beauty in your portraits here in the palace. I never thought that I would one day greet you face-to-face.”
“How could you be my grandson? You are a man of middle age. You are at least twenty years older than I am!”
(“At least,” Nora murmured. The man in the gray cloak caught her eye and smiled.)
“This is strange to me, too, Grandmother. Lord Aruendiel has brought you out of the past to visit us tonight, that much I understand.”
“Lord Aruendiel, what is he talking about?” The portrait of Tulivie turned back to the magician. “What kind of magic have you done? Who is this man—and who are all these people?” She glanced around with an air of disquiet; she had just noticed that she was surrounded by strangers. “What have you done?”
“He is right. There is no need to fear—” Aruendiel began.
“But what have you done?”
“I have opened up a window, in a manner of speaking, between one day and another,” he said carefully, and then paused as though to observe her reaction.
“You are speaking in riddles.”
“It is not a real window,” he continued. “But it allows you, Your Majesty, to look forward at these people, as it allows them to look back at you.” When she shook her head in incomprehension, he added: “Forward in time. Into future years.”
“I am looking forward in time?” Her gaze fell upon the aged woman with horrified understanding. “You mean, this is Marisiek, and she is old because—she is old?”
“Yes,” Aruendiel said, bowing his head a fraction.
“And this man here?” she asked, gesturing at the king.
“He spoke the truth. He is your grandson.”
“My grandson. And he sits on the throne of Semr?”
Her confusion and distress were painful to watch; the painted face registered emotions with a heightened intensity. One could almost read the thoughts cascading behind it like falling dominoes: “If this man is king of Semr, then my husband is dead, and if this king is my grandson, then my son is dead, too. And as for me—” The image from the portrait glanced around the room, as though dreading to find a superannuated version of herself.
But not to see yourself, Nora thought, that would be worse.
“No!” the portrait said, shuddering.
“Grandmother, are you not pleased to see that your line continues and that your descendants still rule Semr?” the king asked. “I wish that my second daughter were here tonight. She resembles you closely, although her hair is darker.”
“Why would you do such a terrible spell?” the portrait said to Aruendiel.
“Tulivie—” He made a gesture as though to calm her, but he did not leave the shadow where he stood.
“Why would you show me such wicked lies? My son is a baby, asleep in his nursery. My husband is king. I am queen. Marisiek is a girl of seventeen. I know these things are true.”
After a long moment, Aruendiel said quietly, “Yes, they are true.”
“Of course they are true!” She drew herself up. “I do not understand what sort of magic you employed to trick me just now, Lord Aruendiel, but I do not appreciate it.”
“I apologize, Your Majesty.”
“You have played a very bad joke on me.”
“I could not agree more.”
“The king would be displeased if he learned of how you have been tormenting me today,” she said.
“Yes, he would.”
She smiled suddenly. “I will forgive you, though, and not tell him, if you promise not to frighten me again like that.”
“I promise.” Meeting her gaze, he added, “You know I wish nothing but Your Majesty’s continued happiness.” There was something rough and raw in Aruendiel’s voice, under the polite formula.
“Thank you, that is very kind of you! And now I must let the painter finish for the day. Although he can come back tomorrow—if it doesn’t rain.”
“It will not rain,” he said. “I promise.”
She laughed. “I will hold you to that promise, too.” With a rustle of painted skirts, she walked swiftly back to the tenantless painting. Stepping into the frame, she took up her pose again, one hand on the gate, the other holding her hat. “Tell my husband not to dally too long with the Orvetians,” she called out. “I will declare war on them myself if they keep him much longer.”
The ribbon on her hat rippled gently in an unseen breeze and then stopped moving. The surface of the canvas darkened slightly, as her face and body took on a hard, flat sheen. She smiled out at the room, blindly young and happy.
There was no sound in the room, except for the soft, querulous voice of the old woman muttering something that no one could make out.
Oh, if I ever had a doubt, now I know the rumors were true—you bedded Tulivie,” Hirizjahkinis said.
“Of course,” Aruendiel replied matter-of-factly. “But not until many years later. She was older then. She had had many disappointments. Tonight it was strange to see her so—so untouched.”
Nora, coming up behind them, stopped in her tracks. She slipped behind a statue of a bare-chested man with a bull’s head and fixed her eyes innocently on the dancing. Fortunately, with two dozen male courtiers stamping and leaping in the middle of the room, the magicians seemed to feel no need to lower their voices.
“Yes, she seemed very young, a baby herself. But what on earth were you thinking of, raking up that old scandal?” Hirizjahkinis asked. “You could have performed that spell on any of the portraits in this room—although I am grateful that you did not pick the king’s grandfather, that old scorpion,” she said, looking at the painting nearest them. “Why throw it in the king’s face that his grandmother might have been your mistress?”
Aruendiel gave this a few moments’ consideration. “Do you think he believes that he might be my grandson?” he asked gravely. “Does he expect me to acknowledge him?”
Hirizjahkinis waved his answer away with a flip of her hand. “Be serious. What possessed you? It was an impressive spell, I grant you that.”
“It’s from a manuscript of Duisi Tortor’s. I reworked it slightly.” He glanced at the other side of the hall, where Tulivie’s portrait hung, but the painting was hidden by the angle of the wall. “Of course, that wasn’t really her,” he added.
“She seemed real enough. Obviously not a living creature, but the voice, the mannerisms—I recognized them.”
“It was only a sort of echo. Why did I do the spell? I don’t know. I was out of temper, I saw her portrait, and I thought, Why not? She was infinitely more pleasant company than her grandson. It was a fool thing to do,” he added with a grimace.
“I’m surprised to hear you admit that.”
“Oh, not because it gives idiots something to gossip about. No, it was cruel to bring her back, even her shadow.” He frowned at the floor.
“Well, it is quite dangerous to raise old ghosts, Aruendiel, especially when a person has lived as long as you or I. You are no better than that silly queen over there who wants to find out what happened to her dead aunt. Although that is not such a silly idea, now that I think about it. Perhaps I will try to find an answer for her, while I am here. And you? What are you going to do now? I hope you will not head back to your drafty castle right away. Abele will want your advice as he chooses his new chief magician.”
With a shake of his head, Aruendiel said, “I leave tomorrow morning, following Ilissa, to make sure that she and Raclin cause no further trouble on the way home. Dorneng will accompany me.”
