I have gained several pounds and look less like a skeleton. Elly’s hands have come clean. Her bruises have faded. I set a small spell upon Gloriana that she should get a painful cramp each time she tried to pinch. She, robbed of her usual prey, has turned to accusing a pretty village woman of witchcraft. I will have to do something about that, too. I have not yet decided what to do to extricate Elly from her current problem, but at least the situation has been stabilized, as they would say in the twentieth.
Carabosse asked me, before I left Faery, whether I could just go along, pretending I was only what I am. Here, in this house, I am only what I am. The thing burns beneath my breastbone, but it is no stranger than my heartbeat or the sound of my own breath. It is almost as though I had stayed in Chinanga. Here, as there, no one knows who I am. I am someone else. No one knows I am here.
ST. STEPHEN’S DAY, SEPTEMBER, YEAR OF OUR LORD 1367
I was not surprised when a herald came to the door yesterday with a pronouncement. I have been expecting something of the kind.
All inhabitants of Wellingford between the ages of sixteen and twenty-five are invited to attend a series of three evening entertainments given in honor of His Royal Highness, Prince Something or Other, by his parents, the ruling family in exile of some tiny kingdom I had never heard of.
I was surprised, however, at the herald’s voice. There was something familiar about it. Something that raised gooseflesh, made echoes in my heart. I went out into the courtyard with a cup of wine and offered it to the man. When I saw him, I knew him.
“Your name is Giles, isn’t it?” I asked him, keeping my voice even only with a great effort. I wanted to throw my arms about him. I wanted to cry on his shoulder. “You were a man-at-arms in service to the Duke of Monfort and Westfaire.” My voice trembled when I said it.
“My lady?” he asked, getting down from his horse and bowing to me. “Have we met?” He looked just the same. Older, of course, but just the same. His eyebrows quirked in the same way. He had that little turn at the corner of his lips that I had used to watch for. There was a new scar at one side of his brow. “I don’t remember …”
I waved my hand in front of my face. “Many years ago,” I said. “I can scarcely remember the occasion, but your voice sounded familiar.” Not only his voice. He stood as I remembered, straight and tall, feet together, one slightly turned out. As though he had been invited to dance.
“Fancy your becoming a herald!” I said. “Why did you leave Westfaire?”
His eyes shut, only briefly, as though remembering an old pain. “The priest there sent me on a journey,” he said. “A kind of pilgrimage, it was. To bring some sacred relics back to the chapel at Westfaire. I had to go a wearisome way, and when I returned …”
“The enchantment,” I murmured.
“The enchantment,” he agreed, letting his eyes shut again. “I think … I think they’re all in there,” he whispered. “All of them. One of them got out for a while, but she had to go back. She’d be a widow now.”
Well, of course that is what he would have thought. It is, after all, what Edward thought, what Edward told everyone. Not about my being a widow, but about my getting out of Westfaire. “Someone you cared about?” I asked.
“Oh, yes, ma’am. Yes, indeed. Someone I care about.”
I breathed deeply, taking note of the present tense. “So then, what did you do?”
“I chose to stay fairly close by, but I sought service where I might. There was plague, as you know. It seemed wisest to stay away from the cities. I lived rough as a man can. I farmed a bit. At least that meant I’d have food. Then, when these little royals took the place over by East Sawley Mill, they offered me good money to be man-at-arms for them. Escort, mostly. And herald.”
“Herald,” I said with a tremulous laugh.
He laughed with me. “I’ve got a good loud voice from calling cows, ma’am, and I remember things.”
Oh, indeed he did. And so did I. “Can you remember the reason for this widespread invitation?” I teased, letting something of my old childish teasing come into my voice.
He cocked his head and smiled at me, recognizing the tone if not the origin of that flirtiness. “These little royals, they got driven out of their wee country, over near France or some such place so I’m told, but when they came, they brought a fortune with them. They bought land past East Sawley Mill and rebuilt the big old house up there. But they don’t know anybody, ma’am. What with the plague and the unsettled conditions since, it’s a wonder anybody’s left. They told me to ride to all the noble houses in the surrounding land and pronounce the invitation. There can’t be more than six or eight great houses left, and that’ll be stretching it. Wellingford’s not rightly great, not anymore, but I thought I’d stop.” He flushed, thinking I might take umbrage, but I only nodded, telling him that I understood.
“Will there be a ball?” I asked, doubtfully.
“Close as they can get. They’ve got musicians hired. They’ve got cooks working away, making three days worth of feasts. The boy’s coming of age, ma’am, and his mama wants him to have a celebration. She says they’ve had enough sadness recently.”
He handed me back the wine cup.
