She looked up, after some minutes, and saw that she was not alone after all. Someone else was struggling up the road from the village. It was laundry day, when Losi came up to help Mrs. Toristel.
This was early for Losi, though. And the figure was taller and thinner than Losi. Something about the ungainly way it pushed through the snowdrifts was very familiar. Aruendiel.
There was no way to avoid him. If she stepped off the road, she would not be able to make her way through the snow. And it would look as though she were afraid. He did not give any sign that he had seen Nora, although he was heading directly toward her. Nora kept going, part of her mind preoccupied with trying to work out how he had gotten to the village. No other fresh tracks but hers led from the castle. Some magical means of transportation that he had never bothered to tell her about, probably.
Finally, they were close enough that she could see his features clearly, reddened with the cold. Nora halted first, waiting to see what Aruendiel would do. He stopped an arm’s length from her, slightly out of breath.
Nora looked at him coolly. Oddly, she was not afraid of him anymore. Something about his face, mobile, imperfect—it looked alive again, not like the frozen, furious mask that she had seen yesterday.
“I have something for you,” he said without preamble. His gloved hand reached under his cloak and pulled out a small leather pouch. He handed it to her.
Puzzled, Nora slipped her right hand out of its mitten and upended the pouch into her left palm. Two silver beads slid out. “What is this?”
“I am returning what is rightfully yours. The cobbler charged you too much.”
She frowned at the silver beads, then at Aruendiel. “Did you—?”
“I have settled my account with the cobbler. He has agreed to return your money.”
Nora searched for something to say, then settled for the obvious. “Thank you.” She added: “I didn’t expect this.”
“You should not have to pay what was my debt,” Aruendiel said.
“Right,” she said, with a brief nod. “Well, these beads will be useful, I’m sure. Thank you for straightening all this out.” Clumsily, her fingers stiff with cold, she put the beads back into the pouch and then looked pointedly past him. “I’ll be on my way now.”
He did not move out of her way. “You need not leave,” he said abruptly.
“I’m sorry?”
“I said you need not leave.” Aruendiel gave a small sigh of exasperation. “You may keep—that is, I do not ask you to give up the boots that you have gone to some trouble to acquire. And you are free to continue living in my household.”
Nora stared. “You changed your mind?”
“Yes,” he said, after a long moment.
“What about my unseemly behavior and making a public spectacle of myself?”
Aruendiel seemed to be gritting his teeth. After a moment, he said: “It has occurred to me that Clousit might have exaggerated some particulars, in telling his story to a crowded barroom.”
“I’m sure he did. But the basic story was true,” Nora said defiantly.
“Well, you suggested to me once that I reexamine my notions of propriety.”
“And have you?”
“I have,” he said. “On the whole, I am satisfied with them. But as you also observed, I do not always follow other people’s idea of correct behavior myself. So perhaps I should not insist that you follow mine. I think—I hope we are in agreement on some basic standards of propriety,” he said, with a lifted eyebrow. “But there are areas, obviously, where we must disagree.”
Nora nodded slowly, frowning a little. Perhaps it was only because he stood downslope from her, so she did not have to look up at him, but she had the novel sensation that he was addressing her as an equal. She noticed for the first time that in the open air, against a luminous blue sky, his pale eyes took on a surprising blue cast, faint but clear.
“I still have to leave here,” she said.
“Why? I have said you do not have to.”
“Last night you lost your temper and told me to get out. I can’t stay here, knowing that could happen again.”
“I see,” he said, his mouth tightening.
“I was afraid,” Nora said seriously. “I am tired of being afraid.”
He sighed again. “I have a bad temper, and I often govern it poorly.”
“I’ve noticed.”
“But I govern it somewhat better than I once did. You must believe that I would not harm you. I am sorry that I made you fear me.”
He did sound regretful. “Well, thank you for saying that,” Nora said. “But you know, it takes more than words to counteract fear.”
“If it comes to fear—” Aruendiel said, with a grim laugh. “Listen, Mistress Nora, here is the meat of the nut. I do not wish to see a blameless and—and good-hearted young woman, who is also a student of mine who may show some promise if she applies herself, become subject to the dangers of the open road because of my own folly and bad temper. I don’t think you would starve,” he said quickly, as Nora opened her mouth to make an interjection. “You are right—you could probably make a living mending dishes. You did sound work in the village the other day, evidently. But there are many other risks, which you are intelligent enough to be aware of.
“I knew a woman, years ago,” he went on, his face darkening, “who tried to make her way in the world knowing one or two spells. She had a wretched time of it. I recommend—I ask you not to put yourself in that position. If you are determined to leave my household, at least wait until I can teach you enough magic so that you can protect yourself properly, not to mention support yourself by doing something more interesting than mending pots.”
“It wasn’t bad,” she protested. “Maybe a little tedious—after a few hours.”
“You are likely capable of better. It would be a waste to stop your studies now. My advice,” he added, “is to stay here, conquer your fear of me, and learn some serious magic before you try to set yourself up as a magic- worker. That way, you will do more credit to yourself, and to your teacher.”
For the first time that day, Nora laughed. “I see what this is all about. Your reputation! You are afraid of how it would look to have a student of the magician Aruendiel traveling around the countryside fixing pots.”
“I have had students turn out worse.” Aruendiel studied her for a moment. “I do not think that you are as frightened of me as you say you are.”
“Not so much, now,” she admitted.
“Then, would you be so kind as to accompany me back to the castle? It is as cold as a dead man’s—it is viciously cold out here.”
She hesitated, glancing at the buried road before her and then back at his face, broken and alert. He waited. “Yes, it’s cold,” she said. “Let’s go.”
A faint smile moved across his lips; it seemed to Nora for a moment that he looked as relieved as she felt. Neither said anything on the way back to the castle. Once, after Aruendiel had struggled through a snowdrift that reached halfway up his thighs, he gave Nora a quizzical stare, as if to convey that she must have taken leave of her senses to set out in such a snowfall.
Mrs. Toristel turned around quickly when Aruendiel came into the kitchen. Her eyes went immediately to Nora, just behind him.
“Good morning, Mrs. Toristel, I encountered Mistress Nora as she was departing,” Aruendiel said loudly. “We have come to an agreement, she and I. She is to remain here and apply herself with diligence to the study of magic and behave with as much propriety as she sees fit, and in return I will endeavor not to frighten her. Is that your understanding?” he asked Nora.
“And I can keep my boots,” she said.
“That is correct. You need not burn her boots, Mrs. Toristel. I will be at work upstairs this morning, not to be disturbed. Mistress Nora, I will expect you in the library this afternoon. You have missed several lessons of late. There is much work to be done.”
After the kitchen door had shut behind Aruendiel, Mrs. Toristel pursed her mouth. “Well, I’m thankful you’ve seen reason,” she said.
