More codes to master, Nora thought. In fact, she had consciously tried not to mimic Mrs. Toristel in this particular linguistic habit, taking the filler sounds as a sign of lazy, uneducated speech. A bit of snobbery that had backfired.
“I was trying to copy you,” she said. “I thought that was the correct way to speak.”
“It is correct for me,” he said.
“Well, yes! Everything is basically correct for you.” Nora’s hands made fists in her lap. “You can do what you please, because you’re a magician and a lord—but most important, a man. You can travel, you can talk to anyone you please, you can read a book without being laughed at. Tell me any woman could do the same.”
Aruendiel did not contradict her. “You are unused to the ways of this world,” he said.
“Listen, I’m not trying to change the world—
“And now it turns out that women can’t even talk like men. Which is a clever way to invalidate women’s discourse, isn’t it? No wonder women can’t do magic; no wonder spirits won’t listen to their puny, trivial voices. It’s all woven into the basic structure of the language.” She stopped, looking at Aruendiel’s impassive face, thinking that none of what she had just said made sense to him, but feeling a certain relief that she had said it.
Aruendiel skewered the last piece of meat from his bowl and chewed it thoughtfully. He tilted the bowl toward his mouth, drained it, and put the empty bowl on the table. “I never said that women cannot do magic.”
“You said that the spirits would not listen to women.”
“Do you think that is all there is to magic, begging favors of spirits?”
“I don’t know. I have no idea. You’ve never explained to me what magic is.”
“And what do you think it is that Hirizjahkinis does, if not magic?”
“I don’t know. I suppose she has some special dispensation.”
“No, she is only a very fine magician, and yet she is a woman, or so I understand.” He made a noise deep in his throat that could have been a very dry chuckle, then closed the book. “I will give you no more suggestions for your grammatical studies. You must decide for yourself what is worthy of your attention.”
“As you like.” Nora shrugged. She was thinking that it was time to bring the conversation to a close and make her escape to bed. Something new had engaged Aruendiel’s fancy, however. He reached for Nora’s bowl and brought it closer to the light.
“This is an old one,” he said.
“What, the bowl?” she said, taken aback. “Well, I suppose. It’s not like the others.”
“The other ones in the set must be long since broken. We used these bowls when I was young.” He rubbed a finger over the rim, tracing the pattern of interlocking spirals under the brown glaze. “We had a potter in the village then, who made these for my mother. Oxleg, they called him. This red-and-white stuff,” he added, looking at his own bowl, “is newer.”
“It’s from the potter in Barsy, Mrs. Toristel said.” Nora pushed the bench back and stood up. The sight of the book and now the bowl had obviously stirred up some odd nostalgic current in the magician, but she was in no mood to give him a sympathetic ear. She held out her hand to take the bowl from him, intending to take it back into the kitchen.
He made no move to return it. “Why did you choose this odd one, instead of one from the set?”
“It’s a good size and shape. I use it a lot.” Although she did not wish to say so, she had come to think of the bowl as her own. She usually ate alone; it wasn’t as though her dish had to match the rest of a table setting.
“Do you?” he asked, cocking an eyebrow. “You like it, then?”
“Well, yes.”
With a fluid motion, Aruendiel lifted the bowl and flung it onto the floor.
Nora flinched as the bowl smashed on the flagstones. She looked at Aruendiel round-eyed. “What? Why did you do that?”
“Fix it,” he said calmly.
“Fix it?” she sputtered. “How?” Confusedly she thought of the little white Elmer’s Glue bottle with the pointed orange top. Was there anything like that in this world?
“That’s the same bowl you broke some time ago, if you don’t remember. I repaired it then. Now you fix it yourself. Make it as perfect as it was a minute ago. You want to know what magic is, Mistress Nora? Now you have an opportunity to find out.”
This is hopeless,” Nora told herself for the twentieth time. She picked up two of the shards that lay on the kitchen hearth and touched the broken edges together. An exact fit—but she knew that already. The shattered bowl was a jigsaw puzzle that she had learned by heart over the past two days. Yet the jagged pieces refused to adhere to each other, falling inexorably apart as soon as she took her hands away.
The crack in the teacup opens a lane to the land of the dead. Of course, where else would it lead? There was no reversing time or entropy. Mechanically, she moved her hands over the broken pieces, keeping an ear cocked toward the great hall. She wondered if the coast was clear yet, if she could make her way upstairs now. No, she could still make out the low hum of voices through the door.
She was not keen to see Aruendiel, with no mended bowl to show him. Nor was she especially eager to encounter his visitor.
Two days before, she had been crossing the courtyard around midday, still a little groggy from sitting up the night before to fit pottery fragments together, when Aruendiel came around the corner of the house, his cool eyes meeting hers, and she knew that he was going to ask her about the broken bowl. She was saved when the dogs in the courtyard began to bark. Aruendiel walked to the gate and looked out. An instant later, he turned back, his brows knotted, and called out to Nora to find Mrs. Toristel, a guest would be arriving shortly.
It was Aruendiel’s niece—Lady Pusieuv Negin, of Forel—Mrs. Toristel informed Nora, as they watched him help a woman in a long blue traveling cloak out of a glossy black carriage. Her fair hair was carefully arranged into a style that Nora had seen among the court ladies in Semr, known as “eels and baskets” or “whips and shields,” neither term quite conveying how complex or unflattering it was. She was on the small side; as she embraced Aruendiel, he had to stoop to kiss her on the cheek.
Forel was in Pelagnia, the housekeeper added with a touch of pride.
“I didn’t know he had a niece,” Nora said.
“Grand-niece,” Mrs. Toristel corrected herself. “From his sister’s line, that married the duke of Forel. Oh, what will we do for dinner now? Trouteye in the village killed his pigs early—we might could get a fresh ham.” She sighed. “
Lady Pusieuv Negin was sweeping toward them across the courtyard, accompanied by Aruendiel. Mrs. Toristel dropped a stately curtsy, and Nora did her best to imitate her.
“My housekeeper, Mrs. Toristel, will see to your—” Aruendiel began, but his niece interrupted him.
“Of course I remember Ulunip—it is Ulunip, is it not?” she said, with a wide smile.
“Yes, ma’am.” Mrs. Toristel colored slightly, pleased.
“It is always a pleasure to hear a good Pelagnian voice in these harsh northlands. You come from the Four Rivers district, isn’t that right?” Mrs. Toristel said no, ma’am, the Purny Basin. “The Purny! One of my favorite places. The hunting there is excellent.” Lady Pusieuv discoursed briefly on the amenities of the Purny Basin, while Mrs. Toristel gave short, respectful assents. Then, abruptly, Lady Pusieuv broke off and looked directly at Nora.
“And this is—?” she asked quizzically.
“Mistress Nora Fechr,” Aruendiel said. “She is a guest here.”
“Fischer,” said Nora.
“I am delighted to make your acquaintance!” Lady Pusieuv said. Her round brown eyes bored into Nora’s. “I
