Children of Enchantment (26 page)

“Find her something else to wear? Please?”

She folded her lips in a prim line and made a little face. “As you say, Lord Prince.”

O
nce he had left Minnis, Roderic found it easy to forget Annandale, and he was glad to read in the tone of Peregrine’s letters
that even she relaxed as the weeks went by and nothing changed. With Brand’s words ringing in his mind, Roderic threw himself
into the task of supervising the repair of the damage done by the earthshake.

But when the repairs to the walls of Ahga were nearing completion, when the plans of the defense of the city in the event
of an attack were made, when the dispatches were read and answered and he had returned to Minnis, Roderic, although he tried
to ignore her, was aware of Annandale. It would have been impossible not to have been aware of her. Glimpses of her hovered
just at the corner of his vision: the curve of her profile, the lift of her hand, the flash of her skirt. His body responded
involuntarily to her and he felt her absence as keenly as he did her presence.

He was not the only one affected; wherever she went, everyone—men and women and children—stopped and stared for the pure pleasure
of looking at her. But that was little comfort to his distraction.

As she had promised, Peregrine placed Annandale among the women who cared for Tavia. She was always surrounded by others whenever
Roderic saw her, and he made no attempt to see her alone. He knew she spent time with Phineas, and that the old man seemed
happy since her coming. And he knew she sometimes sang with the harpers in the long evenings after the last meal. He never
stayed to hear her sing: he had a hard enough time keeping her face and form out of his mind. He did not want her voice haunting
him as well.

Annandale kept to herself for the most part, said little, and stayed in the background as much as she could. Peregrine did
not mention her name; Roderic chose not to ask.

So the summer wore on. Roderic paid careful attention to the dispatches from the outposts. He was troubled when all the commanders
from the garrisons and toll plazas leading into the west reported nothing of Amanander. Messengers arrived daily from all
parts of the realm, but no word came from Vere, and nothing new was learned of Abelard. Roderic’s dreams were sometimes darkened
by the specter of soldiers with dead men’s eyes, and one day, he sketched from memory the crest he had seen in Nydia’s flames.
He hid the paper in the back of his desk and tried to shut such seemings from his mind.

As Mid-Year passed, and Gost approached, Roderic brooded more and more upon the impending question of his marriage. Sooner
or later the court must return to Ahga. Sooner or later, he would have to decide. He had always thought that this would be
a subject for discussion, even lengthy negotiations. Now it seemed that Abelard had never intended that there be any question
at all. What did his father owe the witch that his son should pay such a price? Phineas refused to answer any more questions,
pleading ignorance.

One day, as he sat with his scribe, Peregrine asked to be admitted, and asked him to come with her.

Roderic frowned. He was in the middle of a delicate negotiation of water and mining rights between two equally powerful Senadors
in neighboring estates, who each invoked ancient and apparently opposing laws. “Must I now, lady?”

“It concerns the Lady Annandale.”

“Oh?”

“And your sister.”

“Tavia?” Roderic put the pen down, and followed where she led. “What’s going on?”

As they climbed the steps of the tower where Tavia lived, Peregrine explained: “She was upset today. I think her kitten scratched
her. Anyway, we tried to soothe her and Annandale came in and put her arms around her, and Tavia started to cry.”

“And you took me away from my work for that?”

Peregrine stopped on the middle of the staircase. “Don’t you understand? Tavia never cries. She makes some unearthly wailing
noise, but she never cries. She never sheds tears. Annandale put her arms around her, and it was like someone broke through
a dam. Come on.”

She held her finger to her lips as she gently pushed the door open. “Listen.”

Roderic heard a voice, softly singing:

“Hush, my baby, sleep, my baby,

Day is dying in the west,

Gently, gently, night is falling,

Day is ending, time to rest.

“In the south the winds are blowing,

Softly, softly, warm and sweet,

Hush, my baby, sleep, my baby

Father watches as you sleep.

“In the north the winds are blowing,

Fiercely, fiercely, brisk and chill

Hush, my baby, sleep my baby,

Mother warms you, so be still.

“In the east the winds are blowing,

Quickly, quickly comes the dawn.

Hush, my baby, sleep, my baby,

Soon the moon and stars are gone.

“In the west, the winds are blowing
,

Night is falling, time to rest,

Hush, my baby, sleep, my baby,

Slumber safe on mother’s breast. “

Roderic closed his eyes and leaned against the wall. The notes were pure and clear and true, as he had known they would be,
and he felt one more stone in the wall he had tried to build between himself and Annandale crumble into dust. As the song
faded away, he opened his eyes. “Let’s go in.”

They peered around the door. Annandale sat beside Tavia, who was curled on the bed, eyes closed, tears still seeping down
her cheeks. The pillow beneath her face was wet.

Annandale’s head was bowed, and she held one of Tavia’s hands in both her own.

“Annandale?”

She looked up, and Roderic stared in amazement. Her cheeks were streaked with tears, her eyes still brimming over. On her
face he saw anguish and mortal fear.

“Is she sleeping?” Peregrine tiptoed over to the bed.

“Come with me, lady.” His voice was brusque.

Immediately, Annandale disentangled her hands and wiped her face with a linen square. She looked up at Peregrine.

“I’ll stay with her.” Peregrine nodded.

Roderic stood aside and let her precede him down the steps. “This way.” He led her to his study and gestured an abrupt dismissal
to the scribe. When the scribe had gone, clutching his bundle of pens and parchments to his bony chest, Roderic nodded at
the chair. “Sit.”

She obeyed.

He looked her over suspiciously. She seemed calm, though her face was damp. “What have you done to my sister?”

“I soothed her to sleep.”

“Why was she crying?”

“She has much to cry about.”

“Such as?”

Annandale looked at him as if he had suddenly spoken another language. “She has known great grief.”

“But Peregrine says she never cries.”

“I cannot speak to that, Lord Prince.”

Her answer struck him as evasive. He crossed the room and caught her wrist. “If you have harmed my sister—“

“No! No, Lord Prince, I swear! I cannot harm her. I only tried to comfort her with a song my mother sang to me when I was
small. It’s a lullaby.”

Roderic saw the fear in her eyes, and for no reason he could have articulated, he believed her. He dropped her hand: he had
no wish to renew the memory of that first touch. “We shall see.”

“I promise you, Roderic, she is not harmed.”

“You used my name.”

“Forgive me. I know I have not your permission.”

The silence in the room grew until Roderic thought he heard the beating of their two hearts. She looked so small and vulnerable.
She twisted her hands in the fabric of her gown. He noticed then the ugly orange color. Peregrine was still trying to minimize
her beauty.

She looked up, and he swallowed hard. “I swear I did no harm, Lord Prince.”

He closed his eyes and tried to steady his breathing. The blood in his veins was hot, and he felt himself grow hard. It would
be so easy, he thought, to reach out and take her. “Are you a witch?”

“No.”

“I want the truth.”

She shook her head. “I know nothing of the Magic, and I have never harmed a living soul.” She held out her hand. “I don’t
know how to make you believe that.”

“Neither do I.” He moved away from her to lean against the empty hearth. There was another long silence.

“Are you well treated, lady?”

“Yes, Lord Prince.”

“Are there any problems?”

“No, Lord Prince.”

“And Peregrine?”

“The Lady Peregrine is kind.”

He looked at her gown and smiled. “Indeed. Do you enjoy it here?”

“It is very different from what I am accustomed to.”

“What do you do all day?”

“I sew. I sing. I read.”

“You read?’”

“Yes, Lord Prince.”

“And the rest of the household?”

She hesitated for the fraction of an instant. “They are kind. I have no complaint.”

“Truly? All of them? Are you certain?”

“They talk about me—where I came from, why I’m here.”

“You expected that, though, didn’t you? I did.”

“They stare, sometimes.”

“Sometimes? I don’t wonder.”

At that she blushed and lowered her eyes. His gaze fell on her hands, which still twisted nervously in her lap. “You wear
the ring.”

“You did not say not to.”

“No.”

“Do you want it back?”

“I told you under what circumstances I wanted it back. Has anyone noticed it?”

“No.”

“Are you certain?”

“Only Phineas. He felt it when he took my hand one day.”

“Did you tell him I gave it to you?”

“Yes.”

“And what did he say?”

“He seemed well pleased.”

“Did you know I have a letter from my father? He wrote it the day I—we were born. Did you know we were born on the same day?”

“Yes, Lord Prince.”

“Am I to believe we were born for each other?”

She raised her head and looked at him, and he thought that in the proud set of her chin, in the arch of her brow, she looked
as royal as any of Abelard’s get.

“It is true, lady,” he said, after another silence, “that I am drawn to you for some reason I do not understand. But why should
I marry you? You know nothing about the running of a household like Ahga, do you? If I marry you, it means there must be a
First Lady. I don’t want to live in a house of quarreling women. I know my father wants me to marry you. But why?”

There was another pause. And then she said: “Why not?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Why not marry me?”

It was Roderic’s turn to stare.

“Are there objections? Another candidate?”

He searched his memory. Except for Peregrine—and that was a candidate of his own choosing. He could not remember that Abelard—or
anyone else— had ever mentioned his marriage. “No,”’ he admitted.

“Then why not?”

Because I don’t trust you, he wanted to say. You frighten me with your unearthly beauty. When I am with you, I am like a man
lost in a desert, panting for water. He pushed that thought aside with effort and spoke slowly, haltingly. “Your mother showed
me a fate worse than anything I ever imagined in my bleakest nightmares and said you were proof against it. But nothing, nothing
I’ve ever been taught, nothing I’ve ever encountered, prepared me for you. The day I found you there was an icestorm in the
middle of a spring day, and the night I brought you here an earthshake brought down the walls of Ahga. Was that a natural
earthshake, or did your mother’s Magic have something to do with that? Was it a result of my bringing you here? What am I
to believe?”

She stood up. “I cannot tell you what to believe. Lord Prince. My mother used the Magic to make the storm to bring you to
the tower. But I can only assure you that the earthshake was nothing in comparison to what the Magic can do. Neither you,
nor the King, nor Phineas, nor all the Senadors understand what can happen. So the question is not why you should not marry
me. The question is can you trust the word of a woman?” She inclined her head in a brief, graceful bow and was gone before
he could even think of an answer.

That afternoon, after a long session with Phineas and the emissaries of the two Senadors, Roderic held up his hand to Phineas’s
litter-bearers when they came to take him from the room and told them to wait outside.

Phineas sat quietly as they left, and then he said: “Is there something you need to discuss with me, Roderic?”

“Yes. I think you know what it is.”

“Your marriage.”

“Exactly.”

“It’s been almost two months since you brought her here. You’ve had time to get to know her and to watch her among the court.
What do you think?”

“There’s been no trouble with her. But I keep coming to the same question. Why? Why should I marry her? Why did my father
choose her for me?” He looked out the windows into the green expanse of the gardens. “And I still don’t feel I really know
her.”

“That’s been your choice, has it not?”