you were sent to me?'
Had he truly been an exile, Lenardo realized, Aradia's words would have been the best advice anyone could give him. In fact, if he were to carry off the deception, he ought to think of himself as permanently exiled. 'That is why you think I should grow a beard? To appear like one of your men?'
'Yes. Leave your old self behind. Become one of us.' 'Very well. At least I'll try the beard.' He picked up the small looking glass she had placed on the table. 'It looks rather scruffy right now, though.'
'Let me trim it for you,' said Aradia. 'It will look better in a few weeks, but I can make you presentable today. I trim my father's beard for him, since… he went blind.'
Lenardo thought quickly. Best not to let her know he had Read the scene hi the upper room. 'Your father is lord of this castle?'
'In honored title. He is very ill and cannot leave his bed. He has been slowly weakening for years, and I have taken over all his duties.' She spoke flatly, through pain so old it had worn itself to a dull throb in her throat.
'I'm sorry,' Lenardo said in true sympathy. The violet eyes studied him for a moment, but Aradia said nothing. Then, in businesslike fashion, she went to work on his beard. 'There now-put your clothes on, and we'll go downstairs and find something to eat.' 'You mean you'll finally let me out of this room?' 'As long as I'm with you. Here-see if these fit properly.'
The clothes fitted but were not at all what Lenardo was used to. The best he could say was that at least there were no trousers-the beard was enough of the mark of a savage for one day. The hose and undergarments were such as at home he would have worn under a knee-length tunic and floor-length robe.
The pile of clothing Aradia had tossed on the bed shimmered with rich colors, dark green and gold so deep it verged on brown. The hose were green, the undertunic dark gold silk-he had never worn silk in his life!
Over that went a silk shirt with full sleeves, gathered at the wrists, also in dark gold. Finally he drew on a sort of short cyclas or tabard of richly embroidered dark green velvet It was seamed from waist to hips and cut off short there, exposing the full length of his legs. Wulfston wore something of the sort, but Lenardo did not recall its being so short or so closely fitted. Lenardo felt displayed, like some slave girl in the marketplace, discreetly draped in such a way as to reveal every attribute.
He looked at Aradia hi her simple cotton dress. 'This is… surely not everyday attire.'
'Indeed it is,' she replied, then answered his unspoken question. 'You have seen me dressed to tend the ill. They often bleed or vomit on one-or splash water.' Lenardo managed a rueful smile, and Aradia continued, 'If you are ready to care for yourself now, I shall dress more appropriately to my station. But tell me-don't you think my tailor has done a good job?'
Half from curiosity, and half to see how badly his powers were still impaired, Lenardo Read his appearance as if he were across the room, looking at himself. It was a simple trick, theoretically no more than any visual Reading from a point where the Reader actually was not. However, having oneself as the subject was disconcerting, and at first highly disorienting to young Readers. Torio was the only one he knew to master it as quickly as any other shifted point of view, without suffering dizziness or nausea. Lenardo had learned it many years ago, of course, but rarely used it. The last time was when he had first put on the black Magister's robe, years ago. There had been no time before he left Adigia to invest him with the scarlet robe of a Master. Will I ever wear it? he wondered as he stared mentally at the stranger Aradia had created.
He did not know this man; certainly he was no citizen of the Aventine Empire. Somehow, he appeared younger than before-the vivid colors and lack of professional dignity in his costume, Lenardo decided. The green and dark gold played up the shifting colors of his hazel eyes-he'd always thought they were brown!-and the beard gave him a faintly sinister look. Hair and beard were the same dark brown as always, but at home he would have trimmed his hair when it reached this length.
The close-fitting clothing was what made the major difference. Lenardo was tall, his body in good condition from constant exercise. The intent was health, not appearance, but the costume he now wore emphasized the broadness of his shoulders, the narrowness of his waist, and the muscular curves of his legs. He was right: Aradia had put him on display.
When he looked through his own eyes again, he found Aradia staring at him. 'What did you do?' she asked.
Lenardo shifted his weight hurriedly and awkwardly as a moment's dizziness siezed him. Again? And this time from Reading? Immediately his mind swarmed with guilt at his delirious outpouring of other people's thoughts on the nightmare journey to Aradia's castle, Intentional or not, the misuse of his power was taking its toll.
At his stagger, Aradia flung an arm about him. 'What is it? Do you feel faint? Do you want to lie down? I'm sorry-when your eyes went out of focus I just thought you were Reading something.'
He was very much aware of the warmth of her arm against his back as he answered, 'I was. I was looking at myself-it's a child's trick. I became disoriented, that's all.'
She looked up at him, her smile showing the tips of her white teeth. 'Yes,' she murmured, 'you do look different… handsome…' Her hand slid up to his shoulder as she turned to face him, lifting her other hand to cup his cheek. 'You could become very important to me, Lenardo.' She half-closed her eyes, tilting her head back.
Lenardo felt his heart pounding, and the strange pain/ pleasure stirring in his loins that he had known at the moment of his first kiss. Did she-? Could she expect bun to kiss her? Something in him wanted to, but a more rational part of his mind told him she was testing his declaration of celibacy. As an Adept, no matter what he did, Aradia could maintain control. Then he remembered her statement that she could make use of any energy caused by her response to him. She's using me!
The thought cooled the heat that her closeness woke in his blood, and he gently removed her hands from him. 'Perhaps I will be important,' he agreed, 'but not if I remain forever in this room. You promised to let me out today.' The first step in the freedom he had to have to continue his search for Galen.
Aradia seemed not to notice the rebuff. 'Very well. But don't be ashamed to lean on me if you feel faint-and remember, only Wulfston and I know you're a Reader.'
At last Lenardo saw Aradia's castle first hand. This wing was three stories high, with a tower over the widest part, containing Aradia's father's room. Lenardo Read that the narrow winding stairs led down as well as up, but Aradia took him down by way of a wide staircase into the great hall. It was empty now, except for a heavy table across one end. Behind the table were several chairs, the middle one large and ornately carved.
On the wall behind the table hung three decorated shields, the kind he had seen in the forum at Zendi. The central one bore the white wolfs head, while the one to theleft was painted with the figure of a lion in vivid blue, and the one to the right boasted a golden boar.
'You may come into the great hall anytime,' Aradia told Lenardo, 'or any of the pantries or the kitchen. All of these rooms lead to the courtyard, where you are welcome to walk in the fresh air. Come-we'll take some food and sit in the sunshine.'
The kitchen was permeated with the smell of roasting meat. Lenardo saw what appeared to be the carcass of a boar spitted over the fire, and he turned his eyes away. As he fought queasiness, he paid little attention to what Aradia was doing until she called to him.
He followed her outside, welcoming the fresh air. The clang of the blacksmith's hammer came across the open space, while a young boy raked straw from the stables that formed the ground floor of the opposite wing. Horses. If I could steal a horse, I could move much faster than on foot.
The courtyard was a work area; there was no garden. Aradia led Lenardo to a wagon that stood abandoned in a sunny corner, one axle propped up on a stone because the wheel was missing. The wheel itself was propped against the wall near the forge, waiting for the smith's attention.
'Wulfston said you eat vegetables raw,' said Aradia. 'Poor cook! I'm afraid he thinks his cooking hasn't passed approval.'
'We always ate a very simple diet in the academy, but I understand that among those with an educated palate, a good cook is a precious commodity.'
'Lenardo… did you never leave your academy?' 'I?' He decided she could learn nothing damaging if he told the truth, while he might be more closely guarded if she caught him in a lie. 'Most Readers do le,ave, of course, when they have learned all they can. I was still studying, but I remained as a teacher.'
'In that sheltered environment, what could you have done to be exiled?'
Lenardo again borrowed Galen's words. 'I was taught to think for myself. Then, when I did so-I was exiled!' He was surprised at how easy if was to put bitterness into his tone.
