The Thinking Woman's Guide to Real Magic

her neck were not already turning to stone. It was not death, for I stood up, and all the dead lie down, she thought, but there was no comfort there.

Her knees gave way. She collapsed.

Someone grabbed at her, but she landed on the side of her hip, hard, the same spot she’d barked on the table before. Her hands smacked the chilly stone floor, too late to break her fall.

In a rush she understood that the flagstones under her stinging palms were cold because her hands were warm and alive. Her lungs gulped air gratefully. She raised her left hand for inspection: healthy skin over living muscles, nerves, blood, and bone. And Raclin’s ring encircling the third finger.

It was what she had wanted, sort of, but Nora began to cry anyway. Her sight blurred, the ring mockingly brilliant as it dissolved into golden light. She covered her face and curled into a ball and sobbed passionately with all the grief and fear and heartbreak that marble statues can never feel. Someone took hold of her shoulders with kind, strong hands. She turned to Aruendiel gratefully.

But it was Mrs. Toristel pulling her close, patting her gently on the back, calling her a poor little mouse. Nora leaned her head against Mrs. Toristel’s thin shoulder and cried harder than ever.

After a while Mrs. Toristel helped her to her feet. Nora stood up shakily. On the other side of the great hall, near the outside door, Aruendiel was talking to Dorneng, evidently showing him out. Dorneng, she thought, looked wilted. As he went out the door, he sneaked a glance back at Nora, but he looked away quickly when he saw her looking at him.

Aruendiel followed Dorneng’s glance. As soon as the door was shut, he came over with long, limping strides. Mrs. Toristel was steering Nora upstairs, to be dosed with hot applejack and honey and then to spend the rest of the day in bed; Nora could not think of a reason to oppose the plan. The housekeeper gave the magician a reproachful look—daring for her, Nora thought—and asked him if it was really necessary to scare the poor child so. She seemed to be under the impression that all the mischief stemmed from the explosion that Dorneng had used to destroy the ring.

Aruendiel hesitated for a moment, then said: “I regret any anxiety I may have caused you, Mistress Nora. How are you feeling now?”

Nora was about to say that it wasn’t his fault. But then it came to her that he was the famous magician, after all—perhaps he should have known that removing the ring would make something terrible happen. “I’m all right.” She lifted her hand with a rueful smile, showing him the ring. “At least this worked.”

His pale eyes flicked over the ring. “It is not much of a cure,” he said venomously.

“You could try cutting off my finger.” She wasn’t sure whether she was joking or not. Maybe, she thought angrily, that was the only way to get rid of the ring. It might be worth trading a finger to avoid the risk of ever becoming a marble statue again.

Aruendiel’s face contorted. For a moment he looked stricken, then wrathful. Mrs. Toristel uttered a cry.

“What a terrible idea, Nora,” she said, pursing her lips. “There’s no reason to do that, even if you can’t get it off. If you must have it gone, I’m sure his lordship will find a way eventually, but I think it’s a handsome ring, after all, nothing to be ashamed of, and it never caused any trouble before.”

Not exactly, Nora thought, but she let herself be led off to bed. The applejack took away some of the lurking dread that still oppressed her spirits, but she found she did not want to drink the entire enormous draft that Mrs. Toristel had pressed on her. Anything that threatened her control of her own body seemed anathema. What she did drink sent her to sleep for a few hours. Nora dreamed not of marble statues, thankfully, but of a disjointed conversation with EJ—something about not forgetting their mother’s birthday—that ended when she remembered that he was dead.

She awoke in a contemplative mood and spent some time regarding the ring on her finger, wiggling her toes at intervals just because she could. There was some solace in Mrs. Toristel’s observation, Nora thought wryly: At least she wasn’t stuck with something ugly on her finger. How fortunate that Raclin had decent taste in jewelry. After screwing up her courage, she gave the ring a tentative tug to see if it would come off. To her secret relief, it did not.

At last she arose and went in search of Aruendiel. She found him, as she expected, in the library, where he was bent over a large volume whose pages were completely black, except for a painted border of twining vines bearing fat bunches of skulls.

“What is that?” she asked, pointing at the book.

“Recipes for Silence.” Raising his head, Aruendiel closed the book. “Come here.” He took hold of Nora’s chin and did a rapid check for enchantment in her ears and nostrils.

“I’m fine,” Nora said. “Except that my neck’s still a little sore where you grabbed me. I suppose you’re trying to decide on the best way to kill Raclin?”

“Yes,” Aruendiel said without visible emotion. “It is time to finish this matter. I have let it fester far too long.”

“I don’t want you to,” Nora said.

“I beg your pardon?”

She took a deep breath. “That turning-to-stone spell—I don’t ever want to go through it again. And we”— she meant you—“don’t know what might set it off. If you attacked Raclin, who knows how he might retaliate. Or, killing him could trigger the spell again—or something worse.” Seeing the expression on Aruendiel’s face, Nora raised her hands as though to protect herself or placate him. “I know this is not the honorable thing to do—maybe I’m a coward—but I almost died today, and you couldn’t help me.”

“If I had destroyed the ring, the enchantment would likely have been broken entirely.”

“Maybe. Or maybe I’d be solid marble now. You don’t know. And Hirizjahkinis is right. You shouldn’t take on the Faitoren all by yourself. Just leave them alone.”

The rough white scars stood out on Aruendiel’s flushed cheeks. “Do you retain some tender feelings for your estranged husband, that you argue for his life?”

“That’s not fair. You know that’s wrong. Whatever feelings I ever had for Raclin, they were fake to begin with. But if you kill him—who knows what the ring will do to me?”

“I will force him to break the enchantment. He does not have to die quickly.”

“But it’s still risky.” Nora clenched her fists. “I don’t want any more bad things to happen. Not right now. Not—for a while.”

Aruendiel looked as though he wanted to take her by the throat again. “Do you know how much danger you’re in, as long as that Faitoren viper lives?”

“Yes,” she said evenly. Silence, during which they both heard her unspoken words: Because you can’t protect me. Nora cleared her throat. “I mean, what sort of spell was that, this morning? Do you even know how to reverse it?”

“Any spell can be reversed,” he snapped, “given study. That petrifaction spell was Faitoren magic of unusual power and intensity.”

“Well, exactly,” Nora said. She looked at the floor and sighed. “How long would I have been a statue before you reversed the spell?”

“Too long,” Aruendiel said, his voice thick with fury. He rose with a jerk from his chair and carried Recipes for Silence across the room, then fitted it into an empty space in the bookshelves. An instant later, it vanished. “As you wish,” he said, turning to glower again at Nora. “I will not seek vengeance, not yet.”

“All right, thank you,” Nora said awkwardly.

He returned his attention to the bookshelves. There seemed to be nothing more to say.

Chapter 35

The Null Days began. At first Nora was in no mood at all for the holiday. Her nerves were still frayed, the castle seemed less secure than before, Aruendiel had not had a cordial word for her ever since she had asked him