embarrassment to the monarchy.”
“A safe conduct granted to an emissary does not include the right to steal livestock or burn houses or launch unprovoked attacks—all of which Lord Raclin has done,” Aruendiel said.
“As you may know,” said Ilissa, turning toward the king, “my poor son suffers from a debilitating condition —a very unpleasant transformation—during daylight hours. During that time, it’s quite possible that he might make a perfectly friendly overture that could be seen as hostile.”
“Madame, there can be no doubt that Lord Raclin’s intentions were hostile,” Aruendiel said easily, leaning back in his chair.
“Lord Aruendiel, we spent all morning discussing whether to form an alliance with the Faitoren. Why did you not mention these supposed attacks before this?” Bouragonr demanded.
“I did not wish to introduce any personal animosity into this debate.”
The king finally spoke, folding his hands on the table. “Lord Aruendiel, can this spell be removed?”
“It can.”
“Well, then, the easiest solution to this matter is for you to remove the spell and restore the Lady Ilissa’s son to his previous condition.”
“I will not.”
“Would you defy a direct command from your sovereign?” Bouragonr asked.
“Sire, simple prudence makes it impossible to agree to your request. I turned Lord Raclin into stone to save my own life and that of a fellow traveler. If I removed the spell—and I would have to travel back to the site to do so—Lord Raclin would only resume his attack. I would have to counter with another spell, possibly something that would cause even more harm to Lady Ilissa’s son.”
Sinking back into her chair, Ilissa uttered a small, anguished moan and clenched a fist to her breast. “Lord Aruendiel, you are most unkind.”
Hirizjahkinis spoke for the first time. “It’s possible that someone else besides Aruendiel could remove the spell.”
“Why, yes,” Aruendiel said. “Most competent magicians could take it off.” He smiled mockingly at Bouragonr. “Of course,” he added, “there would still be Lord Raclin to contend with, but perhaps he would be better disposed toward another magician besides myself.”
“And why, exactly, is Lord Raclin so ill-disposed toward you?” Bouragonr asked. “Perhaps because his wife is currently residing under your protection?”
“Lord Aruendiel, is this true?” the king asked sharply.
Before Aruendiel could answer, Ilissa broke in. “It is true. My daughter-in-law disappeared from my home almost three months ago. We learned that she was abducted by Lord Aruendiel’s magic and that she has been living in his castle ever since. I cannot tell you how my son has been heartbroken by this betrayal.
“I did not want to mention this sad affair before now,” Ilissa added, casting her eyes down. “Since it involves a stain on my family’s honor. And as Lord Aruendiel himself said, it would be a shame to taint state business with personal animosities.”
The king looked curiously at Aruendiel, taking in the magician’s battered face afresh and perhaps remembering the old stories that were still circulating around the court when Abele was a child. “Lord Aruendiel? What do you have to say about this?”
Aruendiel had been exchanging a look with Hirizjahkinis, but now he turned back to the king with an air of new alertness. He said: “The Lady Ilissa fails to mention that she and her son kidnapped and enchanted the woman who became his wife; that Lord Raclin savagely attacked his wife, to the point that she lost the child that she was carrying; and that the woman left her husband’s household willingly. Since then, she has stayed in my household as a respected guest.”
“I see,” said the king. “Well, there seems to be no shortage of personal animosity to go around.”
Hirizjahkinis was the only one to laugh. Ilissa gave her a look of composed dislike, to which the other woman only smiled, straightening her pearl headdress and plucking a small, stray gray feather from her white linen robe. Absently, Hirizjahkinis twirled the feather between her thumb and forefinger, then rubbed it lightly against her earlobe.
“Lord Aruendiel,” Abele continued, “you must know that abducting another man’s wife, whether she comes willingly or unwillingly, is a very serious crime.”
“I am aware of that.”
“Men have been killed for this offense.”
“Yes,” Aruendiel said, with a touch of annoyance.
“This is not a court of law, and I am not sitting in judgment, but I must tell you that I cannot condone it, and that in my view it explains and to some extent justifies the attacks that you claim Lord Raclin has committed.”
From the corner of his eye, Aruendiel glanced at Hirizjahkinis, who nodded slightly.
“I would strongly advise you,” the king went on, “to return the lady to her husband, no matter how charming she may be.”
“Sire, you misread the situation.” Now Aruendiel had fully unsheathed his impatience. “There is no liaison. I helped the lady leave her husband’s home because she was in danger, and because the Faitoren had—once again—kidnapped a human woman as a bride for Lord Raclin. They show no respect for the treaty that we struck with them almost fifty years ago. Do you think they will respect the treaty that you are negotiating now?”
“My son’s wife married him willingly,” Ilissa interjected. “She was not coerced.”
“She was enchanted,” Aruendiel shot back.
“Furthermore, she is not even one of—” Bouragonr said, then caught himself. “I’m sorry, I interrupted the Lord Aruendiel.”
“I believe the Lord Aruendiel had finished speaking,” said the king. “Please go on.”
“I was just going to say, Your Majesty,” said Bouragonr, “that we have only the Lord Aruendiel’s word that the Faitoren took this lady against her will.”
“There is the woman’s own word,” Aruendiel said quickly.
Bouragonr snorted. “That has no legal weight.”
“We are not in the law courts!”
“Your Majesty!” Ilissa said, lifting one slim hand in a gesture that gracefully begged for quiet. “I would like to thank you for suggesting to Lord Aruendiel that he return my son’s wife to her lawful husband. We would welcome her back. No matter what tragic mistakes she has made, she is still a member of my family.”
The king gave an approving nod. “A very enlightened view. Lord Aruendiel, what do you think now?”
“Why not consult the woman herself?” Aruendiel said, although he did not meet Abele’s gaze. He glanced at Hirizjahkinis, who was toying with one of her bracelets with an air of slight distraction.
“That is easily done,” said Ilissa smoothly. “She is here at court. I understand that she arrived with Lord Aruendiel last night.”
“Well, that does make things more convenient,” Abele said. “Bouragonr, will you—?”
“Let us send for her at once,” Bouragonr said, raising his finger. At once the door at the far end of the room opened, and his secretary appeared, tablet and stylus at the ready. “Once this side matter is settled,” he said severely to Aruendiel, “I trust that we can return to the main issue at hand.”
“I would be pleased to do so,” Aruendiel said, looking levelly at Bouragonr.
Bouragonr opened his mouth again, presumably to address the secretary, who was hurrying closer. “Pel—” he started to say. The word dissolved into a gasp. Bouragonr’s hands flew to his face, groping at his cheeks.
Bouragonr’s mottled skin had grown clear and taut; his hair was sleeker, the gray streaks gone; his mouth and jaw line were newly firm; his stooped shoulders filled out. Decades had dropped away in a matter of seconds: The aging courtier was a straight-backed young man. He looked terrified.
“Bouragonr?” said the king, a note of uncertainty in his voice.
Still clutching his face, the young man who had been the old Bouragonr shuddered violently. Then he seemed to fall forward, but that was an illusion; his body was sagging like a falling tent, until he was only three- quarters the height he had been. The fingers covering his face became longer and skinnier, and there were more of them, six fingers on one hand, seven on the other. When he lowered his hands, the others could see that his mouth now wrapped around the side of his head, like a frog’s. His lips and nose had disappeared. He looked up at them from round black eyes that had no whites at all.
