And I wouldn’t have had to earn that money in the first place if you had paid your own bills at the cobbler’s. He charged me extra—four silver beads—because he said I was gentry—”
“He was mistaken there.”
“—and because you hadn’t paid him for your last pair of boots.” What happened to his statement that a gentleman doesn’t quibble with shopkeepers, she wondered.
“That is a matter between him and me,” Aruendiel said icily. “If he tried to overcharge you, you should have informed me.”
“You weren’t here.”
“Or Mrs. Toristel.”
“She would have said to wait until you got back, and in the meantime, my old boots were falling apart,” Nora shot back. “You should be pleased that I put the magic that you taught me to good use. So what if I repaired some chamber pots? They’re useful, and I saved the villagers the cost of replacing them.
“What you’re really angry about,” she added, “is that a lot of peasants laughed at you in a tavern. Well, I’m sorry about that. But that doesn’t mean I should give up my boots.”
She made a point of returning Aruendiel’s stare. When finally he spoke, the edge of sarcasm was gone from his voice, replaced by something meaner, blunter. His face was blank with rage. Whenever she had seen Aruendiel angry before, she realized now, there had always been a sense that he was savoring the chance to frame exactly the right insult or give voice to his feelings with precisely the degree of force required. The black irony, the barbs, were a sign that he was in control. All that was gone now. “You do not even understand how you have disgraced yourself,” he said flatly. “Remove your boots and give them to Mrs. Toristel.”
Nora shook her head. “No,” she said, not as loudly as she wanted to.
“Then you will not remain under my roof.”
Her immediate response was relief. There was an escape. She was not going to be transformed into some small, crawling thing or run through with a sword. “All right,” she said.
“Sir!” Mrs. Toristel’s voice had regained some strength. “Nora has certainly behaved badly, and I’m very sorry for it. I would have stopped it at once if I’d known.”
“I know you would have, Mrs. Toristel,” Aruendiel said in clipped tones.
“But is it necessary to turn her out of doors in winter? She has nowhere to go.”
“She cannot live in my household, if she will not obey my wishes.”
“Nora,” said Mrs. Toristel, “you must do as he asks. Come, give me the boots.”
“He’s not asking,” Nora said, “and no.”
“Don’t be silly, girl. You’ve been protected here, fed, clothed. If you leave here—in this weather—a lone woman—what do you think will happen to you?”
“I’d rather go anywhere else than be treated like this.”
“If you leave, Nora, there’s nothing I can do to help you,” Mrs. Toristel said sadly.
“I know,” Nora said, working hard to keep her voice steady. “I’ll be all right. I have a skill now,” she added stubbornly. “I can earn my own living, that’s one thing I’ve learned from this stupid mess. People will pay me to mend pots. I can go from village to village and earn food and shelter and silver. I’ll be fine.”
“You can hardly expect to travel from village to village unmolested,” Aruendiel remarked.
She jerked her head up to look at him. “Well, I expect you to make sure that I can pass safely through your lands. After that, what happens to me is of no concern to you.”
Mrs. Toristel shook her head. “Mending pots, Nora? You’ll make a poor living.”
“I made three silver beads yesterday, and I could make a lot of money in Semr, mending fine porcelain for the nobility. And I’ll pick up other spells, like bringing rain—” Seeing the contemptuous expression on Aruendiel’s face, she faltered for a second. “Or curing warts or whatever. There’s all kinds of useful magic that people will pay for.”
“At least think it over,” Mrs. Toristel said, with a sigh. “Don’t be foolish.”
“She has made her choice,” Aruendiel said shortly, his eyes sliding away from Nora as though he found the sight of her distasteful.
“I’ll leave tomorrow morning,” she said. Shouldering past him, she went out of the kitchen and upstairs, her heart thudding.
The whole dispute was trivial, absurd, she thought, sitting in her small chamber—not hers anymore, after tomorrow—and yet now the conflict seemed inevitable. If Aruendiel was going to play lord of the manor—which of course was exactly what he was—then something, anything would have been bound to set him off eventually. No reasonable person could predict when she might unintentionally break one of their repressive, ridiculous, medieval codes. In her own world, what she and Morinen had done would be admired as plucky, smart, entrepreneurial. Sheer bad luck that the one time she had ever discovered a way to make some money, it had to be in a place where her initiative would only land her in disgrace.
Of course, Mrs. Toristel was right, she reflected more soberly. She, Nora, might be raped, robbed, murdered, frozen to death, reenchanted by Ilissa, as soon as she moved beyond the protective radius of the magician’s power. But then his power was the problem. That was why she couldn’t stay here to be ordered around like a slave. Better to die a free woman. If any woman in this wretched world could be said to be free.
Hirizjahkinis. She had given Nora her token. Nora felt relief flood her. If she got into real trouble, she could call on Hirizjahkinis. Maybe it would work, after all, this plan of going out to make her living by fixing pots. Nora already knew how to set things on fire. Hirizjahkinis could teach her other spells to protect herself.
She recalled, with some chagrin, how easily she’d told Hirizjahkinis she did not fear Aruendiel. Well, it was true then. Hirizjahkinis said he would not hurt her. Maybe Hirizjahkinis had never seen him as he had been today, rage freezing every trace of reason or compassion. He had been irritated with Nora for weeks, and now this. She had no idea what might have first turned him against her. It didn’t matter now.
Mrs. Toristel called her downstairs to the kitchen and tried to get her to eat something. Nora forced down a few mouthfuls of stewed lentils, aware that this might be her last warm dinner for a while, but she felt too anxious to eat much. Seeing Nora’s agitation, Mrs. Toristel began to plead again that she reconsider, apologize, surrender her boots, and stay at the castle. Aruendiel was nowhere to be seen, but Mrs. Toristel spoke in an urgent whisper, as though she were afraid he might overhear. Her eyes were wet. On the verge of tears herself, Nora tore herself away and went back upstairs.
She had little to pack. Her few clothes,
She thought she would not sleep at all. But she awoke, startled, from fractured dreams. Ilissa had featured in them, in some disturbing cameo. Well, Ilissa had been right about Aruendiel, what a bastard he could be—you had to give her that. Nora dressed herself as warmly as she could. It was still dark, and Mrs. Toristel wasn’t up yet. That made her exit easier. She would have liked to say good-bye, though. She wrote a note instead, on a leaf torn from the endpapers of
She wrapped up a loaf of bread and a sausage for the day’s provisions. Mrs. Toristel would not begrudge her a little food, even if the magician might. Then, swinging her cloak over her shoulders with a sudden flourish, as though waving defiance at the world, she stepped outside, crossed the still-shadowy courtyard, and shoved at the castle gate, stuck in the snow, until it let her through.
The sun had risen over a world of clean and seamless white. Two or three inches of fresh snow had fallen during the night, softly blurring the double line of tracks that Posin’s feet and Aruendiel’s horse had left the day before. Thank God, she thought, I have good boots.
Wrapping her cloak tight against the cold, Nora started down the hill to the village, stepping in Posin’s trail. It was slower going than she had expected. Once she wandered off the road and stumbled in the deep snow. Perhaps she could stay with Morinen until a few days’ use cleared the roads. The idea cheered her, until it occurred to her that the magician might take some revenge against Morinen and her family.
