you could afford to sacrifice a black calf for the New Year or only a scrawny black rabbit.
As the bonfire died down, Nora turned to go inside, only to find Aruendiel behind her, a long shadow in his dark cloak. With a moment’s confusion, she wondered how long he had been there.
“I was about to walk in the woods,” he said. “Would you care to accompany me?”
They took the usual route down to the river, but once there, Aruendiel chose not to take the path into the wooded hills. Instead, he turned to follow the frozen gray track of the river, partly covered with snow. Watching him scramble down the bank, moving more nimbly than he had the night before, Nora deduced that he must have taken prompt advantage of the end of the Null Days to work some magic. He had shaved, too.
Uncharacteristically, he waited for Nora to catch up before moving forward.
“The ice is thick enough to hold us?” she asked.
“Oh, yes. It is frozen to the length of a man’s forearm now, and it will not melt until spring.” After a moment he added, “When I was a boy, this river often froze solid. Winters are milder than they used to be.”
Aruendiel generally eschewed conversation on their walks; this was unusually loquacious for him. Nora took advantage of the opening.
“Aruendiel,” she said, “I still want to hear the rest of your story—how you became not just a wizard, but a magician.”
He glanced at her. “That is why you were waiting for me last night?” She nodded. Aruendiel’s mouth curled, whether with amusement or annoyance she could not tell. “It is not as interesting a tale as you imagine,” he said.
“I
“As I told him—from the works of the earliest magicians.”
“Well, but how did you find their works?”
“The same way that one comes across any book from an earlier time.” Aruendiel stared down at the ice, stepping carefully. “Some of the old writings came from the libraries of wizards who did not understand their importance. Some had been cached and forgotten, or had decayed to fragments. Some had been buried in the tombs of the dead. It was the work of years to discover them and then to understand their significance.”
His voice sounded duller than usual, Nora thought. “Will you show those books to me?” she asked.
“You are too inexperienced. You would not understand them.”
“But you could explain them. And after all, I know something about real magic already, more than you did when you first read the works of the old magicians.”
“No.” He shook his head. “It’s impossible.”
“I’m not like Hirgus Ext—I’m not planning to write a book,” she pointed out.
Aruendiel laughed aloud. The face he turned to her was brighter, oddly quizzical. “No, you are not like Hirgus.”
They came to a place where a dead tree had fallen across the river, blocking their path. “Have you done any magic today?” Aruendiel asked.
“Mended a broken cup, is all.”
He jutted his chin at the tree. “Try lifting that.”
Concentrating hard, Nora got the tree to shift a little. It swayed from side to side like a large, clumsy animal. Aruendiel watched critically. “You have very poor control,” he said. “There is no need to fling it about the way you are doing.”
“I’ve never tried to levitate anything so large,” Nora said, feeling light-headed. “It’s an entire tree, it’s enormous.”
“All the more reason to make sure it does exactly what you wish it to, and no more.”
They climbed over the tree, ducking through its limbs. Aruendiel remarked that she would have to remove it by spring or navigation would be impeded.
He was trying to change the subject, Nora saw. “So you won’t tell me any more about the discovery of true magic,” she said, aware that she sounded like a disappointed child. He did not trust her, for some reason. The thought was painful.
They walked in silence for what seemed like a long time. Finally Aruendiel said: “No, I cannot tell you. Not now.” He shook his head, but it seemed to Nora that the movement was more like a shudder. That, and the unease in his voice, reminded her suddenly of how he had looked—when was it? Not so long ago. Something that had happened when Hirizjahkinis was visiting.
“Will you tell me more someday?” Nora asked, suddenly oppressed with a sense of apprehension.
Aruendiel moved his shoulders stiffly under his cloak. “Perhaps.”
They were coming to the place where the river curved to the north, leading deeper into the forest, away from the cultivated lands. Aruendiel turned and climbed the riverbank with a long step and a grunt. Nora scrambled up after him. Together they emerged from the trees that fringed the river, and began to walk across the snowy pastureland toward the red-and-purple sunset. For some reason Nora thought of a woman’s painted face disappearing into flame.
“Your discovery of true magic—does it have anything to do with that woman Wurga?” she asked.
“Wurga?” Aruendiel said, too quickly. An extra jolt in his uneven stride.
So she had her answer, but she said: “The woman in the portrait I burned. The one who was afraid of you.”
Aruendiel uttered a rough-edged syllable that took her a moment to recognize as laughter; it was not entirely mirthful. “Mistress Nora, you are as keen on the scent as a blind hound. Will I have no secrets from you?”
“Was she your lover?” Nora hazarded, remembering her other lucky guess, the one about Ilissa.
“Certainly not,” Aruendiel said, frowning. He hesitated, then said: “She was a magician, of sorts.”
“A magician!” It was more than Nora had expected to get out of him. “And what became of her?”
“As I told you before: She disappeared, after leaving my sister’s house.”
“How did you know her? Did you teach her?”
“Enough,” Aruendiel said in a tone of finality. “It is a pitiful subject.”
A suicide, Nora speculated, remembering the woman’s crazed expression. She felt chastened. But she made one last venture: “Hirizjahkinis thought she was your daughter.”
Aruendiel seemed surprised. “No, she was not my daughter.”
They walked for a while in silence. The sun had set, but the snow on the ground cast a cold radiance in the air.
“You did have a daughter, though,” Nora said, picking up on something in his tone.
Aruendiel acknowledged this with a nod. “From an old liaison, far from here. Her mother was a whore,” he added matter-of-factly. “I saw that the child was provided for, although naturally I could not publicly recognize her as my own.”
The “naturally” irked Nora, but she decided not to call his attention to it. “You told me that your granddaughter’s granddaughter is an old woman now.”
“Did I say that?” He brooded for a moment. “Well, it is true.”
“Who is she?”
Aruendiel gave Nora a long, appraising look. “It is Mrs. Toristel.”
“Mrs. Toristel!”
“You must never tell her this,” he said with some sternness. “She does not know of her relation to me. Not precisely.”
“Why not?” Nora was indignant. “She has worked for you all her life, and you never told her that you’re her however-many-greats-grandfather? She deserves to know!”
“She knows there is an old family connection. Mrs. Toristel was a poor peasant girl when she came to work for me. It would not have been appropriate to make the relationship known.”
Nora shook her head. “This is one of those times, Aruendiel, when we are not going to agree on appropriate behavior.”
“But you will not tell her?”
“No, I won’t,” Nora said reluctantly. “She should hear it from you. And you
