match—magic, riches, beauty on both sides. He was still handsome in those days! Aruendiel would have been king over the Faitoren and perhaps more, given Ilissa’s ambitions. But then one day he returned from Ilissa’s castle alone, and it was clear that he wanted nothing more to do with her. He would not tell me what had happened.”
“He said she had enchanted him,” Nora interjected.
“He told you that?” Hirizjahkinis eyed Nora for a moment, raising her eyebrows slightly. “Well, a year or so later, he did marry, the heiress to Lusul. She was better for him than most of the young ladies at court, I thought —she had some education and it seemed to me that she took time to think before she opened her mouth. Aruendiel settled down to be a country lord who practiced a little magic, just as he had predicted.
“I visited once or twice. He gave me the impression of a man who wants everyone to know how happy he is. He and his wife, they talked about nothing but the estate and court matters—the things she was interested in. I thought Aruendiel was bored but would not admit it, even to himself. I expected that after a few years he would find other ways to amuse himself, magical or otherwise.
“Meanwhile Ilissa had started her famous war. Some of the Semran lords supported her and the Stoian king; some of them supported the Pernish. A huge mess, like most of the history of this dreadful country. I was very busy advising one of the Semran nobles opposing Ilissa, Lord Kersan, and then one day I heard that Lady Lusarniev had gone away with another man. The capital was buzzing like flies on meat! Most people said it was a judgment on Aruendiel, for seducing the wives of other men—but you know, he never actually stole another man’s wife, it was more a matter of borrowing them.
“Some time later,” she added with a roll of her eyes, “I heard that he had tracked down his wife and her lover and killed them both.”
“And then?” Nora asked. “He wasn’t tried or punished?”
“Oh, no! People thought it was in very bad taste, very old-fashioned, to kill a runaway wife, but they saw he was within his rights. And then he came into the war and fought against Ilissa and the Stoians—and then he was killed, too—at least for a little while. So—” Hirizjahkinis’s hands opened, palms up, as though to indicate there was nothing more to say.
Nora was not satisfied. “But what did he tell you about all this? Was he sorry, did he regret what he’d done?”
“Regret?” Hirizjahkinis closed her eyes for a moment, as though she were trying to summon up a recalcitrant memory. “When I first saw him after she died, he looked darker than I had ever seen him. But then it was wartime. I gave him condolences for the death of his wife—in these situations, you know, you are supposed to pretend that she died of something like pneumonia—and at first I thought he was not even listening. Then he looked at me and said, ‘You advised me not to marry, Hirizjahkinis. You were right.’
“‘I am sorry that it has ended so sadly,’ I said.
“‘I am, too,’ he said, and that was all he would say. I could tell he was angry, but at whom I could not say. Perhaps at me, for being right all along! But what did he expect, marrying a girl young enough to be his granddaughter—at least—with no interest in magic?” Hirizjahkinis made a clucking noise with her tongue.
“You are safe enough with him, Mistress Nora!” she went on. “Better than being under the tender protection of Ilissa, no? But, listen, if it will ease your mind, I will give you a present. Here—” One of Hirizjahkinis’s bracelets became a small pair of golden scissors. With one snip she cut off the end of one of her slim cornrow braids. She slipped the gold bead from the end of the cut piece, then handed the braided locks to Nora.
“That is my token,” she said. “You can use it to call me, if you are in desperate need—if Aruendiel tries to murder you, for example.”
“He gave me something like this, when I was with the Faitoren,” Nora said, watching Hirizjahkinis rethread the bead into her hair. The shorn braid had already regrown to its full length.
“Ah, his feather? Then you know how to use it. Listen, is that Hirgus coming downstairs, finally? If I had known how long he would lie abed, I would not have gotten up so early myself. But then we would not have had a chance to talk, you and I. Well, remember my token—and remember that Aruendiel also gave you his token. Certainly he was willing to help you escape
“I see your point,” Nora said, as Hirgus came smiling across the great hall, rubbing his hands and calling out a greeting. “Although it’s not quite the same situation.”
“What on earth were you talking about with Mistress Nora this morning, that you needed a silencing spell?” Aruendiel asked Hirizjahkinis as they walked out of the house and into the courtyard.
Hirizjahkinis smiled unconcernedly. “She had some inquiries of an intimate nature, things she could only ask another woman.”
“As though I would be interested in overhearing any such exchange. A silencing spell was certainly an excess of caution.”
“Servants gossip, even your wonderful Mrs. Toristel! And Mistress Nora was really worried, poor girl. You know,” she added, with vague suggestiveness, “a forced Faitoren marriage is not something that one gets over quickly.”
Aruendiel narrowed his pale eyes, surprised and a little irritated at the continued interest that Hirizjahkinis seemed to take in the amatory life of the girl Nora. The ghost of a question rose in his own mind. He usually preferred not to think about Hirizjahkinis’s own tastes in love. This attention to the girl—he could not tell for sure whether it was friendship, the confidences that women share, or something else. Odd, definitely odd, on top of the insufferable suggestions Hirizjahkinis had made yesterday.
And what exactly was worrying the girl anyway? Aruendiel was debating whether to demand more details when a cry from behind halted his ruminations. Hirgus, following Hirizjahkinis and Aruendiel across the courtyard, had just gotten a good look at his carriage.
“My coach!” he shrieked. “My coach! Oh, you filthy blackguard!”
“Hirgus? What’s wrong?” Hirizjahkinis turned quickly.
“What’s wrong? Can’t you see? It is ruined! Ruined!” He pointed at Aruendiel. “You thieving, lying, broken- backed son of a pig! You child of vipers! You did this!”
“Hirgus, I pray you, do not insult my parents,” Aruendiel said, well pleased.
“You cheat! Barbarian! Vandal!”
Nora, who had been walking behind Hirgus, looked at the burning carriage more closely. The flames were pale, almost watery in the daylight, but they had looked that way yesterday. Something else was different. “The faces are gone,” she said. “The little curls along the roof, the decorations.”
“Yes! He stripped it bare!” Hirgus roared. “He took off the spell!”
“You did not, Aruendiel!” Hirizjahkinis frowned, making herself look very stern.
“You have offended against all the laws of hospitality, sir! You have willfully destroyed the valuable property of a guest beneath your roof.”
“Not destroyed, Hirgus. Your carriage is still perfectly functional.”
“But defaced now. Ruined! This was not the act of a gentleman. No civilized host treats a guest thus —”
“But your slave ghost, the one powering your spell, he was a guest in my house, too. And I have treated him as a considerate host should—by releasing him from an irksome bondage.”
“You had no right to do so. This is an outrage. Your rudeness last night was inexcusable in itself—and now this. You did this as a deliberate insult.”
“If you take it so, Hirgus, I do not see how I can persuade you otherwise.”
“You were jealous of my work, you mad, old, vulture-faced cripple.” Hirgus took a deep breath and clutched the tresses of his beard with curled fingers, as though his hands itched to wring Aruendiel’s neck instead. “You could never create such a thing of beauty in a hundred years with the crudities of simple magic, so you took your pathetic revenge on a practitioner of a nobler art. I am a fair-minded man, I have not listened to all the tittle-tattle about you—how you hide away in your rotting castle, nursing old grudges, crazy with fear of the demons from whom you stole the secrets of your wretched magic. I came here, ignoring those tales, thinking that I would be honorably received—instead, you treat me with the utmost disrespect!”
“Are they still telling that tale about the demons?” Aruendiel asked with interest. “I thought that old story would have been forgotten by now. Are you going to put it in your book?”
