made certain they were fed.

She scrubbed her hands over her face wearily and went to her lonely bed.

Pressing her face to the pillow, she could still smell Dorovan’s scent on it.

And wept.

In the morning, she rode to Riverford for the supplies.

It had been a long day but the weather had finally broken from another storm. Winter was winding up. The good thing was that there was a thick covering of snow, which meant the wells, springs and creeks would likely not go dry in summer unless it was as harsh as the winter promised to be. For that, Delae could only be grateful. She was mildly drunk on wine from toasting Dan and his handfasting to one of the miller’s daughters. Dan was only a scant five years younger than she and yet she felt that an age that lay between them, the years weighing heavily on her.

They seemed happy together though, Dan and his bride.

Still, it was a joyful occasion and there had been a great deal of laughter, some singing and dancing as Morlis played the gitar and one of the smallholders his pipe.

Escorting the last of the revelers out of the great room, listening as the wagons rumbled away into the night, Delae watched the clouds drift across the half moon. Had it only been a week? She smiled at her memories and took herself to bed, the wine sending her instantly and thankfully to sleep.

It was the sound of furniture scraping across the floor in the great room and a voice muttering hoarsely that woke her, sent a chill through her, a quick rush that made her knees weak. Had she left the bar off the door? She couldn’t remember. There was rarely any need.

No one else was here to do it, to defend, and so she must.

Grasping the sword behind the door, remembering when Dorovan had spotted it, she took it up. She feared his lessons might come in handy this night.

On bare silent feet, she hurried down the hall to the great room, a covered lantern in her free hand.

With the fire banked to coal and the moonlight that streamed through the shutters in the windows casting the only light, so the man who stood there was only a dim shadow.

The room was cold from the doors having been left open too long. One was still slightly ajar.

Quickly, Delae uncovered the lantern and stepped aside.

“Who are you to enter my home?” she demanded.

The figure turned, straightened and then swayed…

At first, she nearly didn’t recognize him he’d changed so much. His once handsome features were bloated. There were bags under his eyes. He’d gained an unsightly roundness in his belly and his skin was pale and white like a fish.

“Delae,” Kort said, drunkenly. “I’m home, wife.”

She wanted to weep but there was no point.

Her stomach churned and her jaw tightened. “Kort. What, wasn’t I sending you enough money? Have you lost it all already?”

After the third time he’d stolen from them, she’d simply paid him to stay away. It was simpler. Far easier than this.

Staggering only a little, he came toward her. “Where’s my greeting, wife? Aren’t you happy to see me?”

“No,” she said and turned her head just enough to call over her shoulder, “Hallis, Petra, come welcome my husband home. My lord Kort needs a bath. Desperately.”

She evaded his reach, darting around him and back into the great room on nimble feet.

“A bath, Kort,” she said, wrinkling her nose. “You reek.”

“My lady?” Hallis said, coming down the hall.

“Don’t call her Lady,” Kort snarled, shifting as drunks can do from sweet to sour in an instant. “She’s no Lady - she’s nothing but a common peasant.”

It was only true and had no power to hurt her anymore.

“Would you draw my Lord Kort a bath, Hallis?” Delae said, “Petra, would you fetch Milord’s parents? They would be glad to see him, I’m certain. And then prepare his rooms?”

She needed time, desperately.

“Yes, Delae,” they both said, eyeing Kort with wary displeasure before hurrying off to their assignments.

“A bath would be good,” he muttered, wandering back out to the great room, looking around blearily.

Cana and Kolan hurried out from their quarters with Petra behind them looking concerned.

“A meal for my lord, Petra,” Delae said quietly, “with plenty of fortified wine. I’m certain he had a long journey from wherever he was.”

Eyes widening knowingly, Petra nodded and hurried off.

Glancing back at the family reunion taking place in the great room as Kort’s parents fawned over him, Delae sighed. She’d never felt more alone.

She could only hope he drowned in the tub, as wrong as that thought was. Not that she’d be so lucky. She fought the urge to weep.

Quietly she made her way down the hall to her own rooms. This might be her only and last chance to hide what coin they had and she would take it, before giving Hallis a hand tightening the ropes of Kort’s bed and with his bath water. That water must be warmer than tepid; she wanted it to make him relaxed and drowsy, too sleepy to bother her.

Kort’s room was better appointed by far than any other in the house, with heavy draperies on the windows, thick padding on the mattress and thicker carpets on the floors. As a young girl it had amazed her.

She no longer slept in these rooms and hadn’t since Kort had left the second time.

Only one room was better than this one, the guest room where Dorovan had slept.

Thankfully, on the rare occasions Kort returned, he hadn’t sought her out beyond berating her during the daylight hours, drinking his nights away before stealing off into the darkness. Along with whatever he thought he could sell.

It was with relief that she heard him stagger to his room and slosh into the tub.

She took herself off to her own bed, wearily.

Only to be awakened by rough hands and Kort’s body pressed down on top of her, his breath thick with wine. She fought but he punched her, his fist glancing off her cheekbone, his heavy frame pushing her into the mattress as he entered her despite her tears.

“No willing wench and so I came home,” he said, thrusting hard, grunting with evident pleasure at her distress, “to my wife, who owes me her wifely duties.”

Caught between fury and despair, her head ringing from his blow, Delae resigned herself to endure. She fought off the urge to weep, remembering all too well Dorovan’s gentle touch, the sweet pleasure of him even as her husband grunted his way to satisfaction like a pig, spilling his seed inside her.

His body went lax as his pleasure loosened him.

With a wrench of her body, she shoved him off to send him tumbling to the floor. His flesh hit with an ugly smack as his head bounced off the stone with a sound like a rap of knuckles upon a ripe melon.

Rolling off the bed, she raced for the sword behind the door as he staggered to his feet.

She looked him in the eye as she pointed the sword at him.

“Get out and keep out. That’s the last time you touch me, Kort, or the next time I’ll gut you.”

“You’re my wife,” he snapped.

“So, suddenly you’ve remembered?” she shouted furiously. “Get out of my room and keep to your own. Or by God the next time you awaken you’ll be shorter by a few inches.”

She let the blade of the sword drop just enough to indicate what she meant.

His face blanched and his eyes narrowed.

Delae lifted her chin. “Get out or I’ll gut you where you stand and hang for it. Then what will your parents do? Where will your drinking and gambling money come from?”

He eyed her with a sneer.

“I had to do you in the dark to want you anyway,” he said and slammed out.

If it hadn’t been for the memory of Dorovan, the words would have hurt more, but they still pained her.

Delae bit her lip to hold back the tears, listening intently until she was sure he’d returned to his rooms and then she slipped down the hallway to the guest room where Dorovan had spent his first night.

She curled up around his pillows, pretending they were him and cried herself to sleep.

Miles away Dorovan awoke in the night, troubled by thoughts and dreams of Delae, his friend-of-the-heart. Rubbing his hand over his heart, he went out to the veranda and looked out over the railing at the sleeping Talaena Enclave spread around him, the smallest of the Enclaves and the most insular.

Delae was in trouble, something pained her. He had the strongest feeling she needed him and although it was very likely that whatever troubled her would be well over by the time he reached her; he also found he missed her presence.