Seventh Bride (15 page)

Her only vaguely coherent thought was that if she survived, she was going to demand better illustrations.
 

The bear moved.

She did not try to dodge. It moved faster than anything that big had any right to move. By the time she realized that it was running directly
at
her, dodging would have been laughable.
 

She closed her eyes.

Fur brushed against her left arm. The fence at her back shuddered.
 

Something yelped.

Rhea opened her eyes again—
closing my eyes is stupid
—and had time to see Third go flying past her at eye level. It struck the ground not far from First, and did not move again.
 

The bear turned its head and growled.
 

It was too much for Second. The dog-monster fled, limping, and left its dead comrades behind.
 

Rhea stood very still.
 

Perhaps if I don’t move, it won’t notice I’m here?

She turned her head, very slowly, and saw the bear about five feet away. As she watched, the bear sat up and went “
Hwwhufff!”
 

It was looking directly at her.
 

Well, so much for that idea.
 

Rhea took a deep breath, let it out, and said “Errr…thank you, bear?”

The bear
hwuff
-ed again. It sounded almost like laughter. The way it was sitting up, the breadth of its shoulders, made her think of someone…and surely that was crazy, it couldn’t be, although in a world where hedgehogs sang up slug armies and men made golems of their wives and the floor fell away at midnight…

“Maria?” said Rhea doubtfully.

The bear shook its head, then dropped to all fours and bumped her muzzle against Rhea’s shoulder, like a good-natured dog. Rhea staggered a bit and braced herself against the iron fence.

Well, if it
isn’t
Maria...

 
(Rhea was just fine with it
not
being Maria, mind you, because a were-bear in the house would have been rather difficult to get her mind around—and anyway, if she was a were-bear, why hadn’t she just eaten Crevan? Still…)

“Maria said she had a familiar once,” said Rhea slowly. “A bear the size of a cow. Is
that
who you are?”

The bear let out another
Hwhuff!
and rubbed her muzzle on Rhea’s arm. Rhea had to cling to the iron cross-piece to avoid being lifted clean off her feet.
 

“Oh…” she said faintly. “It’s…um…lovely to meet you…”

An irritated clicking came from her skirt pocket. The hedgehog poked its nose over the edge and gave the bear a very stern look.

“Hwuff?”

“Chik-ik-ik!”

The bear looked abashed, and retreated several feet away. Rhea brushed herself off.

The hedgehog huffed in annoyance, and settled back into its pocket. Rhea could feel it stomping around, and gritted her teeth against the prickling.

“So,” said Rhea. “Um. I’m going to go back to the house now. I suppose you…err…would you like to come with me?”

She was torn between hoping very much that the bear would come with her—what if there were more dog-monsters?—and hoping that the bear would amble off and leave her alone. It seemed friendly, but having an animal that size
right there
was unsettling.
 

The bear strode out alongside her. Rhea decided to be grateful.
 

Under the moon, the grass broke into silver. Nightbirds called to each other and she heard a frog ratcheting to itself from the woods.
 

It was peaceful again.
 

They walked. The bear took one step for every three of Rhea’s.

The grass rippled as something approached. Rhea tensed, watching the wave come toward them—and then the bear halted and stood up on her hind legs.

The wave stopped, then reversed itself very quickly.
 

Maria’s familiar watched it go, then dropped back to all fours, grumbling.

“What was that?” asked Rhea, forgetting momentarily that no one could answer her.

The bear glanced at her. After a moment, the beast wrinkled up her muzzle and bared her teeth, then shrugged.

“Ah,” said Rhea. “Not friendly, then.”
 

The bear grunted.

They had no more trouble. Once or twice something looked out from the grass—Rhea caught a glimpse of flat green eyes reflecting moonlight—but they did not step into the path.
 

When the manor house loomed in the distance, the bear stopped. She stood up again, gazing at the house as if it were an enemy.
 

“I know,” said Rhea glumly. “But I have to go back. He knows where I live.”

The bear sighed, and rested her muzzle across Rhea’s shoulder. Rhea had to lock her knees to support the weight.

The bear was hot and smelled of beast. She sighed again and her breath steamed over Rhea’s cheek. It was rank and damp and gloriously alive all at once.
 

Then she pulled away and ambled into the grass. She left a trail of broken stems behind her, a dark swath that resisted the rippling moonlight.

Rhea watched her go for only a moment. There were still things in the grass, and her protector was leaving. She hurried down the path to the house.

Nothing accosted her on the lawn. She glanced up the side of the house, at the windows that looked like eyes, and it occurred to her that while there were a great many windows on the outside, there were far fewer on the inside. Lord Crevan’s study had a few, and there was a narrow little slot in her bedroom, like an arrow slit in a castle wall.
 

Other than that, nothing.

Hmm.

She shook her head.
I don’t know why I’m surprised. Of all the terrible things in that house, a lack of adequate windows is pretty far down the list. For all I know, there’s a space between the interior walls and the outside windows, and he’s crammed it all full of wives.
 

She immediately wished she hadn’t thought that. She snuck a glance at the window nearest her, half-afraid that she’d see faces pressed against the glass.

There was only a reflection of the sky and the lawn. Rhea breathed a sigh of relief.
 

Things are bad enough here without inventing new ways to scare myself.
 

She stepped into the kitchen. Maria was seated at the table and looked up at her with a faint, secret smile. “You made it back, child. Good.”
 

“Do you ever sleep?” asked Rhea.

“All the time,” said Maria. “But mostly here at the table.”

“Isn’t that uncomfortable?”

“Plenty of time to lie down in the grave.” Maria stretched her arms out. “I suppose you’ll want some tea—”

A shadow fell over the doorway.

Rhea saw Maria’s eyes widen, and she turned.

It was Lord Crevan.

She expected him to say something to her—something about the task, or her completion of it—but instead he leveled his gaze at Maria.

“There was magic afoot just now,” he said coldly.
 

“Aye, there was,” said Maria. “And that means it wasn’t mine, my lord husband, because you know as well as I do that I’ve not got a drop left in me.”
 

“Then who?” snapped Crevan, his voice like a lash. “Don’t lie to me.”

“I don’t know,” said Maria. “That’s the truth, if you like.”
 

Crevan’s nostrils were pinched. It came to Rhea that he was angry, really angry, and that frightened her. She did not like him cold and sly and amused, but it seemed preferable to this sudden white rage.

He swung toward her. Rhea shrank back, glad the table was between them, wishing the bear had not left so soon.
 

“You’re no witch,” he said. “It wasn’t you. But last night and tonight, you had aid. What was it?”

Rhea shoved her hands in her skirts and cupped a hand over the hedgehog, heedless of the prickles.
 

“Tell me!” he snapped, taking a step toward her.

“There was a bear,” said Rhea hurriedly, afraid that if he came too close, he’d smell whatever magic clung to the hedgehog. The bear was well away, and probably well able to defend herself. The hedgehog was right here and no match for a boot, let alone an enraged sorcerer.
 

Maria laughed. “Still out there, is she?”
 

Crevan spun toward her. Rhea felt as if she’d been standing too close to the fire and had been allowed to step away.

“Your doing, wife?” he said.

“You know it wasn’t. I couldn’t call her now if I wanted to.” Maria shrugged her vast shoulders. “She does what she wants. Perhaps it amused her to help this girl.”

“I should have killed that beast years ago,” muttered Crevan.
 

Maria shrugged again.

Crevan ran a hand through his hair. “Very well.” He laughed suddenly, and Rhea liked that even less than the anger. “Very well. I shall consider this. You’ve done the task for tonight, I assume?”

“I laid flowers on the grave,” said Rhea.
 

He nodded. “Good. Good. Come to my study after dinner. I’ll have another task for you.”

“Of course you will,” muttered Rhea, but she waited until after he had left to say it.
 

Maria exhaled and went for tea. Rhea stifled a sigh. Her mother also believed that tea was the cure for all problems—or at least, that problems would not get any worse in the time it took to boil water, and you’d be a little better off with a cup of tea in you.

“Was that your familiar?” she asked, as Maria swung the kettle off the stove.
 

Maria grinned, fierce and sudden. “Can’t swear to it,” she said. “But if there’s another bear in these woods that’s well inclined to young women, I’m sure I don’t know who it could be.”
 

She poured water into the teapot, whistling tunelessly to herself. Rhea propped her chin up in her hand and watched.
 

“Mind you,” said Maria, as she set the tea to steep, “I’m not surprised. This house touches more forests than one. And she was always a devil for finding her way. I only hope she can find her way out again.”

“What do you mean,
more forests?”
asked Rhea.

Apparently this was not a dangerous question, because Maria answered easily, without a glance at the ceiling. “A great many of them, I should think. Your village and mine. Sylvie’s, Ingeth’s…I don’t know for certain, but I expect something not far from the city, if only so the groceries get delivered.” She shook her head. “It’s a great magic.”
 

“Did…uh…Himself do it?”

Now Maria did pause. Her next words had a carefully chosen quality to them, like a woman picking her way across treacherous conversational ground. “He’s very powerful,” she said. “Certainly he is the master of this house.”

She caught Rhea’s eye and shook her head.
No.
 

This gave Rhea something to think about, while she finished her tea.
 

Did she mean that the house was like this before? Did someone make the house like it is?

If it touches many forests, could I run away? Find a road other than the white road? Will I wind up somewhere a thousand miles from the mill?

Will he get there before I do?

He’s the master of the house…he can make it go where he wants. Otherwise we probably couldn’t get food deliveries. Even if he didn’t create the magic, he clearly knows how to use it.
 

I could wind up halfway to the city and he could be dragging my parents out of bed and setting the mill on fire. Great.
 

She turned the hedgehog loose in the garden, and went up to bed in a pensive state of mind.
 

She woke in the afternoon when the floor fell. This time, she did not go back to sleep, but got up and dressed. Her clothes were getting stiff with dirt. Perhaps she could do some washing up.
 

Maria nodded to her when she came down, and again at her request. “Certainly. There’s a laundry. It’s big enough for a dozen, you won’t have any problems.”
 

Clad in borrowed clothing—Sylvie’s, Rhea suspected, as the cuffs of the pants fell halfway up her shins—she went to work pounding the dirt out of her clothes.

The laundry was a cavernous room.
Big enough for a dozen
didn’t do it justice, unless you meant a dozen elephants. The tiles were cool underfoot and the ceiling was lost in dimness.
 

Why is it so large? Is it from when the manor house was built?

Even the smallest tub could have held an entire family’s worth of clothes. She ran a few inches of hot water into it, and set to work.
 

Scrubbing the clothes left her hands busy but her mind free to wander. If it wandered too far, Rhea would begin to think about how utterly mad it was that there was a murderer in the house and she was doing laundry.

Well. What else can I do? As Maria would say, if I sit down and cry, nothing will change and I still won’t have clean laundry.
 

She would not think of the night’s task. That way lay only dread.
 

She thought instead of the house itself, so large and so empty. It was obviously made for dozens of people and hundreds of servants, not for one man and a half-dozen wives.
 

Crevan obviously hadn’t built it, even if he planned to marry a hundred wives and wanted space for them all.
 

Everything I’ve seen him make has been sort of awful. All those golems...if he tried to build a house, it’d probably be a golem-house.
 

Rhea scowled. That was not a pleasant thought. Walls of dried skin and the roof lashed on with black leather thongs…no, not a pleasant thought at all.
 

Still, if he didn’t create the magic, it must be attached to the house somehow. Maria said the house touched many forests. Perhaps it was one of his ancestors. Maybe magic runs in the family.