The Mirror of Her Dreams (102 page)

''The sincerity of his desire'.' Lebbick jerked at his mount, 'I like that-from an Alend.

'All right. Here's your answer.

'King Joyse asks me to point out to you-and to your illustrious father-that neither of you understands hop-board. You wouldn't have gotten as far as a stalemate without help. Instead of waving your swords at us, you ought to remember what happened the last time you went to war with Mordant.'

The wind cut between the horses. 'By the stars, Lebbick,' cried out the lady Elega, 'is he
still
playing hop-board? Tell him to
surrender!'

The Castellan didn't shift his gaze from Prince Kragen's face. The King's daughter,' he remarked. That attack last night was a diversion, so she could get out of Orison.' As soon as King Joyse had said this, Lebbick had cursed himself for not realizing the truth immediately. 'What do you plan to do with her now? Is she a hostage?'

Prince Kragen spat an oath. With an effort, he resumed his formal tone. The Alend Monarch welcomes the lady Elega as a friend. He has no intention of offering any harm, either to her,

or to her father in her person. This courtesy, also, he provides as a demonstration of his desire for peace.'

'I have an answer for that, too.' For the first time, Castellan Lebbick used the exact words he had been given. 'King Joyse replies. 'I am sure that my daughter Elega has acted for the best reasons. She carries my pride with her wherever she goes. For her sake, as well as for my own, I hope that the best reasons will also produce the best results.''

The lady Elega stared at Castellan Lebbick as if he had said something horrible.

'That
is an
answer?'
demanded the Prince.

Take it and be satisfied,' the Castellan replied. 'You ought to like it better than the denunciation she deserves. Ask her'-King Joyse had specifically forbidden him to say this-'if she wants to know how many people died this morning.'

Prince Kragen ignored that jibe. 'You misunderstand me deliberately, Castellan. Have you given me your King's answer to the Alend Monarch's desire for truce? Is he that far out of his senses?'

Riding the strength of the fact that King Joyse had actually talked to him-however strangely-Castellan Lebbick had no trouble finding a retort. 'I don't advise you to put it to the test.'

Then hear me. Hear me well, Castellan.' Prince Kragen's anger was fierce. This is my last word.

'Your King leaves us no choice. We
cannot
'be satisfied'. Cadwal is marching. You know that Cadwal is marching. Where we stand, we are more vulnerable than you to the High King's great force. We cannot defend you-or your people-or the Congery-'

'Or yourselves.'

'-or
ourselves-
if we do not take Orison. King Joyse compels us all to a war he cannot win, regardless of the cost to us. He
must
offer peace. By peace, or by blood, we
must
have Orison.'

The Castellan fought his horse still.
'That
is your
last word?'
He was grinning.

'Yes!'

Then here's mine.' Lebbick knew what to say, although he didn't understand it. 'King Joyse assures the Alend Monarch that he has more choices than he realizes. King Joyse suggests you withdraw to the west of the Demesne and await developments. If you do that, he'll be glad to meet the Alend Monarch under a flag of truce and offer more suggestions.

'If you don't'-the Castellan could barely conceal his own surprise at the threat he had been instructed to deliver-'King Joyse intends to unleash the full force of the Congery against you and rout you from the earth!'

At the moment, he didn't care whether or not the King's gambit would succeed. He was simply glad that he had been allowed to say those words.

Silence seemed to shock the gathering. For a time, no one could respond. In spite of himself, Prince Kragen gaped in anger and dismay.

Then the lady Elega whispered intensely, 'Castellan Lebbick, you lie.' Her face was pale in the harsh wind. 'My father would never do such a thing.'

As if she had commanded it, the Prince snatched the flag of truce from the standard-bearer, broke its shaft across his knee, and threw the pieces into the road. Wheeling his mount, he led his party back to the Alend lines.

Castellan Lebbick and his men returned to Orison. The gates thudded shut behind them.

The Alend bugler sounded another call. All around the castle, camp-followers and servants began to unpack wagons and pitch tents. The siege of Orison had commenced.

'I've got to see Artagel,' Geraden said as if he were proposing to have his legs broken. 'He'll want to hear what's happened.' The cold made his nose run: he sounded congested and miserable. 'If he can't forgive me for letting Prince Kragen get away, at least there isn't anything worse he can do to me for letting Elega poison the water.'

Terisa offered to go with him, but he declined her company. He wanted to face his distress alone.

When he left, she went back to her rooms.

She had a great deal to think about. She needed to decide where she stood in relation to what was happening around her. She needed to define her own loyalties. She needed to decide how far she was willing-or able-to pursue the commitment she had apparently given Geraden by telling him about the connection between her dream and the augury.

Instead, she found herself thinking about Rev Thatcher.

She had worked for him for almost a year-long enough to forget why she had originally accepted the job as his mission secretary. Since then, what she tended to remember about him was his dogged ineffectuality. But she hadn't seen him that way at first. No, at first she had gone looking for a mission job to make up for the emptiness and wealth of her background, the uselessness which eroded her sense of herself. And she had taken the job Rev Thatcher offered because of his dedication against impossible poverty and callous disregard.

At the time, of course, she hadn't realized that he was ineffectual. Now, however, she began to wonder whether that perception were accurate. In his place, wouldn't Geraden have done just what he did? Wouldn't Geraden have held true in the face of any failure? Wasn't the real failure of her mission work in her -a failure of heart?

Wasn't it possible to live as if she could hear horns?

What she was thinking didn't solve anything. But it was necessary, and she stayed with it. At least it taught her to understand that she owed Rev Thatcher an apology.

Later, she became aware that she was tired enough to sleep.

The idea of a nap was unexpectedly appealing. She hadn't slept well the night before. And no amount of fatigue or wakefulness was going to do Orison any good. Humming to herself, she added wood to both fires to keep her rooms warm. Then she took off all her clothes, tossed them onto a chair, and slipped herself into bed.

For a while, she listened to the hungry wind scraping its claws on her window, on the corners of the tower. But as soon as the cool sheets gained heat from her skin, she fell asleep.

Deep in dreams, she received the delicious impression that she was being kissed.

A strong mouth covered hers. A tongue stroked her lips, probing delicately between them. She tasted cloves.

Under the blankets, a hand caressed her belly, then moved up to her breasts. Its touch was just cool enough to make her nipples harden.

When she realized that she wasn't dreaming, she opened her eyes.

Master Eremis was bending over her; his pale gaze met hers. Her father had eyes like that. But the crinkles around them suggested that he was grinning.

He startled her so much that she clutched at the blankets and jerked her head away from him.

Pulling back a little, he withdrew his hand from her body. The ends of his chasuble swung carelessly against the front of his accustomed jet cloak. He was definitely grinning. In fact, he seemed to be in excellent spirits.

'My lady,' he said, 'I fear I have frightened you. Do forgive me.'

Staring up at him through the grey light from the windows, she thought that he was uglier than she remembered: his face was too much like a wedge; his hair sprouted too far back on his skull. Yet that only made the lively intelligence of his expression more magnetic.

She pulled the covers tightly over her shoulders and blinked at him in confusion. 'How-?'

The wardrobe.' His smile stretched wider. 'I was exploring hidden passages and had the good fortune to find your room.'

'Where-?' She sat up a bit. Her mind refused to function. She had been more deeply asleep than she realized. How had she gotten out of the habit of putting a chair in that wardrobe? 'Where were you? I thought I would see you.'

He seated himself on the edge of the bed, then reached out a hand and ran his fingertips down the line of her neck from her ear to her shoulder. 'I was required at home. I think I have mentioned Esmerel?' His touch felt like a signature on her skin. 'My grandfather called it our 'ancestral seat', though Esmerel is not really as grand as that. My father is still less grand, however, and does not use such language.'

Master Eremis plucked lightly at the sheet she held in front of her. 'In his blunt way, he demanded my presence. It seems that one of my brothers killed the other-although with that pair the truth has often been difficult to determine. My father wanted me in front of him while he decided whether to disinherit the survivor in my favour.

'Esmerel is in the Care of Tor-fortunately only a ride of two days beyond the Broadwine. I have just returned.'

She could hardly swallow. If he went on looking at her like that, she was going to forget everything that had happened while he was away. His fingers were curled gently over the edge of the sheet covering her. Soon he would begin to pull it down, and she wouldn't be able to resist. She didn't know that she wanted to resist. Her head seemed to be full of forgotten dreams. It was impossible to think.

With an effort, she asked, 'What did he decide?'

The Imager shrugged to show his lack of interest. 'My father hates me. As do-or did-both my brothers. So it is remarkable that they have always done what I wished. I have no use for Esmerel at present. Therefore my brother will inherit it. If my father has the good sense to die soon.'

He leaned towards her, and his mouth took hers again. The scent of cloves seemed to fill her senses. His hand urged the sheet downward, and his tongue had to be answered. No, she couldn't resist. His palm rubbed her nipple until she shivered at his touch; then he cupped her breast possessively. She was his-

Somehow, she pushed him back. A flush on her cheeks, and breathing raggedly, she faced him as well as she could.'Why does your family hate you?'

His smile was gone: his eyes burned with an intensity that made her melt. 'My lady, I did not come here to discuss my family. I came to claim you at last.'

Without thinking, she rolled away from him and got out of bed. Momentarily defying her nakedness, she went to the chair where she had left her robe. Her hands shook as she pulled the velvet onto her shoulders and knotted the sash; her voice shook as she spoke.

'You were gone for a long time. I waited for you. I wanted to help you. I was ready-' Ready to do almost anything. 'But you didn't come. I didn't hear from you.'

Despite her resistance, she was close to panic at the thought that he might take offence and leave, that by retreating from him she had sacrificed her chance to be touched and kissed. He didn't look offended, however. His smile was too acute to be affectionate; yet he gazed at her with a new eagerness, as if she had become a challenge.

'My lady,' he said thoughtfully, 'I regret that you did not hear from me. That was not my intention. I sent word to you several times. But perhaps my messages were intercepted.'

She started to ask, Who would intercept-? before she understood what he was saying. He hadn't meant to leave her without saying goodbye. That changed everything. Didn't it? Almost babbling, she said, 'You sent messages with Saddith, But she's your lover. She wants you for herself, so she didn't give me any of your messages.'