She had never thought about it, she realized. It had just always been there, a part of her. She was no more able to separate her work from her life than color from a pane of glass. “Good. Bad. I get angry sometimes.”
“Why?”
“You wouldn’t understand.”
“That’s quite true. Not if you don’t explain.”
Why not answer him? The subject was innocent enough. “There are times when you have the vision, and then your hands aren’t clever enough or the color isn’t right or it’s too thick and you don’t serve the sunlight.”
“Serve the sunlight?”
“It’s the light that streams through the windows that makes the glass come alive. Why else would we create, if not to serve the sunlight?”
“You make it sound as if you worship the sun god.”
She frowned. “I’m not a pagan.”
“I’m not so sure. What does it feel like when the work does go right?”
How could she describe it when there weren’t any words? “It’s like… something inside me flying apart.”
“Really? How painful.”
“It’s not. While it’s going on, it feels like a driving fever and yet… good, and then afterward there’s a wonderful sense of peace.” She helplessly shook her head. “I told you that you wouldn’t understand.”
“On the contrary you’ve described a state with which I’m very familiar.” He paused and then chuckled in genuine amusement. “Yes, very familiar.”
She frowned, puzzled. “You’re an artist or craftsman?”
“I hope I can claim to raise my skill to artistry in some areas. What was your first work?”
“Flowers.” She closed her eyes to better visualize it. “A small panel, very simple, with yellow daffodils. Grandmama liked flowers.”
“Your grandmother taught you?”
“Grandmama and Mama.” Pain suddenly rushed back. Mama.
“Tell me about the daffodils,” he said quickly. “Did they serve the sunlight?”
Light streaming through brilliant yellow blossoms and making a pattern on the rush-strewn floor. Grandmama smiling proudly at her. “Oh, yes,” she whispered. “They were beautiful. Everything was beautiful that day.”
“Did the daffodils have leaves?”
“Of course, I was only four, but I wouldn’t forget leaves. Pale green… The color wasn’t as true as the yellow, but they weren’t too bad…” She yawned. “Grandmama liked them. She liked every kind of flower. I said that, didn’t I?”
“I don’t remember.”
“The next year I did a panel with roses for her natal day. Pink roses… When the sun shone through it, the edges of the petals looked as if they were rimmed in gold. It was an accident with the stain, but Grandmama pretended I’d done it on purpose. The next year I gave her another one that I’d done correctly, but I think she liked the first one best.”
Pink roses, rimmed with gold, daffodils and memories of kindness and love. They were all blending together like the colors of a stained-glass panel seen from a great distance.
“I’m sure she did.”
She opened heavy lids to see him watching her, his expression enigmatic, his eyes the green of the daffodil leaves.
“Tell me again about the roses,” he said.
She had already told him too much, she realized. She had pushed him away, and he had only circled and come back to claim a greater intimacy than when he had held her. He had won.
No, it was she who had won. He had given her back loving memories to replace the ones rooted in pain. It didn’t matter what his motives were in giving her that gift; it could only heal and help her grow stronger.
“No.” She turned on her side, facing away from him. “The roses are mine.” She closed her eyes, deliberately shutting him out. She wanted to go back to that time when there was nothing but laughter and sunlight and Mama and Grandmama telling her that the gold around the petals was just right…
Wake up, Marianna.” Alex was shaking her. “We have to hurry. We’re going to England! You know, the place where Papa was born!”
She opened her eyes to see his excited face above her.
“On a boat, a big boat. And Jordan says I’ll see seagulls and dolphins and-”
“Shh.” She groggily sat up and brushed the hair from her forehead. “Let me wake up before you-” She stopped as she saw Jordan standing a few feet behind Alex framed against the pink pearl of the dawn sky.
“Alex is right,” His hand fell on the boy’s shoulder. “It’s nearly time to start.” He nodded at the pond a short distance away. “Refresh yourself and then come back and get some bread and cheese. We’ll not stop until evening.” He turned and sauntered over to the fire, where Gregor sat pulling on his boots.
He was acting as if the decision was already made. He had even told Alex that they were going to England. She stood up and started down the hill toward the pond.
Alex scampered on her heels. “We have to go to the seaport at Domajo where the boat is waiting. Jordan says it will take a full day to get there.”
Color bloomed in his cheeks, and he was more animated than she had seen him in days. He was full of the excitement of starting a new life, which only made her decision harder. What was best to do? Montavia was the only home she had ever known. The idea of leaving it was hard to contemplate.
She could stay. After all, it was not as if she didn’t have a skill. Perhaps she could find work in the capital.
She would not find work. No guild would accept a woman in their ranks; Mama and Grandmama had both fought that battle. If there was no way to earn a living at her craft, how would she and Alex live? Montavia had been stripped and torn of its riches by the war launched by the duke. The people in the towns she had encountered on her journey from Samda had been struggling just to stay alive and rebuild their lives. Only the thieves and whores seemed to be prospering in the ruins.
She shivered as she remembered the painted women they had encountered in the towns on their way from Samda. She would not be able to bear such a life.
Of course she could bear it. For Alex.
But only as the last resort, after she had tried every other means available.
The Jedalar. All her life she had been taught that when the time came to act, her duty was to the Jedalar. Her mother had made sure Marianna had memorized the secret and the plan of action that must be followed.
But her mother had not known the Window to Heaven would be destroyed. She did not yet have the required skill to bring the Jedalar to life, and surely no one could blame her if she chose temporary safety for both Alex and herself.
England.
Jordan Draken wanted her skill and the Jedalar, not her body. She would not have to become a whore if she went with him to England, and Alex would be safe from the duke of Nebrov.
She glanced up the hill to where Jordan was still talking to Gregor. He was so confident, so sure that he could mold her to his will. Sudden anger flared through her. She would not allow it. She would take what she and Alex needed from him and then leave this England and go wherever they chose.
She whirled and began furiously splashing water into her face.
“Hurry, Marianna,” Alex said. “Gregor says I can ride with him today. Did you see his horse? He said that he bought it in Kazan and that all horses are that large there. Do you suppose that’s true?”
“No, I think Gregor was teasing you.” She wiped her face and tidied her hair. “You must be careful not to believe everything these people tell you.”
“Good advice.” She lifted her head to see Jordan standing a few feet away. He continued blandly, “Gregor is given to embroidering stories. He says it makes life more interesting.”
“But you always tell the truth,” she said with irony.
“Whenever possible. I don’t agree with Gregor. I think lies only complicate matters. I prefer simplicity.” He
