The Thinking Woman's Guide to Real Magic

“You have no right to tell me who I should marry!”

“I am only counseling you. And if you had listened to my counsel the first time you married—”

“Oh, this is utter bullshit. You and Perin cooking up this marriage together to save my reputation—who cares about my reputation? Why would you go along with this? Why? It doesn’t make any sense! A chaperone! Mrs. Toristel wasn’t a chaperone. She didn’t even sleep in the house—we could have been screwing like rabbits every night, and she would never have known!”

“Well, that is exactly the problem,” Aruendiel said, his voice hard.

“What problem—what people think? Who cares? It doesn’t matter.”

“No, that is not true. I can tell you—I know how dangerous it is for a woman to be scorned, to be an outcast. You are a woman of independent spirit, Nora, and it is galling to consider these things. But I am not saying them to humiliate you. I am stating the reality of your situation.”

“Who cares about that? You’re a magician.” Nora sat down again, but held on to the edge of the table as though she could draw strength from it. “So what if everyone thinks I’m a whore?” she said. The wizard’s whore. “I don’t mind.”

Aruendiel’s mouth twisted unpleasantly. “If you were married to an honorable young peer like Pirekenies, you would be safe from such calumnies,” he retorted.

“I will tell you something that I did not say to Pirekenies,” he added. “My wife’s old estate, Lusul, is the subject of a legal dispute. I have a claim to it. So does Pirekenies, through his father, Lord Pireke—although their claim is inferior to mine. There are other claimants who could also trump the Pirekenies claim.

“I have never had any interest in claiming Lusul. But if you accept Pirekenies’s proposal, I will exercise my claim and then turn the estate over to you and your husband.” He pronounced those last words clearly and distinctly. “As a wedding present, since otherwise you will have no dowry.”

“A wedding present,” Nora repeated. It was hopeless. He was hopeless. “Aruendiel—” She looked at him pleadingly, but the ice in his eyes was unbreakable. How could he be so wrongheaded? No, she thought, her heart torn—it’s me, I’ve been wrong all along.

Suddenly she was resolved. “If Perin wants to marry me, he can ask me himself. You can stay out of it, it’s not your concern. And I wouldn’t take Lusul as a wedding present. It didn’t bring your wife any luck.”

Aruendiel’s eyes narrowed. “Perhaps not.”

“All right, then. As long as we understand each other.”

“You have made yourself clear.”

“Fine.” Of course, this settled nothing. If she didn’t marry Perin, then what? Would Aruendiel bar her from his castle to preserve her reputation? She decided not to think about the possibility for the moment. “What was the second thing you wanted to discuss?” Nora asked roughly.

“The other matter, yes. It also bears upon your future.”

“I can’t wait,” she muttered, but he ignored her and went on: “You were telling me a few days ago about your struggle with Dorneng and how he tried to kill you.” Nora nodded impatiently. Where was he going with this?

“Dorneng was a traitor and a villain and a fool, but he was a good magician. Micher Samle taught him well. He had found a hole that led to your world—”

“Yes, I know, my ghost was supposed to hold it open. Otherwise it would close up.”

“The hole is still there,” Aruendiel said.

“How do you know?”

“I have detected it, and Nansis agrees with my observation. Either it has lasted longer than Dorneng expected, or it has re-formed in the interim. But the hole exists now.”

“So I can go home. Is that what you’re saying?” Nora looked at him half-suspiciously, as though he were offering her another affront.

“It’s possible. The gap may not be large enough, or—as Dorneng feared—it might close up yet. But it is likely that, yes, you can return home, if you choose.”

If she chose. She felt strangely flummoxed, paralyzed by the sudden opportunity to escape. On some level, she had come to accept that she would stay in this ridiculous, alien, hidebound, primitive world for the rest of her life. Otherwise she would have simply laughed at this notion of marrying Perin. And Aruendiel’s blind stupidity, his callousness, his treachery—she could not even decide what to call it—would not be so scorchingly painful.

There was nothing to decide. She had been looking for this chance for a long time. Now it was finally here.

“Of course I want to go home,” Nora said.

Aruendiel nodded. “Then we will leave immediately.”

“Today?” Not even a night to think it over.

“The gap could close at any time. We must move quickly.”

“Oh. Well, I don’t have much to pack.” There was nothing to pack, actually. At home she would have no need for the clothes she wore here. “I should say good-bye to Nansis Abora—and thank Lady Nurkasa—and I must talk to Perin. Tell him that I am leaving.” She gave Aruendiel a hard look.

“Be quick about it,” he said.

As the door closed behind Nora, Aruendiel remained seated at the table. His eyes moved over Lolona’s letter one more time, but the words did not register. Pirekenies was on duty just outside the castle. Easy enough to work an eavesdropping spell to find out what foolishness he and Nora were talking—but no, he had no desire to know.

He could still hear Pirekenies’s voice, annoyingly earnest. “Lady Nora—” Why did he insist on calling her “Lady Nora”? She had no such title, not unless someone like Pirekenies married her. “Lady Nora has told me that you have behaved honorably and respected her chastity, and I believe her.” Absurd—why shouldn’t Pirekenies believe her? Nora was as truthful as clear water. Although there was no reason for her to talk about such matters with this young idiot. She’d had a similar discussion once with Hirizjahkinis, too. Was the whole world so fascinated by what went on—or didn’t go on—in his bed?

Apparently so, Aruendiel thought angrily, remembering the lout in the courtyard the other night, taking hold of Nora. Everyone knows you’re the wizard’s whore. The girl was too clever for him—she kept her head and magicked the soup all over the man. Aruendiel had seen it all from the top of the stairs. Then, before he could teach the thug a lesson, young Pirekenies knocked the bastard down first.

“But even if you have behaved correctly, sir, you must see what an awkward position you have placed Lady Nora in. To be associated with a man of your reputation—let’s be candid—exposes her to constant ridicule and disrespect.” Insufferable presumption, but the worst of it was, Aruendiel could not deny the truth of what the boy said.

He should have just bedded the girl. What had he gained from being honorable, when everyone assumed the worst? On more than one night, watching Nora’s smile across the table, savoring her talk and the sweet chime of her voice, he’d wanted to suggest that they continue the conversation in his bed. Not that they would have done much talking. But he had held back. He would not copy that Faitoren filth, taking advantage of her helplessness. The fearful fate of a woman alone—any man’s plaything—it would never be Nora’s, if he could help it. And besides, Aruendiel thought with dry and bitter logic, what sort of lover would he make now, with his ravaged face and body? Nora deserved better. He’d been so careful, all those months of restraint, not even brushing against her. It was an evil joke that when he could finally lean against her—her strong, warm shoulder under his hand—he was barely alive, tottering out of that cursed dungeon a skeleton, a doddering wreck.

But far better for Nora to know him as he really was. And for him to know it too. It was too easy, when he was with her, to forget the burden of all his years, his broken body, the toxin of regret. He felt somehow restored in her presence, as though he’d found his true self again—but he knew it was an illusion. How swiftly all his power had disappeared once Dorneng trapped him in that chamber. And then the long slow slide into infirmity, exhaustion. He had given up, and then she was there. Holding hands with Pirekenies—he was almost sure of it, although his vision had been weak and the room full of mist.

The damnable irony of it. Kill a man and his ghost comes back fresh and young to torment you. She wasn’t going to marry Pirekenies, though. That was some petty comfort.

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