No, he realized, it was her night clothes. She wore a skintight suit of some sort of soft, gray material. “Hey,” Pryce said weakly. “My color.”
“What?” she demanded. “What did you say?”
“That color,” he continued feebly. “Same as my shirt.” He managed to get his thumb and forefinger to pinch at his neckline.
“How dare you?” she seethed. “I don’t care if you are the great Darlington Blade. You have no right to come into myI mean, my father’shome!”
“He said I could.” Pryce whispered weakly.
“What?”
Pryce groaned as he attempted to right himself in the ashes. ‘Tour father… told Gamor… and Lymwich… I could stay here.”
“That’s absurd!” she flared. “I don’t believe it!”
Pryce was finally right side up, and he motioned helplessly at the door. “The door opened for me,” he reminded her. “It wouldn’t have if Geerling hadn’t given me the key…” He feebly fingered the cloak clasp.
Dearlyn opened her mouth again, shut it, opened it a second time, then stamped her foot and made a harrumphing sound before marching off to fix the bed.
Pryce crawled out of the fireplace and slowly worked his way back to his hands and knees. He dusted off the parts of him he could reach before making his way back to the bedroom on all fours.
The illumination was brighter now, so he could clearly see Dearlyn briskly replacing all the blankets, pillows, and comforter.
She then pulled on an ornate robe of beige and teal that looked like an elegant gown.
“I apologize, Miss Ambersong,” Pryce said quietly.
“For what?” she snapped.
“For existing.”
That stopped her, but only for a second. She went back to making the bed as if it were a particularly bothersome patient. “You can’t help being who you are,” she said.
You’d be surprised, he thought, but what he said was, “Perhaps you can help me be who you think I am.”
This time she stopped for longer than a second, her face filled with confusion. “What on Toril are you talking about?”
Pryce pulled himself painfully to his feet, smiled wearily, and crooked a finger at her to follow him. Then he hobbled out to the living area, struggled to set the toppled chair upright, and sat down in it heavily. By the time he sighed with relief, she was standing against the wall opposite him. “I am here, Miss Ambersong,” he said, “but your father is missing. Do you have any idea where he is?”
“Don’t you?” she replied, at first with rancor, then with obvious concern.
Pryce waved that aside. “Irrelevant. Don’t you care?”
“Don’t I…?” She stared at him in amazement until her reserve started to crack. “You, of all people, have no right to ask me that,” she continued quakingly, holding herself tightly. “Don’t I care? Don’t I careF’ Suddenly she threw her arms wide. “Look at this place! Look at it! The home of Lallor’s primary mage. Do you see one magical item? Do you see a single spellbook? There’s not a single one. And do you know why?”
Pryce lowered his head, frowning. He knew the answerAzzo Schreders had told himbut he wanted her to say it. She didn’t disappoint him.
“Because he gave it all to you!” she cried out. “His precious daughter could not be burdened with the responsibilities of magic. Oh, no, but you… you are given everything!” She stalked over to a closet and wrenched out a cloak that seemed to be the mirror image of the one he was wearing.
“Even this… this cloak he created with his own hands… the one thing I thought was mine alone! Even that, I discovered, he had also given to you!” She hurled it angrily to the floor, its ornate clasp hitting the floor with a thunk. Pryce’s eyes narrowed when he saw it, but they returned to her as she walked away.
She talked at the ceiling, her arms up in amazement. “The Ambersong legacy, dropped in the lap of some fast-talking fool from who-knows-where! You! A man who can’t even defend himself from the simplest spell!”
She caught herself, and Pryce grinned sadly, letting her wonder if it wasn’t already too late to protect her now obvious secret. But instead of saying anything about her illicit learning, he said, “Unlike many, I do not waste magic. And,” he added gravely, “I do not use it as an extension of my negative emotions.”
Dearlyn looked down regretfully.
He gave her a way out. “Did you ever stop to think about what your father really wanted for you?”
“Please don’t take that patronizing tone with me,” she said quietly. “I know my father better than you ever could. He is an honorable, fiercely moral man. He hated battling against the restrictive laws of the Elders, but he wouldn’t give in.”
“No less fierce than his daughter.” Pryce grimaced as he felt a twinge in his shoulder. That statement got a smile of pride out of her. “But he didn’t want that sort of life for you,” he reminded her.
“More than anything else,” she said with sardonic sadness, “he wanted a life of peace for his only child.” She shook her head, then looked up at Pryce imploringly. “You asked if I ever stopped to think what he wanted? Of course not! I’m his daughter! I learned it from him. Did he ever stop to think what wanted? No! He simply forbade me to learn magic. Forbade me! He even toldp› the council that I must never learn spellcasting!”
Pryce gingerly rubbed his chest. “I see that didn’t stop you,” he said quietly.
You could have heard a feather drop in the silence that followed. They stared at each other for several moments.
“What will you tell the council?” she finally asked quietly. “I learned some magic, yes, but after all, I am the daughter of Geerling Ambersong.”
Pryce continued to rub his wounded and still slightly tender chest. “You are indeed,” he sighed. She continually referred to her father in the present tense, Pryce noted. “I know” and “he is” instead of “I knew” and “he was.” From all signs so far, she considered her father amongst the living. That really shouldn’t surprise him, Pryce finally acknowledged. After all, he thought, Geerling Ambersong must have been away for days or weeks at a time in order to train Darlington BladeI mean, me.
He thought about gaining the emotional upper hand by lecturing her, but something in her expression stopped him. She was looking straight at him. Her look said that she was willing to take responsibility for her actions, but her nature was essentially honest.
He looked straight back at her, feeling things he had never felt before. He suddenly wanted to protect her, to work with her. He wanted, in fact, to know everything he could about her.
“What would I tell the council?” he finally said. “That the great Darlington Blade was chased across the room by a maddened mattress?”
She laughed with relief and honest mirth. “You did look surprised,” she managed to say.
“Did I?” he replied, arching an eyebrow. He looked carefully at the fallen horsehair staff. ‘To tell you the truth, I don’t know why you even bother with magic. You are extremely accomplished with that rod.”
She looked down at it coyly. “When your father refuses to teach you the family business,” she said as she moved forward and bent down to retrieve the staff, “you rechannel your energy to learn other skills.”
He got a whiff of her hair as she bent over. Its freshness and vitality filled his head. “So,” he said, “are you a great martial artist, a gardener, or both?”
She faced him again, only they were much closer this time. “Neither,” she said. “I still have much to learn on both accounts… although the vines that cover the cul-de-sac outside would have completely taken over the area if not for this… and my pruning.” She tapped the horsehair-covered gardening tool into her palm. Then their eyes locked again.
Here was a man she had told herself many times was deserving only of hatred, but in his eyes she saw many things: a certain sweetness, a tendency toward kindness, a definite sense of humor, an alluring self-deprecation, even a beguiling helplessness.
“So,” she said when she finally managed to look away. “You won’t tell anyone?”
With the question, Pryce realized that if he did report her transgression to the authorities, Berridge Lymwich would take great pleasure in punishing her. He was beginning to understand that the repressed, tightly wound inquisitrix found any youthful, strong, and beautiful young woman a threat to her ego.
