The Thinking Woman's Guide to Real Magic

ben with them.

She wandered into an adjoining gallery and sat down on a bench, attempting to give her full attention to the musicians piping nearby.

It didn’t matter if they thought she was sleeping with Aruendiel, Nora thought angrily. First, because she wasn’t. And second, why should it matter? At home—the real world, Nora thought—having sex out of wedlock didn’t make you a whore. That was something she’d never liked about nineteenth-century novels: All those fallen women—Hester, Tess, Maggie, Hetty—one slip and they were ruined. Lydia, too, if not for Mr. Darcy. It was one thing to read about a society obsessed with female purity—quite another to find yourself living in one. Inristian and her friends, they were the real whores, strategizing about how to make their fortunes by luring vineyard-owning noblemen into matrimony.

The music ended, and Nora stood up, so suddenly that the person passing in front of her had to step back. She turned to apologize and found herself facing the ginger-haired man she had spoken to a few evenings ago, the one she’d seen earlier with the presumed Lord Morasiv.

He seemed almost embarrassed to see her. His eyes darted away, and he mumbled something about begging the lady’s pardon.

“For what? I’m the one who got in your way just now.”

More signs of distress, then he spoke crisply: “I apologize for my regrettable forwardness the other night. I am very sorry if I caused any offense—it was entirely unintentional.”

“What do you mean? You didn’t offend me,” Nora said, surprised.

“I’m afraid I did not realize to whom I was speaking. I hope there was no misunderstanding.”

“Misunderstanding?” Nora considered him for a moment, then looked down at the unfashionable blue-and- black dress. “Oh, you thought I was a servant, didn’t you? Someone’s maid. That’s why you asked me about getting some dinner.”

He bowed very low, the tips of his ears reddening. “I am terribly sorry. It was a completely absurd mistake.”

“And now you’re concerned you’re not supposed to talk to a well-behaved young lady without a chaperone, right? Well, don’t worry, I’m not a well-behaved young lady.”

Her admission did not seem to reduce his confusion.

“By the way, my name is Nora,” she added.

“I know who you are. And I apologize again. I hope I do not offend the Lord Aruendiel by speaking to you.”

“Offend—? I see.” So he was another one. Nora felt her temper rise. “You and everyone else here assume that I’m screwing Lord Aruendiel, is that right?”

He recoiled slightly at her choice of words. “Listen, I hate to disappoint you,” Nora went on, “but you’re wrong. It’s not like that at all. I’m not Lord Aruendiel’s mistress, and I don’t have any desire to be. And my guess is that he’s quite happy that I’m not. Is that clear?”

The young man bit his lip. “Yes, that’s clear. I—”

“Please don’t apologize again.”

For the first time, he smiled. “Then I will not.” For a moment, she saw the affable young man she had met the other night, and then his face grew serious again. “But I should explain myself. Lord Aruendiel is a notorious rakehell. He has an extremely bad reputation where women are concerned.”

“I’ve heard something on that subject since I came to Semr,” Nora said. “A little more than I wanted to know. Although, frankly, these stories surprise me. I have lived in his household for months, and it’s as quiet as, well, as a tomb.”

“Well, if he hasn’t made you his mistress, you’re fortunate.”

The young man’s sober tone struck her. “Because of what happened to his wife?”

“What do you know of that?”

“I’ve heard talk.” She frowned, trying to follow a silky wisp of memory from the Faitoren court. “Is it true? Did he kill her?”

The young man returned her gaze steadily. “He stabbed her. She was pregnant.”

It was Nora’s turn to flinch. “Ugh.” She was silent for a moment, picturing the scene. “And what happened to him? Was he tried for murder?”

“Technically, Lord Aruendiel was within his marital rights,” said the young man. “So he wasn’t subject to the king’s justice.”

“Ugh,” Nora said again. So this was how Mrs. Toristel’s story about the errant wife ended. “Because she was unfaithful?”

He gave a brief, stilted nod. “But very few men would have been as brutal as Lord Aruendiel was. I’m saying this not to slander him, but because you should know these things, if you are living in his household—even if not quite in the manner that everyone thinks.”

“Well, yes, I will be careful,” she said. “Though the thing is,” Nora added, with a sudden, harsh laugh, “as bad as Lord Aruendiel was to his wife, my husband was worse.”

Chapter 19

Nora pulled the door of the palace kitchen shut. The greasy hubbub behind her diminished slightly, but she could still hear the noise through a solid inch of oak. She sighed. “Now I remember why I left restaurant work,” she said aloud as she mounted the staircase, back to the upper regions of the palace.

Nora had gone to the kitchen with the intention of asking for a job. She’d lasted about an hour. The chaos, the heat, the noise, were all familiar to her from her earlier life as a cook. But here it was trebled. Rats scrabbled in the corners over scraps of spoiled food, the chickens destined for tonight’s dinner ran around clucking underfoot, and a quarrel between two of the cooks exploded into a sudden knife fight. A flurry of spectacular jabs, and then the loser exited cursing, a reddening napkin held to his face, while the rest of the staff jeered. Nora finished chopping her onions, took off her apron, and made her escape.

It might be safer to live with one murderer than to work with a whole staff of likely ones, she thought.

Passing by a window, she saw that Lady Inristian and her friends were playing ben on the lawn, but she felt no interest in joining them.

She heard quick, purposeful steps behind her. Nora turned. It was Hirizjahkinis. Nora had seen little of her since the banquet. “Mistress Nora! Good day to you. I am glad to have the chance to say good-bye.”

“Good-bye? Are you leaving?”

“No, but I believe you are. Have you not seen Aruendiel yet?”

So he had returned as he had promised, even if he had not bothered to inform Nora. “He came back last night, and is leaving today,” Hirizjahkinis said. “I have tried to persuade him to stay longer, but he is implacable. I suspect he worries that the king will ask him to be the new chief magician. Me, I will stay in Semr a little while longer. I am getting plenty of work.” She laughed, shaking her head, and the gold beads at the ends of her braids clicked together. “Ilissa has been very good for my reputation. I must thank her the next time I see her.”

“And after Semr?”

“Oh, I will return home, certainly before the winter comes. I have no wish to experience another northern winter, ever. And I mean to attend the autumn sacrifices at Gahz. I used to care nothing for such things, but”—she shrugged—“I am becoming sentimental as the years pass.”

Nora asked her about the autumn sacrifices, and decided from Hirizjahkinis’s description that they sounded more like a large-scale barbecue than anything else. Then Hirizjahkinis began to question Nora about her own world: how people traveled, what they ate, what gods they worshipped, what demons they feared, and most of all, how they got along without magic.

Answering Hirizjahkinis’s queries made Nora feel homesick. “Do you know anything about traveling between worlds?”

Hirizjahkinis shook her head. “I have never studied that kind of magic, myself. This world is wide enough