The Mirror of Her Dreams (76 page)

But it was likely that Adept Havelock didn't hear her. While she breathed her question, Geraden surged forward, demanding, 'Myste is with that champion? Is that why no one's seen her recently? Does King Joyse know about this?'

Rage on his face, Havelock whirled as if he intended to strike Geraden down. Instantly, however, his turn changed into a pirouette, and he spun circles, flapping his arms like an old crow. When he stopped, he looked like he wanted to storm at Geraden; yet he was giggling, and his voice was thick with mirth.

'Do you know what the difference is between an Apt and an Adept?'

Frozen with chagrin, Geraden gaped at the mad Imager.

Lugubriously solemn, Adept Havelock raised his fingers to his fat lips and flapped them, making a
de-de-de-de
sound. Then he cackled appreciation for his own humour and turned to Terisa. 'Do you get it? De-de-de-de. D-e. A-d-e-p-t.' But he quit laughing as soon as he saw the dismay on her face. 'Women!' he snorted.

'Whoever invented women gave them teats instead of brains. By the hoary goat of the arch-Imager! No wonder Mordant is in such a mess.'

Suddenly, her throat filled with pain. He was so valuable- and so lost. 'I'm sorry,' she whispered. 'You poor man. I'm so sorry.'

But no amount of regret could bring his mind back. He leered at her, smacked his lips, and pronounced in a tone of finality:

'Fornication.'

When Artagel had recovered sufficiently, he and his companions found their way back up to the public halls of Orison. 'You'd better tell Castellan Lebbick about the attack,' said Geraden glumly as they walked. 'He needs to guard that translation point.'

Artagel nodded and left. He still carried himself stiffly, as if his lungs were tender, but all he needed now was rest.

The prospect of being alone made Terisa's skin crawl, so she asked Geraden to keep her company in her rooms. Inborn consideration seemed to warn him off sensitive topics: deliberately casual, he whiled away part of the afternoon for her by chatting about his family, giving her brief sketches of his brothers and their life in the Care of Domne. Soothed by his gentle talk and affectionate memories, she began to feel restored enough to consider the implications of the day's events.

Unfortunately, he was called away at that point: one of the younger Apts found him and summoned him to his neglected chores.

The remainder of the afternoon was bad. And the evening threatened to be worse, until she discovered-to her surprise and relief-that she was too exhausted to keep her eyes open. Grateful for small blessings, she went to bed.

The next morning, after a night full of dreams from which Terisa awakened as though she had been screaming, Saddith bustled into her rooms and announced gleefully that Master Eremis had been released.

'Really? Are you sure?' Terisa tried to conceal her emotions; but her heart was pounding. The Master had said,
When I am free, I will come to you.
As if by magic, the events of the previous day became less important.
There will be no part of your womanhood which I have not claimed.
'Why would Castellan Lebbick let him out?'

Saddith looked positively exultant. 'I do not know the entire story, my lady. Apparently, the Castellan is teaching his men to keep their mouths closed. But it is rumoured'-she lowered her voice dramatically-'that Orison was attacked by Imagery yesterday. Master Eremis had been imprisoned because he was believed to be responsible for such things.' The recollection made her indignant. 'But of course he could not have attacked Orison by Imagery while locked in the Castellan's dungeon. No proof can be found that he is guilty.' She chortled. 'Even our dour Castellan cannot justify imprisoning an innocent man.'

Terisa made a conscious effort not to speculate about the meaning of Saddith's pleasure. Her own expectations were already too confused: she didn't want to have them complicated further by memories of the way Saddith had moaned and clung while Master Eremist thrust into her. Instead, she remembered the touch of his lips and tongue on her breasts-the way he had instructed her to betray Geraden-and waited impatiently for the maid to leave.

She wanted the Master-and was afraid to face him with her refusal to take his part against Geraden. Opposing desires made her forehead ache. As soon as Saddith closed the door, she rushed to give herself a quick, intense bath, trying to get ready. But then she forced herself to put on the dingiest gown she had, as if she wished to be unattractive. Master Eremis. Geraden. She yearned for both in different ways and had no idea what to do about the contradiction.

But Master Eremis didn't come.

She had thought that she was going to find out who she was. But neither of the men who tried to claim her had given her an answer. She had risked accompanying Geraden to Vagel's translation point for nothing more than the sensation of thin, sharp cold-a sensation that made no difference. And she had known all along that Master Eremis could have any woman he wanted.

Apparently, he didn't want her.

Perhaps for that reason-perhaps simply because she couldn't have him-she found that she wanted him badly.

FOUR DAYS LATER, the weather broke.

By that time, Terisa had forced down the pain of Master Eremis' implicit rejection. She continued to function-which meant that she spent as much time as possible with Geraden: talking; trying to understand. Nevertheless the knowledge that she didn't have anything better to do, anything more constructive to offer, wore on her constantly. She couldn't shake free of a grey depression which took the edge off everything she thought and felt; her behaviour resembled her former existence more than anything she had done since she had come to Orison. As a result, her conversations with Geraden were like many of the sessions she had had with Rev Thatcher. But now the underlying futility was on her side rather than on anyone else's.

She had lost her fragile sense of purpose, of direction. The conclusions she was occasionally tempted to draw from the appearance in the Congery's augury of the riders of her dream had never seemed so foolish. She had no reason for being where she was. And she didn't seem able to invent one. The real point of her long conversations with Geraden was not to shed any light into the dark corners of her situation, but rather to keep him with her, so that he wouldn't fade from her life like Master Eremis.

So while snow as sharp and brittle as ice rattled against her windows and lorn wind keened past the edges of the tower and all Orison seemed to fall into a kind of static calm, frozen not by peace but by waiting, she did essentially nothing except eat, sleep, and sit in her rooms, talking with the Apt whenever he got free of his duties.

He brought her news from around Orison. The Masters were involved in a fierce-and apparently endless-debate, trying to decide what to do about their champion-and about their own vulnerability. Castellan Lebbick's guards and every stonemason available were busy using the rubble of the champion's departure to build a wall across the breach in Orison's side. And Argus and Ribuld were doing what they could to keep an eye on the lady Elega.

The rest of the time, Terisa and Geraden talked about their circumstances.

On his side, this meant fighting a steady but subdued, almost covert struggle to raise her spirits. As if he knew that any despondency in him could hurt her, he practised good cheer. As if he knew that the sore places in her weren't ready to be touched, he preserved a tactful emotional distance. As if he knew that she wasn't strong enough to be pushed, he urged nothing. With a delicate gentleness which made his physical mishaps look like they belonged to a completely separate person, he cared for her.

Even though he needed care himself and wasn't getting it. His enemies were as savage as hers, wanted him dead as badly-and for as little reason. But if he was afraid he kept his fear to himself.

At one point, he asked rather wistfully, 'Did you feel anything at the translation point? Could you tell it was there?'

A touch of cold as thin as a feather and as sharp as steel
-That was something she didn't want to talk about; it frightened her too badly. 'It was so cold down there, and I was so scared. Just before those'-she shivered involuntarily-'those men appeared, I seemed to get even colder and scareder.' She already knew that she was never going to mention it to Master Eremis, That's probably all it was.'

He looked at her hard before glancing away.

'What about you?' she countered. That would explain a lot. If you have that kind of talent-and Master Gilbur got a hint of it while he was teaching you-we would at least have an explanation for why you were attacked.'

He rolled his eyes at the ceiling. 'Wouldn't that be fun? I would love an explanation. But all I can remember is thinking that it was a silly idea. I was dragging you and Artagel around in the cold and damp for an empty theory. I didn't even see the translation start.'

She sighed morosely.

Several times, they both recurred to the matter of their strange session with Adept Havelock. 'What was all that about, do you suppose?' he wondered. 'Why did he want to tell you all that? Why those specific details?'

She had no idea. 'He's crazy. Maybe what he calls 'lucidity' just means he's able to put a few sentences together in order.'

But that explanation didn't satisfy either of them. Eventually, an old resolve crumbled, and she found herself telling him about her first night in Orison. She described how Adept Havelock had fetched her to his chamber, what Master Quillon had told her of Mordant's history, and how the Adept had saved her from the man in black.

He listened in mingled astonishment and incomprehension. When she was done, he breathed, They already knew, The first night you were here, they already knew you were in danger. Master Quillon has been busy.' He scowled wryly. 'If you told the rest of the Congery about this, they wouldn't believe it. Master
Quillonl
Trying to change what happens to anyone?' Then he said more seriously, 'At least now we know who my enemies are. Master Gilbur and arch-Imager Vagel.'

She nodded. She could feel herself sinking deeper into gloom.

He didn't let the idea of his enemies dismay him, however. Smiling, he said, There's one advantage to all this, anyway. Now I know how you feel. You don't understand what everybody thinks you can do. I don't understand why men like that think highly enough of me to consider me worth killing.'

She was too despondent to be amused. 'I want to know whose side Master Quillon and Adept Havelock are on. Not the King's. Not the Congery's. Not Master Gilbur's.' She could have also said. Not Master Eremis'.

How many sides
were
there?

But that brought them back to their encounter with the Adept -and to the presumed hints hidden in what he had said. Finally, she decided to give up another of her few remaining secrets. She was committed to him-not because she knew what she was doing, but because he was her friend. And Master Eremis didn't want her. There would be no harm in telling Geraden about Myste.

He listened in close silence. As she explained Myste's reasons for going after the champion, he held his head up like a salute,

and tears stood in his eyes. When she was finished, he remained silent for a long moment before murmuring gruffly, 'I always liked her. Of course,' he added, 'I know Elega better. And Torrent is so sweet she makes you want to lie down on the floor for her to stand on so her feet won't get cold. King Joyse doesn't have any unattractive daughters. But Myste-' His voice trailed away.

Begging him not to kill her.
Terisa felt like crying herself.

Early in the morning of the fifth day, however, she was awakened from a thin, unrestful sleep by the sound of rain.

Groggy with sleep and surprise, she climbed out of bed and went to the nearest window.

For a moment, she was baffled because she couldn't see any rain. In fact, the sky was completely free of clouds. The early sun cast a genial light over the walls and battlements, and the heavens were a vital blue, shaded closer to purple than azure. The distant hills seemed softer under their thick robes of snow, and the crooked bulk of Orison looked considerably more picturesque than it had the previous day, more like a grand castle in a fairy tale.